Chapter 36 The Stone Cage
The East Wing of the Sicilian fortress was not built for comfort; it was built for survival.
The walls were three feet of solid stone that radiated a damp, persistent chill, and the windows were narrow slits designed for archers, not for viewing the sunset.
The floors were bare tile that echoed with every footstep, amplifying the silence of the massive house.
Donatello led us down a long, drafty corridor, his boots striking the stone with a military rhythm.
I walked behind him, carrying Jasmine. She had fallen back into a restless doze, her arms locked around my neck in a death grip, her face buried in my shoulder.
She was heavy, dead weight in my exhausted arms, but I didn't complain.
Her weight was the only thing grounding me in this alien place.
Dante walked behind us. I couldn't see him, but I could feel him.
His presence was a heavy, silent pressure against my back, a storm cloud waiting to break. He hadn't spoken since the courtyard.
"Here," Donatello said, stopping at a heavy wooden door bound in iron straps.
He pushed it open.
The room was large but sparse, feeling less like a bedroom and more like a monk's cell carved for a giant.
A massive four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in heavy wool blankets rather than silk.
There was a stone fireplace and a heavy wardrobe that looked like it had been carved from the hull of a ship.
"This is the family suite," Donatello said. "The nursery is through the connecting door."
He pointed to a smaller door on the left.
"She won't sleep in the nursery," I said immediately, tightening my hold on Jasmine. "She stays with me."
Donatello looked at me with his flinty eyes, then looked past me to Dante for confirmation.
Dante stepped forward. He looked at Jasmine, sleeping fitfully in my arms, and then at the cold, empty nursery through the open door.
"She stays," Dante said. His voice was rough, tired.
Donatello nodded and left without a word, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Dante walked to the fireplace. He knelt and began to arrange logs on the grate, his movements sharp and angry.
He struck a match, the flare of light illuminating the harsh planes of his face, casting deep shadows under his eyes.
"Put her down," he said, not looking at me.
I walked to the bed. The mattress was firm, the sheets crisp and cold. I gently lowered Jasmine onto it.
As soon as I tried to pull away, she whimpered, her small hand clutching my shirt fabric in a fist.
"No... Lily..."
"I'm here," I whispered, stroking her hair. "I'm just taking off your shoes."
I unbuckled her shoes and pulled the heavy duvet over her. She settled, but her hand didn't let go of my hem.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trapped.
Dante stood up. The fire was catching, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone walls, but it did little to warm the room.
He looked at us.
He looked at his daughter, clutching the shirt of the woman who had betrayed him.
He looked at me, sitting in his family's ancestral bed, wearing his oversized shirt and covered in the dust of his destroyed home.
He looked like he wanted to break something.
"I will have food sent up," he said.
"Dante," I said softly.
He stopped at the door, his back to me. He wouldn't look at me.
"Is there... is there a bathroom?"
He gestured vaguely to a door in the corner. "There is running water. It is cold. This is not a hotel, Lilith. It is a bunker."
"I know."
He put his hand on the latch.
"Where are you sleeping?" I asked.
He paused. "There is a room down the hall."
"You're leaving us alone?"
He turned around slowly. His eyes were bleak. "You are in a fortress on a cliff, surrounded by fifty armed guards. You are safer here than you have ever been."
"I don't feel safe," I whispered. "And neither does she."
It pained me to admit it, but that attack with the ghost had shaken me up. And he made sure to make me regret admitting it with his next words.
"That is not my fault," he snapped. "That is the fault of the man you let into my walls."
The accusation hung in the air, sucking the oxygen out of the room. He still blamed me. Of course he did. I had held the key. I had opened the door.
"I saved her," I reminded him, my voice scratchy in my throat.
"You put out the fire you started," he corrected. "Do not expect a medal."
He opened the door.
"Lock it from the inside," he ordered. "Donatello has the master key. Do not open it for anyone else."
"Dante—"
"Goodnight, Lilith."
He stepped out and closed the door.
I stared at the heavy wood. I didn't get up to lock it. I knew he would hear if I didn't, but I didn't have the energy.
I looked down at Jasmine. She was the only innocent thing in this entire war.
I lay down next to her, on top of the covers, curling my body around hers to share warmth.
Outside, the wind howled around the cliffs, a lonely, mournful sound that battered the stone walls. It sounded like a wolf trying to get in.
Or maybe it was the sound of the world trying to blow us off the edge.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come. I just lay there in the dark, listening to the fire die, feeling the weight of the silver key still in my pocket, wondering if I had traded one prison for another.