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“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Of course it was.” Dante dragged a hand through his hair.
“You were achild.”
“And they were my family. I should have diedwiththem.”
There was nothing to say. Even if she could find the right words, they wouldn’t reach him, locked away as he was inside himself. And she knew, without a doubt, that if she said the wrong thing, she’d snap the fragile lifeline he’d given her to hold.
How cruel, that sharing someone else’s grief did nothing to alleviate it for them. In physics, there were rules and forces, equal and opposite reactions, a balance. But emotions didn’t obey rules, and though sympathy settled over her like a heavy blanket, it did nothing to help him. No matter how much she was willing to bear, she couldn’t lighten his load. Even her hands, which stole power, strength, and life itself, were powerless to siphon off any of his suffering.
So she didn’t speak, but she didn’t leave. Standing close, she offered what little comfort she could with her presence alone.
Dante stared at the rain-drenched city below, but she knew he wasn’t seeing anything at all.
There was more wincing than sobbing in the following days, but a week into their training, the Fontes still flinched every time Alessa came near.
Tomo had mostly regained his strength, but he watched from a safe distance as Alessa took turns using everyone’s gift, even Nina’s. The wrongness of shifting matter made Alessa’s stomach churn, though, as if the laws of physics fought such an unnatural force.
At the end of one especially long afternoon, the Fontes and Alessa sat around the formal dining table, wilted like flowers in a drought. Tomo and Renata had joined them for a quiet supper of white fish in a lemon wine sauce—the quality of the Cittadella’s food haddefinitelyimproved since the Fontes arrived—and even they didn’t try to make conversation beyond answering Saida’s hesitant questions about their family recipes. Tomo perked up a bit, looking charmed as she explained her project. He knew a surpising amount about baking, too. While he listed a number of dishes for Saida to choose from, Renata smiled weakly and promised to think of something later, and everyone else seemed relieved that they didn’t have to find the energy to speak for a while.
As Tomo and Saida debated the use of rice flour versus gelatin in a dessert Alessa wasn’t familiar with, Kamaria stared blankly at the nearest candelabra. Her powers made the flames grow and shrink in a lazy rhythm as though the fire itself was breathing, swirling smoke toward Kaleb. She either didn’t notice or chose to ignore his pointed sighs.
Eventully the conversation lapsed into silence.
“I think it may be time for a break,” Tomo said, tapping his new walking stick against his chair.
Alessa nearly cried. Abreak? They were supposed to be finished for the day.
“Is there something in particular you still want them to work on?” Renata asked. “Everyone seems a bit tired.”
“I ordered sweets,” Saida said tentatively. “Maybe a little sugar would help us power through.”
“Very thoughtful of you, dear,” Renata said. “But Tomo, I think they’ve had enough for one day.”
“My apologies,” Tomo said. “I was unclear. I didn’t meantoday,but rather, a full day of rest tomorrow.”
Renata stiffened. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Rest is as essential for training as sleep is for learning. A day of rest, prayer, and time with family will rejuvenate us all, and I can think of no better way to give warriors purpose than remembering what we’re fighting for. Besides, Mastro Pasquale is coming in the morning, so the Finestra will be occupied sitting for her formal portrait.”
Alessa wasn’t the only one who stole a glance at the line of portraits on the wall, centuries of Duo Divino captured in oil paints, staring solemnly back at them. At first glance the people in the portraits seemed to have little in common, ranging in size, shape, skin color, and gender. But one thing theydidall have in common was that every single Finestra was paired with a Fonte.
Well, at least Mastro Pasquale, who’d been Alessa’s art tutor in the early years of her time as Finestra, was talented enough to add a Fonte later and make it look as though they’d posed together.Wouldn’tthatbe a fun story for tour guides to share with future visitors to the Cittadella. Assuming, of course, that Alessa managed to find a Fonte and together they triumphed over Divorando so the Cittadella was even standing in a month.
Renata rubbed her forehead. “Might as well get half of it finished now. I suppose you may all take a day of rest.” It seemed to pain her to grant it. “But I expect everyone an hour early the following day, prepared to give one hundred percent. And I hope you all make good choices about how to spend your day off.”
With a hostile glare at the portraits, Renata stood in a swirl of burgundy skirts and helped Tomo to his feet as he waved off a round of thanks.
“Well,” Saida breathed when they’d gone. “This definitely deserves a celebration. I’m glad I splurged for the deluxe assortment with the chocolate-dipped cannoli.”
A pastry box appeared from under Saida’s chair like a magic trick, and the Fontes eagerly dove in.
Josef, Nina, and Kamaria took their desserts to go. Kaleb ate his in one bite and snagged a second from the box before it made it to the head of the table.
“They’re from Il Diletto,” Saida said. “That’s your family’s pasticceria, right?”
Alessa blinked at the familiar logo obscured by her thumb.
