Gabriele mustn’t have been forewarned of his task because his eyes grow wide when he enters the tent. “Fallon,” he says by way of greeting.
Leaving Dante is harrowing albeit indispensable for I need to finish my treasure hunt and he needs to practice ruling the kingdom that will soon be his.
Ours.
As I step out of the tent, I find the commander poised on the other side of the cobbled road, hands clasped behind his rigid back, narrowed eyes affixed to me. Antipathy drifts off him like my blood off Dante’s sheets.
Oh, how the male loathes me. Especially since he didn’t get to pitch me into Mareluce and watch me sink. I’ll have to tread extra carefully because I sense the hateful man will be watching my every move as he waits for his sovereign’s return.
Thirty-Four
Loud, raucous sobs echo against the frescoed walls of our house, distracting me from the dull ache throbbing between my thighs. I recognize the cries as Mamma’s and sprint up the stairs, my heart clocking my ribs in fear of what I’ll find.
If the crow sank its talons into Nonna.
If—
When I reach the threshold of her bedroom, I find my grandmother crouched beside Mamma’s rocking chair. “Look, Agrippina. She’s back. And safe. Our Goccolina’s fine.”
I kneel in front of my mother’s chair and take her hands in mine, scanning every millimeter of bare skin for a weeping gash. “Mamma, I’m here. Look at me. I’m here. And I’m fine.”
“Fallon. Leave. Fallon. Leave. Fallon.”
Is this an observation or a warning? Did she think me gone, or is she telling me to leave? “I’m right here, Mamma.”
She shakes her head, her copper waves scampering over her hunched, freckled shoulders. “Fallon leave.”
“I did, but I’m back.”
“Leave. Leave. Leave.” The anxiety shading her tone, combined with the intent luster in her blue eyes, knocks the wind from my lungs.
“Are you telling me I need to go, Mamma?” I whisper, even though it isn’t like Nonna will miss my words. She’s standing right there, emerald irises spangling with worry.
Mamma stops shaking her head but only to start nodding it.
I glance at Nonna in confusion. “How long has she been like this?”
“When I got home from the marketplace, I found her on her knees, banging on her door. She crawled all the way to it. Thank the Cauldron it was closed.”
Had I shut it before leaving? I remember checking on her and finding her asleep, but nothing else, too panicked between the bird and my ‘arrest.’
What if she shut it herself because she was scared of the bird in my bedroom? What if the bird dematerialized and passed through the wall separating our bedrooms? What if it’s gone?
Goosebumps scamper across my collarbone and spill down my chest.
“What is it?”
I blink away from the wall. “Wh-what?”
“You’re flushed.”
I cup my neck, my palm clammy against my hot skin. “I’ve had a day.”
Nonna presses a mug of rowan berry infusion to Mamma’s lips. My mother shakes her head.
“Bibbina mia, you need to drink.”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard my grandmother call Mammaher baby, and it sends a bolt of pain through my heart. How devastating it must be for a mother to be powerless in front of their child’s degradation.
