CHAPTER 23

Thirty-six hours, I thought dimly. The market was in full swing by the time I forced myself to my feet, clawing my way awkwardly up the branches of my cage. Again, pain shot through my limbs as the blood began to flow to my feet. I hung there against the branches, clenching my teeth to keep from screaming. When the pain abated, I opened weary eyes on the people beneath me.

Whereas my tongue felt like a lump of dead flesh yesterday, today it felt shriveled, even odder in my mouth. Four nuns were walking toward me. I could not help myself. Even though I’d sworn I would not stoop to such measures. The idea of a drink, just a sip—

“Please! Sisters!” I cried, my voice monstrous and garbled, foreign to my own ears. “A bit of water! Only a bit of water!”

The one in front paused but did not look up. Her companion bent and said a word in her ear, and they immediately went on their way.

With frustration, I felt tears rise to my eyes. Dry as the desert, Gabi, and you’re going to waste what you’ve got left on tears? Seriously?

But I couldn’t help it. I was trembling and weak, feeling not at all like myself. Tears streamed down my face. If I could only have some water, just a cup full, how much better I’d feel!

I wept as if I was the only woman who had ever suffered such horror, ever. Then I cried over my weakness, knowing that others had suffered far worse. Come on, Gabi, get a grip. Get a grip!

As the piazza emptied for siesta that afternoon, I sank back to my corner perch and fell into a sketchy, dream-filled sleep, waking again and again, and yet not able to stay alert either.

You are not alone.

I opened my eyes then and turned to my right, trying to get my eyes to focus in the fading afternoon light. Who was there, below me?

Lord Greco. He waited until a pair of women passed by, then with his foot, he casually traced the shape of a triangle.

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, with the dim idea of calling out to him, to beg for water, but he had moved on through the arch and out of my line of vision. Slowly, I rolled my head to the left, looking down the street in that direction, but he wasn’t there either.

Could someone speak when dying of dehydration? When her tongue refused to cooperate? When one small movement made her dizzy?

He wanted me to remember the triangle tattoo, I decided, dragging my eyes up into the pale, washed out sunset. Why? So that I knew not everyone in this city was my sworn enemy? That he’d look after my body, after I died? See me properly buried rather than left here as Barbato threatened?

What was the point?

I could tell already that, come morning, I would not be able to rise. I was too weak, my arms and legs feeling like sticks of butter in a hot kitchen. Worse, I was getting to the place that I didn’t care.

That can’t be good, I thought distantly, assessing myself as if I was my own nurse.

But really, wouldn’t it be easier to let go, give in, rather than fight? These people were not going to show me mercy.

I had only a day left in me, anyway. People could survive a long time without food. But without water? I knew it was impossible. I’d seen enough Man vs. Wild to know that. People set adrift upon the sea. Plane crashes in the desert. Lots of time on the food front. But liquid? Seventy-two hours, tops. Then the internal organs started shutting down. Once your kidneys went, you were totally messed up.

Forty-eight hours, I thought, watching as stars began to emerge in the darkening sky, drifting again, as if I were in one of those life rafts.

I had a day left in me, then I’d be dead.

Dead like my dad. With my dad?

With him? Somewhere? Heaven? For the first time that day, I felt a jolt of hope. Peace.

Lia would have Mom.

And I’d have Dad.

Forever.