Chapter 22 - Marella
Lucas spread a map across a low, marble table, pinning one curling corner beneath the weight of a book. "This is Rossaia before the waterways were diverted."
We were locked inside a windowless room in the Fratelli headquarters. Knowing where we were made my skin crawl, but Lucas had promised that we wouldn’t be disturbed in one of the studies.
Garrett leaned forward beside me, close enough that the sleeve of his robe brushed against my arm.
I pretended not to notice, but when I breathed in, I could smell the scent of his soap.
I was alarmed at how little of the map I recognized. It was so old that much of its contents were no longer accurate.
I should remember, I thought as I stared at the paper, brow furrowed, trying desperately to make myself recall what it was like living in that version of the city.
At least the water was familiar.
Blue veins cut through the city in every direction, branching between homes and markets before converging around the center.
Garrett traced one finger along a faded line, following the movement with his eyes.
It disappeared beneath a row of buildings I didn’t recognize, then reappeared farther east.
"The water was moved underground slowly," I explained, wishing that he’d look at me. "Not all at once, but piece by piece, until there were basically no accessible canals left."
Lucas nodded. "I thought that might be the point," he said. "Moving the canals underground meant that access to them became limited. It created artificial drought—wealthier men had all the water they needed. But the rest of the city…"
He trailed off.
I remembered the fights. I remembered watching from the fountain as families wandered the streets with buckets, looking for water.
And the more water Rossaia buried, the stronger Petra seemed to become.
"If she wanted the city dry, why not just remove the water entirely?" Garrett asked. "Why leave any access at all?"
I glanced at him, but he remained stubbornly focused on the map.
His hair was falling into his eyes. He pushed it away with one hand without looking up, revealing the sharp line of his cheekbone before the stubborn strands fell forward again.
I dragged my attention back to the table.
"She couldn’t," I said. "Not if she wanted humans to remain here."
It was so obvious that I almost felt foolish for never thinking of it before. Petra could have emptied Rossaia. She could have driven every human away, dried every well, buried every canal and left nothing behind but stone.
But she hadn’t. She’d left just enough. Just enough for humans to survive, if not thrive. Enough for life to continue, even if it was difficult.
She left enough water for people to fight over.
"It’s about control," I said, and Lucas nodded slowly.
Garrett frowned. "Maybe."
I glanced at him. "You disagree?"
"I don’t know."
He was quiet for a long time. And he still wouldn’t look at me.
Eventually, irritation got the better of me. "Care to explain?"
"I’m thinking." Finally, his eyes cut upward and locked on mine. His mouth curved upward.
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back, which only caused his to grow wider.
His entire face changed when he smiled like that.
I’d noticed it before, but there was something different about seeing it here, surrounded by the dark robes and ancient books of the Fratelli.
His eyes brightened until they were almost impossibly blue, and the worry that had pulled at his features seemed to disappear.
For just a moment, he looked completely open.
Then he looked back down, and I did too.
Lucas pulled a book from a pile beside the map and flipped through it until he found a marked page.
The earliest official records were written after the curse. By then, the relationship between my people and the humans had already deteriorated beyond repair.
Fear had turned to anger. Anger had turned to violence. And violence became our only means of communication.
"Maybe it’s conflict," Lucas said, eyes darting across the page.
I shook my head. Petra enjoyed conflict. I had no doubt about that. But enjoying it wasn’t the same as needing it.
"She’s grown stronger even in times of peace," I said. "She can obviously manufacture conflict. If she needed it to survive, why would she ever allow peace?"
Garrett reached across me for the book Lucas had been reading. As he did, his arm brushed mine. The contact was insignificant, but unfortunately, my body didn’t seem to think so.
It remembered him before my mind could stop it.
His hands.
His mouth.
The weight of him between my legs.
I moved my arm away, taking a deep and steadying breath. When I looked back at him, his nose was buried in the book, like he hadn’t even noticed.
I sighed and watched his eyes move across the page. Lucas had turned his attention to another tome, and I knew that I should be searching myself.
I pulled a book from the pile and pretended to start reading, but even as I sat myself down in a chair on the opposite side of the room, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him.
Garrett’s lips moved slightly as he read, like he was mumbling the words to himself.
I glared down at the book in my lap. The words on the page blurred together into nonsensical blocks of text.
What could I possibly learn from these books that I hadn’t been able to glean in centuries of searching?
And after all these years of seducing and luring men to their deaths, why was this one, singular Fratelli proving to be such a distraction?
It was supposed to be easy, making a man fall for me. But the longer I stared at Garrett, so immovably focused on the task of helping me, a veritable stranger, the more daunting I found the task.
Because how could I bargain with the soul of someone so… good?
I scanned the page before me, giving up on trying to focus on its entirety and instead simply searching for any mention of Petra.
Her name never appeared.
But why would it? Puppet masters are never featured in their own performances.
The hours ticked by. I flipped through pages rapidly, attempting to force myself not to constantly look up at Garrett.
I failed.
And every time I failed, every time I let my eyes flick upward to take in the way his features softened over the book, I felt something in my stomach sink when I realized that he wasn’t also looking at me.
Finally, after too much time spent focusing on him rather than the task at hand, I found myself pulled into the story of a dispute surrounding one of the old waterways.
Two wealthy families had fought for years over the rights to divert part of it through their land. The argument had spread through the city, pulling merchants and politicians into opposing sides.
Again, Petra’s name didn't appear anywhere. But her presence shimmered along the edge of the story, almost like I could see her standing at the center of it all.
Watching.
My head shot up. The movement was so sudden that it caught the attention of the men. Garrett’s eyes—finally—caught mine.
"She likes it," I said, holding his gaze.
His brow furrowed. "What?"
I struggled to put the feeling into words. "When people fight for things."
Across the room, Lucas leaned closer.
I shook my head, frustrated. That wasn't quite right either. People fought constantly.
Petra didn't care about every drunken brawl or jealous husband. No. It was something else, something beneath the fighting.
"Power?" Garrett asked.
But, again, I shook my head. Power was what she gained, not what she hungered for.
I glared back down at the book, rubbing my temple. I felt the strings of a solution hovering just out of reach.
Another book appeared in my line of sight. And when I looked up, Garrett was standing before me, holding it open, a serious expression on his face.
The page was open to an illustration of Rossaia during one of the worst droughts on record. People crowded around a well, hands outstretched. The drawing showed men fighting near the front while everyone behind them pushed forward.
I studied the picture.
There was more than thirst painted across their faces. They were gaunt. Pale. Even in the picture, they looked cracked and hollow.
Desperation. That’s what was depicted. They were desperate.
The thought hovered for a moment before slipping away.
"There’s something here," I said.
Garrett, still standing above me, nodded once, holding my gaze for longer than was probably necessary.
"Desperation," he said after a long beat, echoing my exact thoughts. "It’s not drought. It’s what it breeds. It’s the need."
I swallowed. Nodded. And looked away.
Petra sought to manufacture need. Suddenly, the terms of our bargain made much more sense.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t share that fact with either of them.
But as we sat in that room, discussing ways to move forward, I felt my heart beating rapidly in my chest.
Petra was smart. She’d found a way to feed off of me with compounding interest.
My desperation to save my family.
The need to make Garrett fall in love with me.
And now, more than I cared to admit, the need to protect him from her machinations.