This Cursed Light

Book 2: The Last Finestra

by Emily Thiede

Genres: YA Dark Fantasy; YA Romance

Synopsis

The heart-pounding sequel to This Vicious Grace, as Dante and Alessa face their most daunting challenge yet when the Gods demand they prove their worth by choosing the ultimate sacrifice to save humanity.

When the gods make the rules, the players must choose: sacrifice their love to save the world, or choose love and let it burn?

Six months after Divorando, Alessa is returning from a diplomatic trip, eager to embrace her post-battle life and live happily ever after with Dante. But as the ship nears shore, a premonition of danger strikes. Little does she realise that the battle of wills between the gods is just beginning . . .

In their time apart, Dante has physically recovered from his brush with death, but he's still haunted by nightmarish visions of looming attack, suffocated by the adoration of those who once loathed him, and grappling with the loss of his ghiotte powers . . . without which, every painful kiss he steals from Alessa threatens death.

Desperate to regain them, he proposes the pair take a dangerous trip to find the long-banished ghiotte - but what they find at their destination could cost them each other - or the world.

The highly-anticipated sequel to the epic romantic fantasy This Vicious Grace.

(P) 2023 Tantor Audio

Release date: December 5, 2023

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 352

Sample

One

Every day, Dante’s body betrayed him.

So he punished it.

Sweat stung his eyes, blurring the ruddy-faced dockworker across from him and the crowd boxing them into the narrow alley.

Dante beckoned with a flick of his fingers, and his opponent raised two meaty fists.

The guy’s opening swing was hesitant. Weak. Not worth dodging.

No one hit as hard as they used to.

A quick jab, a few more insults, and the brawler responded with more energy.

Finally.

Jab. Parry. Land a hit. Dodge. Swing again.

Dante ducked a blow to his face, allowed one to his ribs. Took a few, landed more. He could have knocked the guy flat in minutes, but then it would’ve been over. No fun in that.

“Referee’s here!” The cook swung ten-year-old Addie onto his shoulders for a better view, but she didn’t have much to do. The other guy bowed out a few minutes later, waving off the crowd’s friendly ribbing, and the dockers resumed their work, rolling barrels and hefting crates in better spirits for the brief distraction.

“The Wolf wins again!” Addie crowed.

Dante held out his hand, pretending to wince when she slapped his palm. Not much of a victory when your opponent refused to fight.

“The ship’s getting closer, signor.”

He squatted to look her in the eye. “I told you to call me Dante.”

“And my uncle told me to respect my elders.”

“Elders?” Dante grimaced. “Could you see anyone on the deck?”

“Like a lady in a fancy dress?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe, but extra information costs extra.”

“So much for respecting your elders.”

“Only suckers work for free.”

“Fair enough.” He made a show of counting out four shiny coins and handed them over.

Addie recounted, just to be sure, before answering. “It was still too far away to see anyone, but I sensed there was a lady, and she was pining.”

“You sensed, huh?”

“Yup. And Signor Adrick said I’ll get a whole cake if I tell the bakers next.”

“A whole cake?” Dante feigned shock. “You better hustle.”

The kid skipped away to inform Alessa’s parents of her imminent arrival, leaving Dante alone in the late-morning chill.

He pulled up his shirt to check the damage: A few bruises. A shallow scrape. Nothing he couldn’t hide. Some of the bruises might even have been healing a bit faster than usual. Maybe.

No one knew for sure if his powers were gone forever. People weren’t supposed to come back from the dead, but he had. Maybe the rest of him could, too.

He shook out his arms, grimacing at a twinge in one shoulder. It had been easier to appreciate the burn of a good workout when it hadn’t lasted so long.

Pain, he didn’t mind. He could handle pain. Pain had been his only companion for years while he took dangerous work and brutal punishments to survive, relying on his healing powers to get him through it. It wasn’t pain that bothered him. No, it was the constant reminder that ever since Alessa had brought him back from the dead, he was alive but not whole. That was the itch beneath his skin.

Towlines snagged in his chest, pulling in opposite directions. She’d be back soon, and he missed her with an alarmingly fierce ache, but he could feel the Cittadella walls closing in already, trapping him inside a labyrinth of memories—the scent of astringent, the bone-scraping sounds of suffering during the months the building had served as a makeshift hospital after Divorando—and people everywhere, watching him all the time.

At the docks, he could breathe. Sometimes even sleep. The memories

and nightmarish visions sent by Dea still chased him, but they had a harder time catching up.

He pulled open the back door, crusted with decades worth of chipped paint, and stepped inside. He’d never expected to own anything, much less an entire building, but after a month of renovations, the Bottom of the Barrel no longer deserved its name. It wasn’t fancy, but it suited him better than high walls and silk sheets, even if it did require constant repairs.

“You’re still here?” Adrick’s look of surprise shifted to something more thoughtful as Dante crossed the main room. Too observant by half, that kid.

“Obviously.” Dante avoided his gaze, rolling up his sleeves as though it required his full attention.

“Why are you still here? You know she’ll go straight to the Cittadella to find you.”

“Yeah, I know.” He ignored Adrick’s pointed sigh and headed upstairs.

When Alessa had left for Altari, tasking her brother with babysitting him, Dante had been fiercely determined not to like the guy, but the Paladino twins shared a dog-with-a-bone determination to win people over. Nothing could stop them when they sniffed out a potential friend.

Not that he and Adrick were friends, exactly, but silence wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be, and Adrick never let it last, filling quiet moments with jokes and chatter to avoid the things neither of them wanted to think about. After months of tending wounded soldiers in the aftermath of Divorando—and watching too many die—Adrick had a tighter set to his shoulders and a hint of darkness behind his eyes to match Dante’s own.

So, no. He didn’t mind Adrick hanging around. Most of the time.

In his rooms on the upper level, he eyed the package on his desk, debating for a minute before sliding it underneath the bed. She wouldn’t want some ratty old book.

As he stood, a fat drop of water landed on his head. Another damn leak.

Alessa was used to luxury. He couldn’t expect her to hang around a place like this. Especially if it was leaking.

He wrenched the window open and leaned out to peer toward the harbor. Above the roofline, tips of white sails cut the sky.

An hour. Maybe more. He had time.

A ladder was already propped against the building, and Dante made it to the roof a few minutes later. The first tile he tugged free was cracked, with signs of rot beneath, something he suspected might be true for most of the building. There was a metaphor about his life in there that he didn’t want to think about.

A speck landed on his eyelashes, and he blinked to clear his vision, but it wasn’t dust.

Tipping his head back, Dante watched the fluffy white flecks dance through the air. Alessa was back, and she’d brought winter with her.

He’d only seen snow once, ages ago. His father had dragged him out of bed, and they’d run through the flurries, catching snowflakes on their tongues. 

He held out his hand, and a lone flake drifted onto his palm, melting immediately.

One touch of warmth and it died.

---

Alessa gripped the ship’s railing, leaning forward like a carved mermaid. “Is that snow?”

“Looks like it,” Kaleb drawled. “I hope you’re a good swimmer, because I have no intention of delaying our arrival to rescue you.”

Their “brief” diplomatic trip to Altari had turned into two months, and the longer time had stretched, the more her worries had grown about what she might find upon returning.

Kaleb squinted against the brisk wind ruffling his auburn hair. “We should have dragged Saida along. My powers are clearly best for battle—congratulations on your excellent choice of main Fonte—but alas, electricity isn’t as useful as wind for making ships move.”

“Could you work on that? Make an electric-powered ship or something?”

“What am I, an engineer?” He rolled his visible eye. The other was covered by a silk patch. “I didn’t sign up to be your personal inventor.”

“Divorando’s over. What use are you to me now?”

Kaleb gave her an indignant glare. “I point out your flaws to keep you humble, and I’m a stunning date at formal events.”

“I have Dante for that.” Six months ago she would have been mortified by the lovesick little sigh that slipped free, but her pride was a worthy sacrifice to annoy Kaleb.

“Dante could never pull off this ensemble.” Kaleb claimed his colorful post-Divorando style was more befitting a savior, and they’d coordinated for the occasion, with her dress the same deep purple as his shirt and eye patch, rose underskirts perfectly matching the silk lining of his jacket.

“Dante would be irresistible in a burlap sack,” Alessa said.

“Eh. Not my type.”

She arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“Not because he’s a man.” Kaleb smoothed his hair. “That part’s fine. Ideal, really.”

“I thought so. You certainly never showed any interest in me.”

“Who’s arrogant now?” Kaleb said, jabbing her with his elbow. “You think everyone who likes girls is scheming to get under your skirts?”

“Hardly.” Alessa sputtered as a lock of dark hair blew over her mouth, catching on her lip gloss. “People of all genders and romantic persuasions fled at the sight of me for nearly five years. I’m under no delusion that I’m irresistible.” The wind was fast turning her carefully arranged curls into a tangled mess.

Still no sight of Dante waiting by the dock.

“Don’t hurt your neck. He’ll be there.” Kaleb adjusted his cuffs. “The whole city’s waiting

to welcome us home.”

She worried her lip. “He might not be up to it yet.” Her hope that he was right, that Dante was fully recovered, physically, mentally, emotionally, was sharp enough to draw blood.

“It’s been two months. He’s probably hearty and hale and back to stabbing people.” Kaleb’s sarcasm didn’t fully disguise his doubt.

She wasn’t the only one who’d struggled with guilt over leaving Dante while he was still … not himself. Even as his physical injuries had healed, he’d grown more brooding, obsessed with finding the other ghiotte to prepare for battle with a mysterious threat he insisted the gods were sending, until his fears had begun to feel just as real to her. But being away from his haunted eyes had cleared her own.

Saverio’s pattern never deviated: once a generation, the goddess Dea crowned a new Finestra with the power to magnify other people’s gifts, and five years later Crollo sent the scarabei attack of Divorando, which the Finestra and their chosen Fonte—or in Alessa’s case, more than one Fonti—were tasked to defeat. Then, after a respite of years or even decades—depending on how quickly the gods got bored—the Finestra’s power transferred to a new chosen one and the cycle began anew. And when that day came, Alessa and Kaleb would guide the next Duo Divino, just as Renata and Tomo had done for them.

Dante’s paranoia was understandable after a brush with death, but that didn’t mean it was true. He’d get past it. She’d help him.

“Why are we slowing down?” Alessa nearly wailed.

“Probably to avoid crashing into the docks and causing catastrophic loss of life and property. Or to vex you. Hard to say for certain.”

“First thing you’ll do?” Alessa asked. Any distraction to keep the worry at bay.

“Eat something that’s not seafood. I never want to smell another lutefisk in my life. You?” Kaleb said. “Wait, don’t answer that. Just promise you’ll take it somewhere private. Nothing ruins my appetite faster than displays of public affection.”

Her laugh came out a bit hysterical. “I don’t even know if I can touch him.”

“Where there’s a will, or enough pent up—ahem—energy, there’s a way.”

Her stomach flipped with equal parts excitement and anxiety. The unpredictable storm of her powers had retreated since Divorando, and she didn’t even wear gloves half the time anymore, but her magic had caused too much pain and death in the past to trust it.

A hug? A hug would be safe enough. Probably. Even though she wanted so much more.

“Please tell me you aren’t fantasizing right now,” Kaleb said. “Do you need a minute alone?”

“I hope I live long enough to see you destroyed by love.”

Kaleb scoffed. “Better eat your vegetables.”

At last, the ship neared the dock and sailors scurried around, tossing ropes, lowering 

 gangplanks, and doing whatever else sailors had to do to bring a ship home.

Their counterparts from Tanp, the farthest sanctuary island, were poised on the deck of their own ship, waiting to disembark. Both tall and slender with glossy black hair and amber skin, Ciro Angeles and Diwata Kapule had followed them to Saverio after the two pairs met on Altari, where they’d bonded over shared awkwardness as they attempted to uphold the post-Divorando tradition of touring, despite the fact that Altari had no Duo.

The Altarian saviors had tragically perished prior to Divorando, leaving the population to seek refuge on Saverio. Thanks to Alessa’s protection—and her team of Fonti—the Altarians had returned to rebuild their decimated home, but instead of balls and banquets, the ceremonial visit from the other two islands’ Duos had involved distributing donations and surveying the wreckage. Now they were back on Saverio, and it was time to celebrate.

Alessa gathered her skirts as the captain waved them over to disembark. The gangway swayed with every step, sending her stomach swooping, and the captain steadied her with a painfully tight grip on her arm. Alessa flinched but didn’t pull away. She could touch people now without making them scream in agony, as long as she stayed calm and focused, but people had lost their fear of her faster than she had.

“Thank—” Her words caught in her throat as she met the captain’s eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that—cold, blank, and vacant. Not even when half the city thought her a monster.

Strange, almost-whispers skirted the margins of her mind as the captain’s gaze sharpened. Consuming darkness. A void with no end. A ravenous craving to destroy—

The captain blinked and her eyes cleared. “Careful there.”

Dazed, Alessa pulled free.

“Another headache?” Kaleb said as she joined him on the dock.

Alessa swiped at the sweat dewing her forehead. “Just sea legs.”

She’d had too much time to think on the journey. Too many nights dwelling on her past, the faces of her first three Fonti when she’d stolen their final sparks of life. Because of her, Emer, Ilsi, and Hugo went to their graves missing a piece of their souls. Headaches were a small price to pay for what she’d done. She was fortunate the gods hadn’t punished her with worse.

“Shall we?” Kaleb said, extending his arm.

Alessa straightened her shoulders, pushing away the haunting moment with the captain. A cheer erupted as they waved to the crowd, and she basked in the adoration. This was right. This was what she’d been promised. Beloved. Victorious. Celebrated. Her reign was finished, and her time on Finestra’s Peak was over.

No more demons. No more wars.

It was time to begin the rest of her life.

Happily.

Ever.

After.

 

Two

After a few minutes of craning her neck, Alessa was forced to accept that Dante wasn’t waiting for her in the crowd. Or lurking behind it, which would have been more his style.

Diwata clutched Ciro’s arm as they made their way across the dock, looking overwhelmed by the reception waiting for them.

“What a beautiful island,” Ciro said. “That must be the peak where you battled—with multiple partners! Fascinating. Will we meet them all at tomorrow’s gala? Even the—pardon, I forget what you call them here.”

“Ghiotte.” Alessa’s smile took on a hard edge.

Diwata perked up. “It’s still here?”

“He,” Kaleb said firmly.

The roar of the crowd lining the road made it difficult to converse during their procession through the city, but Alessa pointed out key landmarks and interjected bits of Saverian history, to Ciro’s delight.

Gregarious and charming, if a bit stuffy, he was the type of person who seemed genuinely interested in what everyone had to say, and she appreciated it as one prone to nervous chatter. And Kaleb got along well enough with meek Diwata. He made no effort at small talk, so she wasn’t obligated to try.

After presenting them at Saverio’s finest inn, Alessa set a bruising pace the rest of the way to the Cittadella, but Dante wasn’t waiting for her at the gates, either.

Obligations, however, were. Renata and Tomo, the previous Finestra and Fonte, swooped in immediately.

“The conquering heroes!” Tomo called, glowing with health and a tan.

“At last,” Renata said. “We were starting to worry you’d miss your own celebration and we’d all have to drown our sorrows in the prosecco fountain.”

“Is Dante here?” Alessa asked.

Tomo frowned. “I haven’t seen him since we arrived.”

Alessa’s feet twitched to search for him, but the caterer had questions, and apparently it was crucially important that the Duo Divino selected the right napkins.

Alessa nearly hugged the guard who interrupted to inform them that a light repast was laid out in the library and “the young gentleman” was waiting.

“Oh, go on,” Renata said with an affectionate sigh. “We’ll handle the rest.”

Alessa wasn’t proud of how fast she left, but she wasn’t too dignified to speed walk, either.

“You are not leaving me to choose candelabra when there’s food upstairs,” Kaleb muttered, hot on her heels. “Slow down. Desperation’s not a good look.”

They jostled to get in front of each other, but Kaleb didn’t have skirts slowing him down and he reached the fourth floor first, lunging to hold the library door shut. “I’m helping you, here. Take a beat so you don’t scare the poor guy away.”

Alessa glared. “Open the door.”

“Just don’t pounce, for Dea’s sake.” Kaleb pushed the door open, and his expression shifted from haughty to aggravated. “Why are you here?”

“You’re not Dante,” Alessa blurted out.

“Wonderful to see you too, sister.” Adrick’s lanky form unfolded from an armchair.

“Sorry. It is good to see you,” Alessa said. “If unexpected.”

Kaleb swept past to glare at the charcuterie. Prior to their departure, he had determinedly ignored Adrick whenever her brother visited the Cittadella, harping on how Adrick had exposed Dante and tried to poison Alessa. But she suspected the long night Kaleb spent in a cold subterranean tomb after taking Dante’s place was as much to blame.

Adrick shook his blond curls back. “Mama and Papa are up to their necks in lemon zest making desserts for your reception, but they send their love.”

“And Dante? Where is he? How is he?”

Adrick gestured at the spread on the table. “Prosciutto?”

“Adrick,” Alessa warned.

“Breathe. He’s … fine. Physically.”

Alessa squinted at her brother. “But not mentally?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. He’s been through a lot. Just go easy on him, okay?”

“I will. When I see him. Which I cannot do if I don’t know where he is.”

“Where is Dante? See, that’s a question that raises more questions.”

“I may have to kill you, after all.”

“At least let me eat before you commit fratricide. I’m famished.”

Kaleb cracked his knuckles. “Want me to hit him? I can hit him.”

“No,” Alessa snapped. “Adrick, where is Dante?” ...