Safraella had no mouth. No eyes. But I could sense Her smile.
She leaned closer. She placed Her face against my forehead, and the brightest pain of all rushed through my body. I closed my eyes and screamed and screamed until I could hear nothing but the anguish that burned through my flesh.
Cold water dripped onto my eyelids. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the liquid away. Rain, a slow, cold drizzle, coated the cobblestones, making them slick and shiny in the darkness. I lay on the bridge. The bridge where I’d died.
Safraella had resurrected me. A true resurrection, not just a rebirth like She granted everyone else.
I sat up, my hand rising to rub the water from my face, but my hand met a mask. I pulled it off and turned it around. It was a bone mask, perfectly flawless in its construction. Instead of a pattern, the whole left side was black. I ran my fingers over the color. It wasn’t dyed like a normal mask. The color seemed to be part of the bone.
I slid the mask to the top of my head, and something burned in my mouth. I choked, spitting it into my hands. A gold coin. But I’d given Val’s coin to Les.
I flipped it over. It was stamped with the Da Via crest. It grew warm in my hands.
I twisted until I spotted Les where I’d left him. His leathers were sopping wet, his hair plastered against his pale skin. At least the rain had washed the street clean of our blood.
The coin pulsed in my hands, still generating heat. I pushed Les onto his back and found a hole in his chest from Val’s sword. I pushed the hot coin into his mouth.
I sat back, watching his chest for breath, wiping away the water that dripped down my face. It had to work. It had to.
Please. . . .
Les coughed, inhaling deeply. His spine arched against the cobblestones, his mouth wide with terror.
When he’d breathed all the air he could, he rolled over frantically, scampering toward the edge of the bridge. Rainwater coursed down his cheeks, and he scanned around him like a panicked animal.
“Les,” I said quietly. “Alessio.”
His eyes snapped to me, and the fear in them drained away.
“I saw . . .” He swallowed loudly. “I saw . . .”
“I know.” I crawled to him, taking his hands in mine. The hole in his chest had vanished, and if I looked in a mirror, I expected my face would be free of bruises. Les breathed heavily, and then sobbed, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Gods, Lea . . . ,” he choked out. He pressed his head to my chest and I pulled him close, holding him tightly until his shaking stilled.
The rain lessened, then stopped. All the while, Les and I sat on the bridge and stared at each other, lost in our own thoughts. We had to rise, to see what waited for us in Marcello’s home, to once again plot against the Da Vias, but at this moment I felt no rush. Maybe looking upon Safraella’s face had driven me mad.
“She told me something,” Les said, his voice low and quiet. “Told me to do something . . .”
He paused, struggling with whether he wanted to tell me or not.
“She told me to do something too,” I said.
“I’m not sure if I can—”
“It’s all right,” I interrupted. “It’s fine.”
He nodded and took a deep breath. “She said She gave you a gift. A resurrection. Anyone you wanted.”
I nodded.
“Why did you pick me?” Anguish filled his eyes.
I took his hand, squeezing it. “My Family . . . my Family is gone. They are my past. But you are my future. I couldn’t turn my back on you.”
“You gave up everything for me?”
I leaned my forehead against his. “It isn’t worth anything without you. You make me feel alive when I’ve felt nothing for so long. When I thought I was done feeling.”
He rubbed his face. “No one’s ever come back for me before.”
My heart twisted at his words. “I will never abandon you.”
He pushed his fingers through my hair to my neck, pulling me closer. Kissing him then was better than any kiss in my life. Even though we were soaked and his lips tasted of blood, I would’ve spent the rest of my life kissing him there.
He shifted, tugging me closer. Something clattered to the ground beside us. We pulled apart. A mask.
Les turned it over. Black slashes covered the left side, like the claw marks of a tiger, but like mine the color was embedded in the bone, not dyed. He ran his thumb over the marks, then rubbed his unscarred forearm. “I don’t understand.”
“It seems you finally belong. Welcome to the Family, Alessio Saldana.”
He laughed, a short bark of joy. He slipped the mask over his face. He nodded and we got to our feet. I pulled my own mask over my face.
“Time to get to it?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Time to face the Da Vias.”
thirty-five
THE TUNNEL WAS DARK AND EMPTY AND STILL. WE made our way toward Marcello’s home, neither of us speaking. It didn’t seem there was anything to say. Either we’d find Marcello, or we wouldn’t, and our next direction would depend on that.