When I tried to imagine it for myself, I couldn’t. Instead, I just pictured my family and Paola and Ale going on without me. I imagined them growing older and filling up their lives with other people and not even noticing when my birthday passed by. Now that I was thinking about it, I couldn’t believe I’d ever been able to not think about it.
“Paola,” I said.
“Yes?” she said slowly.
“I’m not going to die,” I said. “Do you know why?”
“Why?” Her voice was quiet.
“Because I don’t want to,” I said.
The look on her face was impossible to read. I was terrified she was going to laugh, because sometimes I said things that were very serious, and grown-ups just laughed. She smiled, and I tensed defensively as she picked up the washcloth at my side and reached out to dab my clammy forehead.
“Fierce little Emanuela,” she murmured. “I believe you. I really do.”
She was right to believe me. My fits became farther and fewer between. In a few months, I was bouncing from tea party to tea party, tussling with all the other little girls, and the worst of it was a distant memory.
I was completely healthy when my omen appeared on my hip. It just showed up out of nowhere, for no reason at all.
Of course I didn’t turn myself over to the tower. My sickness couldn’t kill me. One little mark on my skin wasn’t going to kill me, either.
Nothing is going to kill me. I won’t let it.
FIVE
I DON’T REALIZE I’VE DOZED OFF UNTIL I’M WAKING UP. It’s pitch-black, and there are cold fingers on my arm.
“Emanuela—shh—shhh—”
Now there’s a cold hand over my mouth, suffocating me. My first thought is that I’m in the watercrea’s tower. I’m certain that her guard is carrying me off to whatever terrible punishment she uses on people who defy her.
“Sorry.” The voice is whispering right in my ear. “Sorry. I—I heard something. I think—”
Of course. It’s Ale. I’m in the catacombs with him because the watercrea is dead. Because I killed her.
“I blew out the lantern,” he says.
I sit up and look around the dark hall, which doesn’t accomplish much. Then I hear the footsteps. They’re soft and quick, and they’re coming from… somewhere nearby. The way the sound bounces off the stone walls makes it hard to be sure about anything more than that.
Ale fumbles at me like he’s trying to pick me up.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Shh,” he says. “I’m hiding you. In one of the memorials.”
He’s talking about the nooks all sitting in a row, meant for dead people. I’m not going into one of those. I squirm away.
“Emanuela—”
He tries to grab me again. A brief struggle ensues, and my foot connects with something metal. Our lantern topples over and rolls, and it is, to say the least, rather loud.
Ale and I freeze.
The footsteps get louder.
I climb to my feet. I’m still shaky, but sleep has given me just enough strength to get by. I can feel Ale close behind as I run, quietly, trying to get away from the footsteps. I reach the end of the hall and duck around the corner.
I’ve miscalculated. Someone is there. It’s a shadowy figure holding a glowing lantern of their own.
They lunge for me.
“Emanuela—” they’re saying. “Don’t you—augh! Don’t you dare bite me, you little—”
I recognize the shrill voice and cease my attack.
“Paola?” I say. “How did you—”
“Shh.” She pushes me against the wall and urges me to the ground, where she crouches in front of me. “Here.”
She puts something in my lap. It’s a loaf of bread, and I’m tearing into it without even deciding to.
“Where’s Alessandro?” she says. “Oh—hovering, as always. Get over here, you silly thing. We don’t have much time.”
“How did you find us?” I say through the bread as Ale’s worried face appears over Paola’s shoulder.
“A rumor,” she says. “Apparently, one of the maids at the House of Serpico saw you go this way. The guards will be close behind me—although I heard them arguing over who has to search down here, the superstitious lumps.”
“You’re superstitious,” I remind her.
“But I’m always prepared.” She produces a small pouch out of her bosom and waves it around me, like she’s warding off demons. I’m very familiar with Paola’s protective blends. This one smells characteristically horrid—like too-spicy peppers and rotten garlic.
“So the guards know we’re here,” I say.
“And they’ve searched everywhere else,” she says. “You can’t make enemies in Occhia.”
You can’t make enemies in Occhia is one of Paola’s favorite sayings. It means that even two Occhians who live in distant manors in distant neighborhoods will see each other at every worship and every party and every holiday market. This, of course, has never stopped me from making enemies before. I like being able to see them.
“We just have to find a way back up to the city,” I say. “One that’s not crawling with guards. Then—”
“It’s not just the guards, Emanuela,” she says.
“What?” I say.
“Everyone knows what you did,” she says. “Everyone’s looking for you, and they want to see you punished. They’re desperate for it, actually. I’ve never seen the city like this.”
Everyone is looking for me. The thought is, somehow, equal parts disconcerting and pleasing. They’re not thinking of me as the girl who was stripped naked and dragged out of her own wedding. Not anymore.
“Why are they so worried about me?” I say. “If they were smart, they’d be hoarding water.”
Paola’s face turns grim.
“There’s no water to hoard,” she says.
“But the underground well—” I say.
“The underground well is nearly empty,” she says. “The men from Parliament rushed there and found nothing but a few drops. Word got out, and then the panic really started.”
My mouthful of bread feels like it’s turned to ash.
“But…” Ale says, his face white. “But it can’t be empty. It’s not supposed to be empty.”
“Tell that to the well, boy,” Paola says impatiently. “Nobody knows where the water went. There’s all kinds of talk in the streets. Most people think you took it, somehow, which is just—” She pauses, eyeing me suspiciously. “You didn’t, did you? Are you hiding it somewhere to make a point? If anyone could—”
I force down my bread and cough. “Alas, even I don’t know how to steal an entire well.”
Paola reaches into the bag at her side and pulls out a small jug of water. She presses it into my hands, and I take a long drink.
“But, Paola—” I’m a little breathless as I lower the jug. “It doesn’t make sense. We should have had lots of water. The watercrea was taking so much blood. More than we realize.”