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Alessa took a long moment to find the grubbiest faces in the crowd, the hollowed cheeks and fearful eyes of the Marked. Soon, the city gates would close for good, and they would be on the other side. They watched her for reassurance that she was strong enough to defeat the swarm before it descended on their ramshackle homes and devoured them.
As they stood there, the last far-flung villagers were trickling into the city, passing huddles of Marked and baring their wrists at the city gates to receive their Fortezza assignments.
When Divorando came, she’d have an army at her back and magic in her grip. The Marked would board up their windows and doors and huddle inside, praying and hoping they lived to see the morning.
“Five years ago, I was chosen by Dea to protect you, and I didn’t understand why. I wasn’t the smartest or the bravest. I wasn’t always kind, and I often said the worst thing at the worst times. Signor Miyamoto and Signora Ortiz have had their work cut out for them.”
A few laughs broke out, cut off by shushing.
“Dea made me powerful. At first, I thought, too powerful. I no longer think that. My gift was a challenge to become more than I thought I was. And today, I’m going to challenge you. I used to have a brother who believed I’d always do the right thing. Ironic, as he was asking me to do the wrong thing at the time, but like most sisters, I didn’t listen.”
She paused, with an indulgent smile for the scattered nervous chuckles.
“I once asked someone to be better, and I was told that peopledon’t change, that they’re selfish and cruel and only pretend to be good. I disagreed then. And I disagree now. Today I ask you to prove me right. We are flawed, imperfect, and often broken, but we all contain the potential to be more. Those who bear the mark of crimes have made mistakes. Some grievous. They have stolen, hurt, and at times, taken lives. I am your Finestra. I have taken lives, too.”
A few concerned murmers fluttered between groups, but she pressed on.
“Not intentionally, and not out of anger, impulse, or revenge, but knowingly. I’m not so different from those who’ve stolen to eat or killed to live. I suspect many of you feel the same about mistakes you’ve made, but I believe in you as Dea believed in me, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that we’re strongest when we love more, forgive more. Not less.”
She was stronger for loving Dante, who grew up steeped in the conviction he was evil. He’d watched his parents die at the hands of people he knew and trusted, believed it was his fault that fear and hatred drove people to cruelty. He might be the only remaining ghiotte, but he wasn’t the only person who’d grown up believing sin flowed in his veins, that his legacy was his destiny.
“Dea created a Finestra because connectionisour salvation. Today, I’m asking you to prove her right. Will we barricade our doors and cover our ears against the screams of those who deliver our milk and brew our ale, or will we try and save every soul we can?”
Silence.
A lone cough echoed in the stillness, and her stomach sank as she wondered how long to stand there.
A finely dressed man stepped forward, hat in his hands. “Itisn’t a fortress, but our family home can hold a dozen or more, and stone walls are better than none.” He gestured at a ragged-looking woman with a baby on one hip and a toddler clinging to her leg, her marked wrists visible as she clutched her children to her. She burst into tears.
“I’m too old to be a soldier, but I have a good arm,” said a swarthy man with thick muscles. “One of the Marked can have my spot in the Fortezza. I’d rather throw rocks at the bugs, anyway.”
One by one, then in pairs and groups, people stepped forward. Some volunteering to fight, others to give their spots to those in need, yet more to welcome the overflow into their homes.
Hundreds of people, volunteering to face an army of demons armed with nothing but sticks and bats, knives and rusted pipes, choosing to fight so others might live.
If only Dante could see it. Dea’s faith in them had not been wrong. And by sharing their sacrifice, no one had to bear it alone.
Together, we protect. Divided, we unravel.
And suddenly, she understood.
The key to her power had been right there the entire time.
Forty-Four
Nessuna nuova, buona nuova.
No news is good news.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 11
Still reeling from her revelation, Alessa didn’t notice the door to her suite was open and nearly leapt out of her boots when a figure popped out of nowhere.
“Oh, sorry!” Saida squeaked.
Kamaria awkwardly stood from the couch, favoring her wounded leg. “Kaleb’s awake and in a beast of a mood, but he doesn’t know anything about what’s been happening, so we told him to go back to sleep. Whathappenedout there? Is Dante going to be okay?”
The sympathy on their faces was too much, and Alessa crumpled.
