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“And—” He cringed. “And because a ship arrived from Altari an hour ago, crammed with people.”
“Altari? Why?” Alessa asked. “Is their Finestra even worse than I am?”
Adrick swallowed. “Their Finestra is dead.”
The air beat against her eardrums.
“A new one didn’t rise. Their island is completely defenseless.”
“Are you saying I havetwoislands counting on me now?” Alessa said.
Just when she thought the weight of responsibility couldn’t possibly get heavier.
“So, what, you heard their story and realizedyoucould have been responsible for two islands being in their position?”
Adrick seemed to shrink in on himself.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it? Welcome to my life, Adrick. It’s a lot easier to blame someone else when things go wrong than it iswhenyourdecisions have terrible consequences. If I’d taken that poison, two islands’ worth of people would be waiting to die.”
“Go ahead,” Adrick said flatly. “Let them turn me into an icicle or a torch or whatever.”
“Did you see my brother, Shomari?” Kamaria interrupted, unable to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping for another moment. “Or are other ships still on the way?”
Adrick made a face. “They put the most vulnerable people on the fastest ships and sent them first. Their gifted folk took the last and slowest, because they’ll have a better chance of defending themselves if they don’t make it in time.”
Kamaria deflated. “There’s still time, though. We could have a whole army of Fontes on the peak!”
“Um,” Adrick said, looking a bit gray. “The wind hasn’t blown all day, though. This ship barely made it.”
Alessa’s vision of an army of Fontes vanished in a puff, but the disappointment paled in comparison to her horror at the thought of a ship stranded at sea when the scarabeo came.
“My gift is wind,” Saida said. “Is this my cue to run to the docks?”
And so, with Kaleb weakened, Kamaria injured, and Saida setting off on a desperate rescue mission, Alessa’s newfound team of Fontes dwindled once more.
Forty-Six
Le leggi sono fatte pei tristi.
Laws were made for rogues.
DAYS BEFORE DIVORANDO: 2
Alessa’s final training session with her remaining Fontes was falling apart. The next day was reserved for prayer and rest, as the Finestra and Fonte asked for Dea’s blessings, the soldiers readied their weapons, and the last of Saverio settled into their assigned quarters inside the Fortezza, which would be locked at midnight. She needed every minute of practice, but it was impossible to focus.
Saida still hadn’t returned, so somewhere beyond the horizon, an entire ship of Fontes was lost at sea, unprotected. The weather had turned chaotic—frigid rain one hour, scorching sun the next, sudden windstorms ripping shingles from rooftops and sending them skittering across the piazza like autumn leaves—and every climatic shift was punctuated by shudders from the island itself.
Meanwhile, Dante was moldering away in a crypt, and Alessa couldn’t close her eyes without envisioning marble walls cracking, metal bars screaming under a ceiling collapsing into a crush of rubble. The Cittadella had weathered every Divorando before, and Dea would hold it together through this one as well, but Alessa’s gut twisted every time she thought of Dante, caged and alone in the darkness.
She had one job, one responsibility—to use Dea’s gift to save them—but this last practice, when she should have been at her peak, she kept slipping, losing control, and overwhelming her training partners.
She kept insisting it was only nerves, but it wasn’t.
She’d visited Dante twice before Renata caught her returning and banned her from doing so again. Each time, he’d seemed more faded than the last. They might both be dead soon, and his last breaths would be spent in the exact type of misery he’d been running from for years.
Kaleb threw his blankets on the ground and stood. “Enough.”
“Enough what?” Kamaria snapped. Her injured leg had given out an hour earlier, and she sat on the floor, looking mutinous.
