Instead, I narrow my eyes on his beady amber ones, hoping that the soldier blowing air from his palms to keep the redheaded general dry runs out of magic.
“Where to next, Signorina?”
“Are you planning on shadowing me, Tavo?”
His smile coarsens but doesn’t waver. “My job is to protect the kingdom from people who wish it ill.”
“I do not wish Dante or Luce ill!” I yell over the crack and growl of thunder.
Phoebus curls one hand around my elbow and leads me away. “Let’s go.”
Tavo doesn’t follow, but his voice does, “Reaching your house will be swifter by boat.”
Although the cobbles are slick and my eyesight blurry from the heat of my disappointment, I prefer to take the long way. I’ve steam to blow and frustration to shake.
“Did you know?” I snap at Phoebus.
“Did I know what?” His gait is as stiff as the line of his shoulders.
I stop walking in the middle of a wooden bridge strangled by dense vines of honeysuckle. “That we’d be considered rejects?”
“I guessed we weren’t going to receive a hero’s welcome. We did divide the kingdom, Fal.”
“Idid that. Not you. Not Syb. Not Gia.” The rain lashes at my cheeks, plastering the flyaways framing my face to my forehead. “None of you should be banned from Lucin establishments because of me.”
“We could’ve returned to Luce, but we chose to stay.”
“You were tossed into Mareluce and carried into the Sky Kingdom. What choice did you have?” My voice cracks.
“I could’ve ridden home with Dante, but I didn’t, so stop blaming yourself!”
My lower lip wobbles so hard that I have to trap it between my teeth to stop the rising wail from escaping. “Defne and Marcello kicked them out, Pheebs.” I croak. “They adore their girls, but th-they—they t-turned them away. My mother and grandmother are gone.” My tears tumble, smearing Phoebus’s features until he’s no more than smudges of green, gold, and peach. “For all we know, our friends sailed to Shabbe.”
“They’re at Antoni’s.” He dips his chin into his neck. “Where we should be as well.”
My heart catches. “Antoni’s?”
“In his new home.”
“I want to go home,” I whisper.
“Picolina, no one will be there . . .”
“I need clothes and—”
His lips press together. “Frankly, I’m scared.”
I put on a brave front for my friend. “You heard the sprites. Dante said that we’re not to be harmed.”
“No, just shadowed.”
I manage a shrug. “I was shadowed my entire life.”
“Doesn’t ease my qualms one bit. Not one bit.” He glances down the street, catching sight of a hovering sprite in full military regalia. “I give you one week to come to your senses, and not a minute more. Ifanyonetriesanything, I’ll whistle for Lorcan.”
“I doubt he’ll answer to a whistle.” I try to smile, but the sentiment stumbles off my lips.
Wiping my eyes on my sodden shirtsleeves, I turn to find another winged legionnaire suspended amongst the raindrops behind us and Tavo’s vessel rocking at the junction between the canal cinching Tarelexo and the narrower one over which we stand.
