In front of the fire rested two chairs and a sofa, as well as a small table where a book lay facedown, its spine protesting the treatment.
An unmade bed hid behind a tapestry displaying blond and brown wirehaired retrievers, and behind the fireplace sat weapons racks, clipper training tools, and stands. I hadn’t been gone from Lovero for long, but seeing these little reminders of its rich culture made my stomach coil with longing for the home I’d left behind.
“Keep moving,” the voice said behind me.
“What’s going on?” Alessio stood in front of the hearth, wearing only a pair of trousers and a pendant around his neck, his damp hair dripping across his bare chest. I looked away from him and tried not to think about Val or Val’s bare skin.
“Look what I found sneaking about.”
“How did she get in?” Alessio stared at me with his mouth agape.
“I came through the tunnel.”
The knife pressed tightly against my throat. “I don’t remember saying you could speak.”
“But how did you find it?” Alessio asked me.
“Alessio!” my captor snapped.
“I followed you,” I answered.
My captor inhaled, then shoved a fist into my spine, marching me forward. Did he really think he could handle this situation with a single measly dagger? Time to regain my advantage.
I dropped, bending backward. The top of my head shoved against his chest.
He stumbled away, his dagger scraping across my mask.
I yanked out a dagger of my own. Alessio stared at me, in shock. My captor climbed back to his feet. He turned to confront me.
My breath caught in my throat. I lowered my weapon.
It was like seeing a ghost. Tears filled my eyes as I raised my weapon again. I’d given a lot of thought to little Emile, Jesep, and my parents. And Rafeo, who’d died in my arms. I’d grieved for them, but seeing this man before me, this man who could’ve been my father, showed me how much I wasn’t done grieving for them. Showed me I’d never be done grieving for them.
He resembled my father, but the lines on his face were deeper, his hair longer and grayer, and he didn’t wear my father’s glasses.
“Is that any way to greet family, Uncle?” I asked.
“Family? Pah.” He spat to the side and slapped aside Alessio’s offered hand of assistance. “I have no family.”
I closed my eyes. I’d expected him to be difficult. I just hadn’t expected him to get the drop on me.
“Uncle?” Alessio looked between me and Marcello. He settled on me. “You didn’t tell me you were related.”
“It was none of your business,” I snapped. “And you never asked.”
“You’ve been fraternizing with her?” Marcello sneered at Alessio. “How quickly the apprentice turns on the master.”
“I haven’t done any such thing.” Alessio scowled at Marcello, then walked to a chair in front of the fireplace and pulled a worn cotton shirt over his head.
“This is why I said no jobs. This right here.” Marcello pointed at me. “And now you’ve brought trouble back to our home.”
Alessio sighed and waved his hand in my direction. “Clipper Girl, you can lower your weapon.”
“A clipper never lowers her weapon while a weapon is trained on her,” I quoted my father, and nodded toward the dagger still gripped in Marcello’s hand.
“Master, please.”
“A clipper never lowers his weapon while a weapon is trained on him.” He mocked me.
Alessio threw his hands into the air. “By the gods, it’s like reasoning with stubborn tigers! Master, I’ll vouch for her. And Clipper Girl, you are a guest in our home.”
He was right. It was incredibly rude to draw weapons on the lord of a manor. And besides, I hadn’t come here to fight. I’d come here for help.
I kept my eyes trained on Marcello as I slowly lowered my weapon. He sheathed his dagger and I followed.
“I won’t deal with anyone hiding behind a mask,” Marcello announced.
I hissed. My mask was a holy symbol of Safraella Herself! “You blaspheme.”
He smiled slowly. “No masks allowed in our home.”
Alessio sighed. “Clipper Girl, please humor him. I’ve seen your face before, and apparently he’s your family.”
I hated them. I hated that they had so much power over me, that because I needed them, I had to do what they said. I was powerless, like the night of the fire.
Just give them what they want. The faster I cooperated, the faster I could get back to the plan. And I didn’t have time to waste. I pushed down my hood and slid my mask to the crown of my head.
I stared at them, daring Alessio to brave a cocky comment, daring my uncle to gloat. A single wrong word and I’d show them what someone behind a mask could truly do.
“You are Bianca’s daughter, Oleander,” Marcello said. “I can see much of her in your face. Not so much my brother Dante.”
“Oleander.” Alessio smiled slowly, and no matter how hard I searched I couldn’t find malice or jest in his grin. “One of the prettiest of the poisons.”
“Lea,” I snapped. “Only my mother called me Oleander.”
Alessio inclined his head. “Kalla Lea.”