His fingers skimmed against something cold and hard. He jerked back.
“What is it?” Carolina asked.
“There’s something there.”Please don’t let it be a bone. Please don’t let it be a bone.
Carolina shoved her arm into the hole he created. She frowned, then slowly tugged something out.
Lalo’s pulse quickened.
She held up something that width-wise fit in the palm of her hand. The length was no longer than his forearm.
Carolina dusted the caked-on mud until a rusted hilt with curled edges could be seen.
“A dagger,” she whispered, and brushed off the remaining dirt.
Lalo sighed with relief, then slouched, his chin tucked into his chest.
“The grave is empty,” he breathed. He looked up at Carolina, who stared at the broken shards underfoot.
“This can’t be real,” she whispered. “He’s not here. Perhaps we are mistaken? What if we desecrated the wrong site? It could’ve been mismarked. Or maybe a grave robber came and…” She clung to the soiled dagger as if that would offer her some clue.
“If a thief pilfered this grave, wouldn’t they have taken the very valuable blade too?” Lalo asked.
“A Fuentes would never…We are here to protect our people. Not do”—she waved her hand at their surroundings—“whatever happened here.”
“Have you ever been in love, Carolina?”
Her brown eyes flashed in the dark. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I cannot say that I am an expert.” He’d never even held a woman’s hand besides his mother’s and sister’s until Carolina took his before the duel. “But you’ve read the same sonnets about love and heartbreak as I have. Surely you know the power true love contains.”
She pointed at the empty coffin. “This is destruction. There is nothing powerful about going to the gods and asking them to tear a hole through the veil of this realm and the next. This is selfishness.”
“Then I am selfish too,” he admitted. “After my mother and father were slain, I begged for the gods to bring my parents back. But alas, Fernanda and I are alone in this world.”
“You aren’t alone,” she said softly. Had his hearing not been heightened by the power of Tecuani, he might not have caught those three beautiful words. “I did the same thing when Abuelo was taken. I prayed to the gods every night for weeks. I thought that if I begged hard enough, I’d wake up and learn it was just a nightmare.” Her chin quivered. “Is it because I didn’t cry hard enough? Because I didn’t love deep enough? Do the gods only listen if you offer them something in return like Alma? What kinds of gods are those?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I am sorry.”
“I miss him so much.” She clamped her hand over her mouth as if that was the first time she’d ever confessed such a thing. Tears fell into her fingers. And then she began to sob. This was no ordinary cry either. This was deep and ferocious.
Lalo understood this heartache. It arrived suddenly andviciously. The sorrow, the anger, the pain. No matter how hard a person tried to tuck away the feeling, grief came and went whenever it wished.
He had wanted to be held while he wept for his parents. But he was the one who needed to be strong for his sister while her world imploded. He didn’t mind. Fernanda had become his everything in less than a minute. He offered his sister whatever consolation he could. And if Carolina allowed it, he’d do the same for her.
Slowly, as if he were approaching a bear, he slid his arms around her shoulders and pressed her body against his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so very sorry.”
“I miss him so desperately I want to scream.”
She clasped the back of his shirt, holding on to him as if he were a lifeline.
“He was the only one besides Nena to believe in me. And now he’s gone.”
“I believe in you,” Lalo said. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped, or that she would snort and tell him she didn’t care, but instead she whispered, “Thank you. I believe in you, too.”
Lalo stilled as that statement settled into his core.
