Page 8

Passersby gathered, captivated by the spectacle. It wasn’t hard to see why. The group’s barely audible humming raised the hair on Alessa’s arms, and the hoods shadowing their faces lent an air of unearthly anonymity.

Fear tightened her scalp as one figure disengaged from therest, pushing his hood back to reveal a striking face and prematurely silver hair. He smiled benevolently and a few people began clapping, though he hadn’t said a word.

Strategically veiled in the glow of a streetlamp, he held a large book aloft. Not an official copy of the Holy Verità—she of all people could spot the difference between the genuine article and a fake—but the glyphs on the cover bore a close enough resemblance to fool most people.

Women at the front of the crowd jostled for position, gazing at him with rapt devotion, and Alessa finally caught the whispered name. Ivini.

“Our gods tell us to have faith,” he said in a low, hypnotic voice. “That we are blessed with holy saviors.”

A savior you nearly got killed today.

“But we’ve grown complacent. Trusting. Naive.” His features softened with carefully crafted sadness, but his sharp eyes gauged the crowd’s response. “I ask you, are you sure ouresteemedFinestra will save us, or do you, too, wonder if the gods are testing us?”

A child in a stained dress worked her way through the growing crowd. She held out a beggar’s hat, but most ignored her, clutching their purses and avoiding eye contact.

Ivini dropped to an ominous monotone, and the crowd went silent. “The lost texts warn of a day when a false Finestra shall rise. One whom the faithful shall recognize on sight.”

His eyes raked across the crowd, but his all-knowing gaze spent no more time on Alessa’s face than anyone else’s. So much for that theory. He was a convincing liar, though. Shaking his head as if regretting what he had to say next, he pressed a hand over his heart. “There she sits, inourCittadella, slaughteringourprecious Fontes, coddled despite her wickedness. Sent by Dea?So they tell us. But would Dea send a murderer to save us? I think not. No, this bears the mark of Crollo.”

A young man with tousled dark hair and sun-bronzed skin shot a disdainful glance at the crowd as he strode past, and Alessa’s shoulders relaxed. At leastsomeonewasn’t buying what the holy man was selling.

“I ask you,” Ivini said, his gaze sharpening, “when the demons descend to devour every living thing on Saverio, will ourdearFinestra even pretend to fight or will she simply laugh while our brave soldiers are massacred? Will she cheer for the creatures as they gnaw at the gates of the Fortezza, or will she open them herself? And who will die first? Who will suffer most, but those of you who will be locked outside?”

The beggar girl tripped, spilling her coins across the ground. Her high cry cut through Ivini’s speech, and he stopped with a loud sigh, motioning one of his robed minions toward the girl.

Alessa couldn’t push through to help the poor child, but at least someone was going to.

The robed man bent to grab the girl’s tunic, forcing her to stand. “Blessed be the wretched, for they know not what they do. You’d need no coin if you had the sense to listen to your betters.”

Frowning, Alessa took an involuntary step forward.

“Let her go.” The crowd parted like butter to a hot knife as the young man stepped through, his sneer darker, frightening. He couldn’t be but a few years older than Alessa, but he walked with the authority of one who expected others to move aside.

Ivini’s disciple straightened until the girl’s toes barely touched the cobblestones, his grip firm. “Is she with you? If so, you need to teach her some manners. The gods don’t appreciate—”

“Drop her, or I’ll send you to meet your gods right now.” Theyoung man’s movement was slight, his broad shoulders shifting in the merest threat of a lunge, but Ivini’s minion stumbled back, inadvertently dragging the girl with him.

He didn’t make it far. The young man seized his wrist and gave it a brutal twist that splayed his fingers.

The girl broke free, darting behind her rescuer to use him as a barrier. With wide eyes, the child watched her bully forced to his knees, whimpering in pain.

The young man let go and wiped his hands on his pants with a look of disgust.

The disciple glanced around, clutching his injured arm, but no one leapt to his defense, not even his leader. It seemed the Fratellanza’s religious fervor didn’t extend to putting their bodies on the line.

“Brother,” Ivini said in a cold voice, fury burning in his eyes. “Let us show grace. Even the most wicked may come to see the light. Eventually.”

The dark-haired stranger knelt to help the child gather her scattered coins, adding a few from his own pocket before he stood and continued on his way, strolling past empty storefronts to where the street narrowed to little more than an alley. He stopped beneath a worn placard readingThe Bottom of the Barreland pulled the door open, releasing a burst of raucous voices. As if he could feel her eyes on him, he glanced back and met Alessa’s gaze, raising an eyebrow in silent challenge.

She looked away, blushing.

Ivini resumed his sermon, funneling his anger into it, and the crowd responded like a bonfire to dry kindling, flaring hot and fast.

Cold sweat dewed Alessa’s forehead. Renata and Tomo hadmade it sound like a few lone dissidents, but this was a revolt in the making.

“Whohas the courage?” Ivini demanded. “Whois brave enough to smite the false prophet?”

“I’d do it,” a woman shouted, and the crowd roared their approval.