Even on a sunbaked island, the sun couldn’t warm what it never touched.Ĭupping her hands as though in prayer, Alessa brewed a minuscule wind funnel between her palms. Still, the dank chill reached for her bones. Her latest wedding dress was packed away, traded for a mourning gown and knee-high boots, with a black mantilla over her hair. So, even knowing her touch might be his last, she’d reached for him a second time.Īlessa Paladino, divine weapon of the gods. But the gods had chosen her, and she’d chosen him. Hugo, her third Fonte and the unfortunate body before her, had insisted it was only nerves when his hand trembled in hers. Still, it was difficult to muster tears for yet a third time.
Being widowed at eighteen was tragic, after all, and none of her partners had deserved to die. The temple beneath the Cittadella smelled of mildew and death, the air thick with dust motes drifting like the ghosts of fireflies. Through the Divine Window, light burns demons to ashes.Ī better person would have been devastated, but Alessa bowed her head to hide dry eyes as she knelt before the jewel-encrusted coffin on the altar. Attraverso la Finestra Divina, la luce riduce i demoni in cenere.
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