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She took a deep breath. “I’d like to train withallof the eligible Fontes.”

Padre Calabrese shook his head. “Tradition demands a wedding before a Finestra lays hands on anyone.”

“With all due respect, tradition died with Emer Goderick.” The pain of speaking his name threatened to steal her breath. “But we adapted then, and we can do so again. After all, that pairing was meant to endure for a lifetime, but clearly, the gods had other plans. The First Warning could arrive any second. We’ve run out of time for rituals and rules.”

Tomo shifted in his seat, his expression offering no hints whether his silence was a show of support or disapproval.

“Perhaps,” Renata said, “if she trains with all of them, we’ll discover who can withstand her giftbeforeshe chooses, and avoid another tragedy.”

“No, no, no.” Calabrese waved his hands to ward off the idea. “The people are already restless, they can’t handle sudden changes to our most sacred traditions.”

“Traditions won’t save us from the scarabeo,” Alessa said.

“The peoplearerestless, Padre,” Renata acceded. “And another dead Fonte could be the match that lights a wildfire.”

“We can’t abandon—”

“We won’tabandonanything,” Alessa said, clasping her hands in something akin to prayer. “Merely change the order of events a bit.”

“The people don’t need to know,” Renata said. “We can tell everyone she’s chosen her Fonte, but out of respect for her past Fontes, we’re having a private ceremony, with a grand reveal to come.”

“And how do you propose we keep them from noticing that none of the Fontes have left their homes?”

“Bring them all here,” Alessa said, struggling to keep her elation from showing. “We can say they’ve been moved into safer quarters or are staying here to support the chosen Fonte.”

Saverio’s religious leaders and elected officials whispered amongst themselves, faces drawn. The church elders looked unconvinced, but a few of the politicians nodded thoughtfully.

Alessa rose. “I appreciate your support.” Not permission. “As you know, it’s critical we present a united front in such perilous times.”

“Agreed,” said Renata, but her eyes held a clear warning for her rebellious charge.

Tomo nodded. “We can’t walk the same path again and again and lament arriving at the same destination.”

“Padre Calabrese, esteemed councilors,” Renata said. “We are, as ever, thankful for your guidance and support.”

Tomo pressed a kiss to Renata’s hand and stood. “I’ll begin preparations immediately and instruct the escorts to wait on their doorsteps until they’re packed and ready. We’ll have everyone moved in this afternoon.”

“Excellent, dear.” Renata smiled up at him. “Finestra, shall we?”

Padre Calabrese seemed to realize a moment too late that the tide had turned on him. “Hold on. When will she make her final decision?”

Renata shrugged. “Carnevale. Side by side, our royal saviors will kick off the festivities from the Finestra’s balcony.”

Carnevale was perfect. Preparations for every Divorando involved gathering seeds, young plants, and animals. As long assomeone, anyone, survived to open the gates afterward, Saverio would have a chance to rebuild and regrow. When those essentials were secured behind heavy locked doors on the lowest levelsof the Fortezza, the people would have one night to cavort in the streets in the beautiful clothes they couldn’t pack, gorge themselves on delicacies too perishable for the Fortezza, and drink themselves silly on wine and spirits. Carnevale was a collective taunting of the scarabeo, who might take lives and strip the world bare, but wouldnotget their wine or chocolate.

“Brilliant, my dear,” said Tomo. “Carnevale is a celebration of life’s fleeting joys, after all, and what’s more joyful than knowing your saviors will ensure there will be more joy to come? A quiet ceremony the following morning, on the Day of Rest and Repentance when there are no services, and the new Duo’s first public outing can be the Blessing of the Troops the next day. Perfection.”

Padre Calabrese blinked, but had no rebuttal.

Alessa dropped a low curtsy, her loose hair concealing the victorious smile spreading across her face. She’d won.

The temple doors had barely closed before Renata whirled on her. “Next time you decide to mutiny, Finestra, please remember to inform us ahead of time.”

Alessa deserved a medal for the shortest-lived victory in history.

She caught sight of a shadow on the floor in the corridor beyond and bit back her automatic apology. “I thought you wanted me to be a leader. Doesn’t leadership require making decisions?”

“It doesn’t mean keeping secrets fromus.”