Seventeen
Tavo insists on escorting Phoebus and me across the canal.
I’m hesitant to get into the military gondola, afraid Dante’s new general plans on sailing us past Tarelexo and straight into an Isolacuorin dungeon, but I climb aboard. Although the ship is manned by both a water-Fae and an air-Fae, the boat ride is a rocky one.
“You should sit.” Phoebus grips my wrist, refusing to touch my fingers even though the unrelenting rain has washed them clean of Racoccin grime.
“We’re almost there.” I keep my gaze on the purple awning undulating like Minimus’s dorsal fin and the black lettering that readsBottom of the Jug.
I can already hear the raucous chatter and bawdy laughter. I can already smell the rich aromas of Marcello’s and Defne’s cooking and picture the doxies strutting around in their racy getups. The words I plan to have with Giana fizz along my tongue, impatient to leap out.
I know that her intent was to protect me, but couldn’t she have told me where Nonna and Mamma were? Why hadn’t I insisted on knowing their location? Because I’d been so concentrated on loathing Lorcan?
When we dock, I tear my wrist out of Phoebus’s hold and leap off the boat, then march across the slick cobbles toward the tavern entrance and fling the door wide.
The noise, which wasn’t loud to begin with seeing as only four tables are occupied, dies out completely.
I count nine customers.
Nine customers at lunch time is unheard of. Is a revel underway in some other part of the kingdom? Maybe one to celebrate Dante’s nuptials?
The kitchen door flaps open, kicking my pulse up a few notches.
Defne’s gray gaze swoops off her tray and lands on my face. “Fallon.”
My name gusts through the quiet tavern, as heavy and sticky as the muggy air trapped between the weathered beams and scrubbed floorboards.
I don’t miss the dip of her throat or the way her mouth puckers.
Shock.She’s in shock.
I muster a smile and take a step forward.
“Leave.”
I freeze. Did she just ask me to—
“Please.” She shakes her head from side to side, which makes her wavy shoulder-length black hair swish over the beige linen bodice of her dress. “Please, Fallon. Leave.”
Chair legs scrape as two customers stand. “Something smells rotten,” one of them says, pinning me with a razor-sharp glare.
“Please stay, Signore Guardano.” Defne holds the platter so close to her that it dents her soft stomach. “Fallon, you’re no longer welcome here.”
My blood becomes slushy and cold like the waves that lick our shores at the peak of winter. I take a step back, my spine bumping into someone’s front.
“What’s going on?” Phoebus’s voice vibrates against my nape.
“I-I—” My heart is swelling so fast I cannot string an explanation together. I start to turn but pause to scan the room. “Where are Syb and Gia?” My voice is a raucous whisper.
Defne’s eyes shut as her throat moves over another swallow. “They aren’t welcome here either. You neither, Phoebus.”
His hands close around my shoulders in surprise. Eyes stinging, I duck out of his hold and pull open the door. When I step out, I wrench my neck back and shut my lids, forcing the tears to slide back in. The loud thud of raindrops against the stretched fabric awning echoes as loudly as each one of my heartbeats.
“A problem, Signorina Rossi?” Tavo’s oily voice slithers through the moist air, basting my strumming eardrums and worsening my mood.
I fling my lids up and glower at him. “No,” I lie.
The curve of his lips is so complacent and cruel that I want to punch him in the throat and whistle for Minimus.
