Torrent by Lisa T. Bergren

very worst we would have to deal with. I’d heard servants whispering of repeated floggings. That he’d almost died last year before Lord Greco stepped in and placed him in his own dungeon cell. But he’d recently been taken back to the city prison, and things had obviously gotten much, much worse.
    What if we had taken longer to return? What if we never had? If the rumors were true, I could only picture Fortino dying. Cold, alone, tortured by infected wounds…It was such a terrible picture that I could hardly think of anything but freeing him. I remembered his smile, how close he had been to death when I first arrived, how he had been returned to us, almost as shockingly as my dad had been. In those days and weeks he had become a brother to me. And he’d fought for us, for Marcello, for Siena. We owed him. We all owed him.
    “You know that it will mean another battle, if we take Fortino and escape,” I said, for the hundredth time.
    “I’m well aware of it, Gabriella,” Marcello said, “as are the rest of the Nine. We are prepared to again defend ourselves—and our She-Wolves.”
    “I only want to know you’re prepared.”
    He and Luca shared a small smile. “We are,” Marcello said calmly.
    “Are they gonna let us in on their plan?” Lia grumbled.
    Both men stared forward, self-satisfied expressions on their faces.
    “I don’t think so,” I said.

     
    We spent the night at a villa tantalizingly close to Castello Forelli and then skirted her lands on our way up to Sansicino. It was raining like crazy, and we tried to keep oilskin capes over our heads and clothing to stay somewhat dry, but I was shivering. Seriously, my teeth were chattering and everything.
    Georgii and Lutterius, who were twins—something of a novelty in this time—rode ahead, scouting for enemies that might be hidden about. They seemed more like big, friendly Labrador puppies than knights, and I worried for them. “What if they run into a trap?” I asked Luca.
    He shrugged. “It is a scout’s duty to be aware, to spot what others cannot.”
    For as much time as I’d been here, I still wasn’t quite used to the medieval Tuscan man’s way of thinking. It was so dang harsh . We might as well have been with a group of Special Ops guys assigned to ferret out rebels among the caves of Afghanistan. My hope was that we’d get over this hurdle and actually experience life like Marcello had imagined—settling down, finding peace. But was that a realistic hope while Castello Forelli remained in enemy hands?
    Not likely.
    I didn’t know what Georgii and Lutterius hoped to see—we could barely see more than fifty feet ahead of us, given the fog and the pounding rain. Any prints on the road that might give them clues would surely be washed away. Whatever . I wasn’t going to ask Marcello to call them back. I knew it’d be fruitless.
    So we rode on through the rain and muck, with mud splattering up from the horses’ hooves to their bellies—and our dresses. I fought the urge to whine, “When are we gonna get there?” But I really wanted to know.
    When Marcello drew closer, he gave me an encouraging smile. “As fine as this weather is, you’ll be glad to know we’re only an hour from Sansicino’s bridge.”
    I sighed in relief. “Very good, m’lord. At least we’ll be able to change into dry clothing and sit by a warm fire.”
    “Indeed.”
    Men’s shouting, muted by the rain, brought both of our heads forward. Someone was coming. Fast.
    Marcello had just barked his warning and the men were on the move, taking defensive positions, when a man on a massive gray gelding rounded the bend of the road, spraying water and mud with every hoofbeat. Right behind him were Georgii and Lutterius, swords drawn, faces—normally alight with mischief—now filled with fury.
    The men at the front had no time to meet his charge, only to stand and ready themselves for a strike. We were relatively confident, given our twenty-four to his one,