Page 41 of Iron Roses

Wet earth clings to my knees. My breath rips out in ragged gasps, clouding the frigid air.

Then I see them.

A girl and a boy.

Sitting on a fallen log near a fire, holding hands like it’s a vow. Her dress is white. His back is straight, his head tilted toward hers. The curve of her jaw—Giovanna. Younger. Alive. The boy is Cassian. Hair longer, face gentler, but unmistakably him.

I open my mouth but no sound comes.

Behind them, two men move through the firelight. Chanting in a language I barely recognize. One holds a dagger. The other cradles a baby in his arms.

That’s when I see his face. My father.

My knees buckle, crashing into wet leaves. Pain flares through my shins and palms, but I barely feel it.

Oreste Fontanesi.

Alive.

His face lit by flame, gaunt but calm.

He’s looking at the fire like it’s sacred.

The baby in his arms doesn’t cry. Doesn’t move. The chanting grows louder.

I gasp.

I slam upright in the bathtub, water sloshing violently over the rim. I cough hard—choking on air and water and memory all at once. My chest heaves as I claw at the edge of the tub, trying to remember where I am, who I am.

And then it floods back.

The secret passageway.

The crest beneath the panel.

The altar.

The paintings.

Giovanna—her eyes. That last portrait.

The moment my hand touched the bloodstained stone.

The pain that tore through my body, the scream, the fire—

I look down at myself now, breath sawing out of me. And the pain hits me again as my body starts bucking.

Water floods my nose, my ears—God, my ears—and the pressure builds like a scream underwater. My body jerks again, harder, and my head smacks the edge of the tub.

Stars explode behind my eyes.

I try to breathe—stupid, instinctive—and suck in nothing but heat and pain. I gag, lungs spasming, throat raw as I inhale again by mistake. Water invades everything—mouth, sinuses, behind my eyes. My back arches, fingers curling like claws against the slick ceramic.

Chapter Nine – Cassian

The fire in the hearth has nearly died.

Ash folds in on itself beneath the iron grate, glowing faintly. My hands rest flat against the desk, fingers slightly spread.

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