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The soldiers saluted, armor clanking in the stunned silence of the courtyard, and banged their staffs on the ground, making everyone else flinch.
Visibly steeling himself, Captain Papatonis grabbed the corner of the tarp and yanked it off, exposing a smooth, beetle-black exoskeleton and bulging, liquid red eyes. So intact, so perfect in its horribleness, the scarabeo could have been sleeping.
“I’ll have it put in storage once you’ve had a chance to look it over,” he said, before marching away at a clip, mumbling about making preparations.
The soldiers, stone-faced beneath their helmets, bowed and left, abandoning the dead scarabeo in the middle of what had been a cocktail hour moments before.
Alessa took a slug of limoncello.
Was she expected to move it herself? To hang it above her bed like a baby’s mobile, perhaps? Something to stare at during the long nights while she lay awake, frozen with dread?
“Someone will remove it later,” came Renata’s low voice. “Time to lead.”
“Ugly, aren’t they?” Tomo broke the stillness.
The Fontes wore matching expressions of nauseated horror as Tomo and Renata casually examined the hell-sent creature lying before them in a growing puddle of its own ichor.
“Small, though.” Renata walked around the creature, eying it from all sides.
“The First always are.”
“Still. Could be a sign of a weak year.”
They were restating what Alessa already knew, making idle talk while she worked up the courage to approach a monster larger than a fully grown person. The creature’s mandibles curled instead of stabbing out from its jaw, but they were still wide and sharp enough to snap a person in half.
“It does look a bit… soft,” Alessa said, trying to sound unimpressed.
Saida made a sound between a cough and a sob.
Kamaria and Kaleb had their eyes closed, and it wasn’t clear if Josef was holding Nina up or the opposite, as they both looked at risk of keeling over.
Alessa swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter. Either her years of preparation were finally paying off and she’d been toughened up by the many hours she’d spent in the cold storage room examining mummified scarabeo from past Divorando… or she’d finally snapped.
Hors d’oeuvres and a deceased scarabeo. A fitting welcome to the Cittadella of Doom.
Dea, your comedic timing is impeccable.
“The pincers are, uh, more curved than the last batch, wouldn’t you say? Closer to those from the Divorando in 431?”
Renata nodded as if Alessa had made a very good point, which was especially impressive since there hadn’tbeena Divorando in 431. It had been 43… 5? 437? It was definitely an odd- numbered year.
It didn’t matter. The Fontes didn’t look as though they were hearing much of anything.
She muddled her way through a few more derisive comments before Renata clapped her hands together and cheerily announced she’d show the Fontes their new quarters.
Like a train of miserable ducklings, they followed Renata up the stairs, seeming as defeated at the prospect of moving in as they were at remaining near the monster.
“Well, you were right,” Dante said, strolling over. “That did not go well.”
“You don’t think so?” Alessa nudged the scarabeo’s claw withthe toe of her boot. “I thought the demon corpse lightened the mood a bit.”
“Still dead?” Dante gave it a kick and nodded at the wet cracking sound. “Still dead.”
“I should probably tell Renata to lock the windows, so they don’t try to escape.”
Alessa stared down at the claw an arm’s length from the toe of her shiny black boots. Two identical curves, glossy and smooth, dark and deadly.
They matched.
