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“At least let me see him.” Alessa choked on her words. “Please.”

“Dearest…” Tomo said softly.

Renata sucked her teeth. “Noweeping. Chin up. Eyes blazing. Walk in there like you’re about to rip his limbs off.”

Luckily for them all, Alessa had more than enough pent-up anger to fake it.

Tears dried, regal mask in place, she followed Tomo and Renata to a small holding room reserved for drunken or unruly soldiers in need of cooling down.

The Captain bowed at their approach. “Finestra, Signor, Signora, I failed to see the threat inside our own walls. If it’s your wish, I’ll resign immediately.”

What Alessa wished for was to slashhimacross the face with one of Dante’s knives.

“Do you still doubt your Finestra?” Renata demanded.

“No,” the Captain said breathlessly. “Never again. Crollo must be mighty afraid. Our Finestra will be the greatest in history.”

Renata gave Alessa a pointed look.

Alessa held out a gloved hand, palm up, toward the Captain. “The daggers.”

“Oh, of course.” The Captain retrieved them and handed them over.

Alessa examined them, then slipped the dagger painted with Dante’s blood into the hidden pocket of her dress. The other, she flipped, catching it by the hilt as Dante taught her.

Without signaling her intent, she stepped forward and thrust the dagger up toward the Captain’s chin.

His head snapped up, eyes darting to Tomo and Renata, whosaid nothing as Alessa tapped the knife against the lump bobbing in the Captain’s throat. He could have disarmed her. They both knew it. But she was his Finestra, and if she wanted to kill him, he would let her.

“I will forgive you, Captain,” Alessa said, her words clipped. “If you swear from this point forward you will report directly tomeabout any concerns regarding my safety.”

Captain Papatonis croaked his assent.

“And if you ever attempt another stunt like that without my approval,” she said, “I’ll feed you to a scarabeo myself.”

“Wonderful. Now that we’ve settled that,” Tomo said, “we’d like to speak with the prisoner before we make our recommendations to the Consiglio.”

The Captain ran a finger beneath his collar as Alessa lowered the dagger. “I’m not sure that’s safe.”

“If the three of us can’t protect ourselves against one chained ghiotte, we’d be pretty pathetic saviors, don’t you think?” Renata said.

“And, besides,” Tomo said with a bland smile, “the Finestra is armed.”

The captain had no rebuttal.

Inside the room, Dante sat against the wall, ankles bound, hands tied behind his back. He could have looked ferocious—monstrous, even—but Alessa only saw fear in his coiled muscles, desperation in his sneering bravado. His gaze locked on her as if he was drowning and she held the only rope.

“Leave us, Captain,” Tomo said.

Alessa managed to wait for the door to close before kneeling to wrap her arms around Dante’s neck. His body was rigid as iron, brittle as glass.

“I hate to intrude, but we need some answers,” Tomo said. “What do you have to say for yourself, boy? Why did you come to the Cittadella? For money? Power?”

Dante scuffed a toe on the ground. “She asked me to.”

“Any other reasons?”

Alessa took a long breath. “He wanted to find information about other ghiotte. Where they might have gone. And we’ve been looking for clues about where the Fonte di Guarigione might be, if it still exists.”