“Taking something and being given something is not even close to the same.”
She looks at me. “I’m not the one who needs convincing.”
“Aren’t you? You sound resigned.”
Her eyes skim back to the fire, the silver hardening like cooling metal. “I’m anything but, dolcca.”
Giana hasn’t called me honey since I was a child and I’d stop by the tavern for the sweets she’d buy Syb and me every Friday. I’d trace the chips in the candied petals with my stubby fingers, wondering out loud why the flower heads weren’t as pretty as the ones in the window display. Giana explained that imperfections lessened the value of things.
The following Friday, she’d presented me with both a perfect and imperfect sprig of lavender and had lain both in front of me.“Tell me, dolcca, does the pretty one taste sweeter than the damaged one?”
They’d tasted the same. Her lesson had upset me so deeply, so fundamentally, that I hadn’t returned to the tavern for days, and when I did return, I turned down her offerings, claiming I was too old for sweets.
I watch bubbles pop atop the surface of my ale. “You’re the one who taught me that value is measured by appearance.” When a V forms between her eyebrows, I add, “The day you bought me the candied lavender.”
Her forehead smooths.
“I was furious that day. Not at you, but at the injustice of it all.”
“I always wondered what had happened . . .”
“You know what I did? I dragged Dante to the candy shop with me and made him buy a reject and a perfect candy. Mind you, the saleslady refused to sell the prince a reject, just gave it to him. You know what he said? He said he couldn’t tell what the difference between them was, neither in appearance, nor in taste. That’s the sort of man he is, Gia—fair and aware.”
“I admire him all the more for it, but those traits won’t upend the hierarchy. Not without a fight. And that fight will cost people their lives if they’re not prepared. Who do you think will die, Fallon? Whose blood will baste the cobbled streets? You really think Dante would kill his own brother to make things right? To make things better?”
Her words are hushed yet sound yelled, and not at the world but at me. I feel knee-high to a sprite and no older than the babe one human is carrying in a sling against her chest. “I know you think me naïve, but—”
“Idealistic, not naïve. Gods, Fallon, I wishIcould still dream wide awake.” She squeezes my wrist before letting go and standing. “I’m going to get myself some more ale and make the most of being here.” She starts to walk away but then turns. “And I apologize.”
“For what?”
“To have caused you such anguish so young.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“It doesn’t change the fact thatIdo.” She smiles, but it’s a soft, almost imperceptible curve. “Now, go have some fun.” She flicks her eyes over the crowd. I don’t think she means to single out Antoni, but her gaze lands on the grumpy halfling, who’s staring at the fire as though it’s the vilest element of them all.
I bite my lip. Slide it between my teeth. I’m still mad that he thinks poorly of Dante, but I reason he doesn’t know him like I do. I drink my ale, every last, bitter drop of it, and then I stand.
His eyes are on me, and although his attention doesn’t ignite my pulse like Dante’s does, it does warm my blood.
I walk over to where he now sits alone—Riccio and Mattia having evidently found companions. “Can I sit with you?”
His blue eyes smolder in the firelight, but the rest of him is so cold, I think he’s going to refuse, especially when he lowers his gaze to his mug of ale. But he proves me wrong by nodding.
I sit, placing my empty mug beside my mud-caked shoe. “Did it also take you time to get used to the flavor, or did you always enjoy it?”
He peers back at me with a deep frown.
I crank my chin toward his mug, which is made of metal and not fired clay.
“I’ve always enjoyed it, but I’m not a very difficult person to please.”
The wordsunlike youstain the air. “Gia said you paid for me.”
“Did she really?”
“Don’t be mad at her.” I lay my hand on his knee. “Imadeher tell me.”
