I look over my shoulder, the same way I’ve looked over my shoulder a hundred times since I banged the door of my house shut, expecting to find Nonna trailing me. The only person staring at me is a bearded fisherman scrubbing down his deck.
My grandmother is as prideful as I am. Expecting her to chase me is like expecting snowfall at the height of summer.
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I roll up my sleeves and get to work. It’s mindless, which allows me to plot my next steps. Even though, deep down, I presume Bronwen will be waiting for me with a saddled steed, if she isn’t, do I set off without a horse?
It only dawns on me now that the clothes I wear are completely impractical. However much I hate my boots and over-washed frocks, I can’t exactly trek across Monteluce in silk slippers and a dress as delicate as butterfly wings.
In Rax, clothes are sewn to endure. I’ll trade with someone. Surely, I’ll have no trouble rehoming such pretty frocks.
Sybille knocks her shoulder into mine. “First off, where did you get that dress? It’s gorge. Secondly, what’s eating you?”
“I borrowed it from Phoebus’s sister.”
Syb’s lids shoot up. “Flavia-I-hate-halflings-Acolti lent you a dress?”
“Phoebus lent it to me.”
“And he had one of his sister’s dresses lying around because . . .? Oh.” I’m not certain what conclusion she’s drawn, but I leave her with it. Maybe Phoebus will tell her about our morning, but I won’t. Especially not in a place filled with perked ears.
“As for what’s eating me . . . I slept with Dante.” Even though my afternoon deflowering is not on the frontline of my thoughts, I want Sybille to hear it from me and not a random patron.
The copper jug she came to refill slips from her fingers and clatters noisily against the bar, catching the attention of the ten or so diners hunched in front of drinks and wooden boards of cured meat and cheese.
“Oh. My. Gods.” She leads me by the elbow to a dusky corner of the tavern, her mouth still gaping. “And?”
“And, you could’ve warned me it hurts.” The ache has dulled to sporadic pangs.
“I can’t believe you slept with Dante.”
In truth, I can hardly believe it myself. The afternoon feels surreal. “I know.”
“Was it everything you dreamed of and more?”
I hesitate because, no, it wasn’t. As much as I want to confess this to Syb, Dante and I will be married someday. It’s in poor taste to complain about your husband’s lovemaking. Besides, we were pressed for time; it’s bound to get better.
“I’m leaving.”
Syb’s head rears back. “Because of the sex? Was it that bad or that good?”
“Not because of the sex.”
“Then, why?”
“I need to get away from Tarelexo for a little while. Commander Dargento is breathing down my neck, and things at home have been tense.”
She studies me. “Your mother?”
“No. Nonna.”
She squeezes my arm. “I’m sorry, Fal.” Suddenly, her sympathy morphs to eagerness. “Let’s leave together.”
I’d love nothing more, but it’d be unfair to drag her into my mess. Moreover, I’m genuinely worried the prophecy won’t come to pass if I don’t go at it alone, and I really need it to come true.
“I cannot take you with me, honey. It’s something I need to do on my own. Besides, your parents and sister would never forgive me if I took you away from here. And then Phoebus will insist on coming, but now that he has a new boyfriend—”
“What? That weasel. He said it wasn’t serious with Mercutio.”
“I think he likes him more than he’ll admit. Even to himself.”
