Chapter 61
EMBERLINE
Nico hid me in a house somewhere near the old market, tucked behind a crumbling brick wall and a locked iron gate that only opened when he whispered to it in a language I didn’t know.
I arrived, dragging the stench of fire behind me and the terror of nearly dying, and for the past two days, I’d barely been able to move.
Today, I didn’t move at all.
I lay curled on my side on a narrow bed, staring at the faded wallpaper until the shapes bled into each other.
I was so depleted from my burns, the gash on my palm still throbbed, my blisters still seeped, and my scorched throat and lungs were still raw.
Yesterday, I managed to change out of clothes that reeked of smoke and put on a clean shirt.
Not Dante’s shirt.
Dante’s shirts didn’t exist anymore.
The thought sliced through the shock with bright clarity, so I shoved that reality away, let the haze flood back in so I didn’t have to think about anything at all.
I only remembered snippets of that day. Burning in the depths of hell. Nico dragging me away, ignoring my demands to wait for my husband, dropping me here, where I’d screamed Dante’s name. Until darkness fell and my throat bled.
After that, everything was a blur.
I remembered Nico telling me to breathe, principessa, just breathe. Gabriel’s hand on my shoulder as he told me Dante had vanished into thin air. His promise they would find him.
But so far, they hadn’t.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make the ache disappear.
I’d told myself our marriage wasn’t real. And then… suddenly… it was. As real as anything in my life. More real than I’d ever dreamed a marriage could be, and now it was over.
“So, you’re awake,” a familiar voice drawled from the doorway. “No sense in pretending any more, principessa. You really are a terrible actress. Good thing you were born rich and didn’t have to tread the boards for a living.”
I squeezed my eyes tighter as Nico stepped into the room. Glass clinked against wood, then I sensed him staring down at me, probably with that worried tilt to his mouth.
“You need to feed,” he observed. “You’re white as a ghost, and frankly, you’re starting to scare me a little.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said automatically. “Go bother someone else with your annoyingly cheery personality.”
“You love my cheery personality.” A pause, then, “Emberline, look at me.”
He used my name the way Dante did when he was out of patience—with that tight edge of warning. I ignored him, turning my face further into the pillow, breathing in unfamiliar linen and Nico’s sweet, cherry scent.
“It’s been two days,” he pointed out, as if I didn’t know how many minutes had passed since I’d last seen Dante. “You need to eat so your wounds heal. You haven’t even insulted me properly. I mean… cheery personality? I’m starting to worry you’re losing your edge.”
The mattress dipped behind me as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Far enough away, he didn’t touch me.
The safehouse wards hummed faintly, as though they’d been laid down centuries ago and maintained with the bare minimum of effort. Not nearly as strong as Dante’s had been, though that hadn’t mattered, in the end.
No one will look for you here. You are safe, Nico had promised, over and over, until I almost believed him.
“We’re still searching.” Nico’s voice was low. “We haven’t given up, and you shouldn’t, either. Gabriel. The Brotherhood. We’ve scoured the rubble, the canals, the islands…”
A pause. The kind that told me he was choosing his next words very carefully.
“And?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“And there are no new developments,” Nico’s tone held an edge of frustration. “The only blood they found at the scene was yours… and some of his. Spilled, clearly, after the explosion. Not enough to be… fatal.”
We already knew that.
I stared at the ceiling until it blurred again.
“What about the traces of magic you discovered around the crater?” I asked flatly. “You said there were signs of containment sigils. Anything familiar?”
“Spent magic is like smoke.” He shifted his weight. “But there’s always a… specific flavor left behind. A signature, of sorts.”
My stomach dropped. I opened my eyes to find him staring into the distance, eyes narrowed, lips pinched.
“Who took my husband, Nico?”
“Whoever this was,” Nico spoke carefully, “covered their trail well enough, even I cannot track them. The containment field means they didn’t kill him; they captured him, Ember. That is a good sign. He’s still alive.”
Warmth bloomed inside my hollowed-out chest, filling the empty place my heart used to be. Only to be replaced by a simmering rage—growing like a tangled, thorny vine, crowding everything else out.
“My uncle or Marcello?” I wondered aloud. “Which one, do you think, is behind this?”
“Not sure. They both have motive and opportunity. They met the night before, when you…” He paused.
“Either of them has the means. I posted soldiers at every Pentarch’s palazzo, under the guise of increased security.
Severin backed me up, so this all looks legal.
More eyes on this city will make it harder for them to hide. ”
“If Dante’s not dead, then where is he?” I scrubbed my face. “Blowing up the house… that is a declaration of war. A statement. Why make him disappear? Why not kill him outright?”
“For all intents and purposes, you’ve disappeared as well,” Nico reminded me.
“There was no body, and so far, no announcement of your death. My guess is, Giovanni is still searching for you; his spies have been asking questions.” Nico’s tone turned gentle.
“We’ll know more in the next few days. One of them will reveal their hand; both your absences cannot go unnoticed for long. ”
“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” I whispered, the admission carving something open inside my chest. Not the tearing, violent pain I’d felt these past two days, but a relentless ache that made those tangled vines twist tighter until I could barely breathe.
“I promise you this. We will bring him home.” Nico set his hand over mine, heavy and warm and calloused from training.
“Dante was my friend,” he declared softly. “My brother in everything but blood. He saved my life in the pits more than once. I’m not going to pretend I know what he was to you, principessa. But we will get him back.”
I blinked down at our joined hands, throat burning with the scream I was holding back.
“I was supposed to hate him,” I whispered. “I mean, he was such an asshole, kidnapping me at my own wedding. So fucking pompous, rude, and arrogant, I vowed to take him down and spit on his ashes.”
“And instead?” Nico asked quietly.
I swallowed.
“And instead…” I choked out a laugh, staring at the cracks in the plaster. “I fell in love and started planning our future. Even that shitty house was starting to feel like home.”
Gods, the truth was pathetic spoken out loud.
“I thought we had time,” I whispered. “Time for me to tell him that somewhere between wanting to stab him and wanting to kiss him, I fell in… love.” The final word lodged in my throat until I couldn’t breathe.
“I never told him,” I finally managed. “I wasted every moment trying to convince myself that what I was feeling was dangerous for both of us. And now he’s…” My vision blurred.
“Ember.” Nico’s voice was soft. “You didn’t waste anything. Trust me, he knew.”
I pressed the heel of my hands to my eyes. “I was going to tell him,” I whispered. “After he came back that day. I was going to look him in the eye and tell him I would have chosen him. Because I—” My voice broke.
Because I couldn’t live without him.
“You’ll be able to tell him all that yourself.
” Gabriel was outlined by the doorframe, rolling his shirt sleeve down over a corded forearm, buttoning the cuff.
He stepped inside, those blue eyes burning, so like Dante’s, the breath caught in my throat, and that thorny vine wrapped around my heart and squeezed out the last few precious drops of blood.
“We’re going to find him. He’s not dead.” Gabriel reached up and rubbed his chest, right where my own heart ached and ached. “If my brother was dead, I’d feel it. And he’s alive.”
A tiny, treacherous spark of hope battered back the darkness inside me.
“If this was Uncle Gio...” I toyed with the edge of the blanket. “I know about his network. I can tell you who to watch, who to follow.” My gaze found Nico’s. “Who to talk to.”
I knew what I was asking. That Nico’s methods of talking would involve knives and fists and broken bones, but frankly… I didn’t care. I had a terrible feeling Dante’s time was running out, and I wanted my husband back alive. In one piece. And if I left a trail of bodies behind me, then so be it.
Nico reached for the glass he’d set down earlier and held it out to me.
“Drink,” he commanded. “Then we’ll talk about what comes next. But… I’d like to see that list of names, principessa.”
The liquid inside was dark and viscous, the scent of blood heavy and rich. My body reacted instantly—fangs punching out, hunger twisting in my gut. I hadn’t fed… since right before the explosion. My injuries weren’t healing, but drinking from anyone but Dante…
“I can’t,” I pushed the glass away.
“You don’t get to starve yourself to death.” Gabriel’s voice was unyielding. “You want to help? Then get yourself strong.” His eyes flashed before he glanced away, jaw locked tight. “That’s my blood. We figured… I might taste more familiar. Now drink, or I’ll force it down your godsdamned throat.”
I stared up at him, hunger and horror battling inside me.
“Dante is still alive somewhere,” he promised, his tone softer. “Fighting for his life. Do you think he’d forgive any of us if we gave up now? Are you going to lie in this bed while Giovanni toasts his success?”
I snatched the glass from Nico and tossed the entire thing back, Gabriel’s blood burning a path down my throat. The flavor of his blood was similar to my husband’s, sweeter, maybe, less spice and fire, then power hit my veins in a sudden surge, every one of my senses sharpening.
Like my rage.
“There,” I said hoarsely. “Now, where the fuck is my husband?”
When Nico and Gabriel exchanged a look over my head—a silent conversation I didn’t have the patience for—I threw the glass against the wall, glass shattering, blood scent saturating the air.
“We don’t have time for this. Where the fuck is my husband?” I demanded. “Tell me, or I’ll go to the palazzo and ask my uncle myself.”
“You’re supposed to be dead, princess.” Nico moved to block the door. “And you need to stay dead.”
“Still not answering my question,” I snapped, that vine tightening and tightening until I could barely breathe. “Where is he, Nico? Tell me, or I swear, I will find out myself.”
“We’re not sure,” Gabriel drifted closer, the scent of fresh blood hanging around him, and my eyes dipped to his wrist, where he’d had his sleeve rolled back, where two fresh punctures glistened.
“And until we have proof, we’re not floating some half-assed theory past you.
” A slight smile curved his lips. “We know how you love to take matters into your own hands, bella.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up fully, the room tilting.
“I’ve been known to exercise caution. Occasionally.” But I recognized they might be right about my impulse control right now. “I would do anything to get Dante back. But I swear, if you tell me where he is, I will not make a move. I just… I have to know.”
“The penal colony,” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, “We think he was taken to The Fossa. My father had an… understanding with the male who runs the pits, and since that was his solution fifty years ago… we think he approached them again.”
“The Fossa,” I repeated, my throat thick.
The place he never spoke of, because the scars were so deep. The place he’d barely survived. Horror slithered into my bones like a chill I’d never get rid of.
“The real problem… we don’t know where it is,” Gabriel admitted. “Draconi recruits are taken in and out of there blindfolded, and the penal colony doesn’t appear on any map. The place doesn’t exist on any official record.”
“It’s somewhere hot, where it never rains. Arid desert. Sand and stone.” Nico slanted me a look. “Before you get it in your head to go looking, I was there for five years, and that is all I know.”
“We’ve narrowed our possibilities down to several regions, but this is a well-guarded Dynasty secret.” Gabriel’s lips were in a tight line. “If my father knows, he’s never told me their location.”
“What about Severin?” I asked Nico. “Since the fighting pits are required Draconi training grounds, he’d know where they are, right?”
“Severin doesn’t know any more than me. Recruits are taken from our training center with hoods over their heads by The Fossa’s personal guards. The hoods only come off once they reach the pits. All three dynasties use The Fossa as a dumping ground for criminals. The worst of the worst.”
I reached up and rubbed my chest, trying to ease the ache.
My husband was back in the place he’d fought tooth and nail to escape. A place that had almost destroyed him. Turned him into… well, I’d only gotten a glimpse of that side of Dante, but it had stripped away everything decent and left nothing but the beast underneath.
And if I knew my husband, he was fighting because he would never go quietly into whatever fate his enemies forced upon him.
I would fight just as hard to bring him back.
“Show me these maps of yours. Giovanni had international interests I helped him negotiate. Maybe there’s some overlap between his business dealings and Marcello’s. If we could narrow the possibilities down to two or three locations, we’ll save time.”
And save my husband.
And for the first time in two days, Nico’s smile held a glint of real, vicious satisfaction.
“Come down to the kitchen, principessa.” He grinned as he offered me his hand. “And we’ll show you everything.”