This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(4)

Now they were expected to act like they were desperate to be chosen by a girl whose power was useless without theirs.

Dea, give me a sign.

What she really needed was a push. Hours upon hours watching from high above the city, longing to be amongst the people, but every time she escaped her golden cage, her wings forgot how to fly.

She only made it three steps before a sudden commotion in the crowd stopped her.

A woman shoved her way through the tightly packed wall of people to burst into the clearing.

In stark white robes, she stood out like a star on a moonless night. What kind of person started a shoving match at a funeral?

The woman’s gaze landed on Alessa, and her eyes blazed.

For a bizarre moment, Alessa was embarrassed. It had been a few years since anyone had been overcome with religious fervor at her presence, and it was an awkward time for a fit of rapture.

The woman’s face twisted, the gleam in her eyes turning dark, and she broke into a run.

Alessa’s pulse raced to the beat of footsteps against the stone.

The robed woman didn’t slow, didn’t flinch, heedless of the guards rushing at her from all sides. Without breaking her stride, she drew her arm back.

And threw.

Something whistled past Alessa’s head with a whine so high-pitched it was painful.

Guards tackled the woman, wrestling her to the ground, their bodies muffling the words she tried to scream.

Alessa reached a hand to her neck, and the fingertips of her glove grew warm and wet with blood.

“Dea,” she breathed. Not that kind of sign.





Two


Chi cerca trova.

Seek and you shall find.



Alessa’s breath came fast and shallow as she wiped the hot trickle from her neck. Blood wouldn’t show on her gloves, and fear wouldn’t show on her face. It couldn’t.

Her eyes followed the trail of crimson droplets on the stone to a flash of sunlight glinting off a dagger. If she’d been one step to the left, the blade that had notched her ear would be lodged in her skull.

The Captain of the Guard barked orders, and his soldiers formed a protective wall around her. For the first time in her life, she yearned for the protection of the Cittadella’s high walls.

“Wait,” Renata said. “They need to see she’s unharmed.”

Alessa clenched her fists. Hiding wasn’t an option. Not for her. Never for her. Duty called, a little blood be damned.

“Chin up, Finestra,” Renata muttered. “Show them you are not afraid.”

Alessa fought the horrific impulse to laugh as she lifted her head so high, no one could see the tears burning behind her eyes.

At her reassuring wave, a ripple of relief—at least she hoped it was relief—rolled through the crowd, and Renata gestured for them to retreat at last.

“How bad is it?” Renata asked as soon as the gates clanged shut behind them.

“Could have been worse.” Alessa winced, probing her injury. “Why would someone do that?”

It made no sense. A Finestra dying before Divorando was unimaginable. Or, at least, she’d thought it was. A number had been wounded during battle, but they’d all lived long enough to climb Finestra’s Peak. Without a Finestra and Fonte, Saverio would be entirely defenseless against the demons.

“Who can explain the choices of an unhinged person?” Tomo said, holding out his elbow for Renata. They exchanged a tense look.

“If you know something, tell me.” Alessa followed them through the arched corridor to the interior courtyard. Tomo, tall and still athletically built despite his health struggles, made Renata look even more petite by comparison.

“You can’t protect her forever, Tomo.”

“Renata,” Tomo pleaded, his tan skin going a bit gray. “We don’t even know if he’s connected.”

He? The knife-thrower had been a woman.

“Who?” Alessa asked. They didn’t answer. In moments like these, she became invisible.

“I told you, we should have him arrested.” Renata’s voice crackled with fury. “Lash him to the peak and leave him to die.”

Tomo sighed as if he’d made the argument countless times before. “For talking on street corners?”

“For inciting violence!”

“Who?” Alessa said, louder, and they turned to look at her as though she’d blinked back into existence. “Who isn’t connected? Who should be left to die? Tell me. I’m the Finestra, not a scared child.” If she said it firmly enough, she might even convince herself.

Tomo waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “Some ridiculous street preacher calling himself Padre Ivini. He’s just fanning fears to line his pockets.”

“And which fears are those?” Alessa hugged her sides, suddenly cold. She knew what she feared—swarms of demonic insects descending from the sky, everyone counting on her to stop them. But braving terror so others didn’t have to was the Finestra’s burden.

“Foolish prattle. Everyone with sense is ignoring him.” Tomo looked to Renata for support, but she shrugged.

Alessa gestured at her ear. “Everyone?”

“Everyone but a few desperate souls looking for certainty in an uncertain world. Enough about that.” Tomo’s smile was kind but pointed. “We have more important matters to deal with.”