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you can drink.”
    “Sounds like food of the gods,” Luca said.
    “It is, in a way.”
    “What of ba—?”
    “ Bananas . A tube-like fruit that also grows in clusters from palm-like trees. They ripen from green to yellow, and you peel them. The fruit inside is soft.”
    “So soft you can mash it and feed it to babies,” I said.
    “Wondrous,” Marcello said. “So then you were reunited six months ago and began your journey here.”
    I nodded. “But we stayed in inns and in large cities, conscious to keep our identity hidden, in case there were any Fiorentini loyalists about.”
    “Making it impossible to track your journey, in case anyone decides to verify your story.” He smiled at me and my family in admiration. “I must say, you are most excellent at spinning a tall tale.”
    “Only if it allows us to live a free and honest life here,” Dad said, a tinge too sternly. Okay, Dad, ease up on the whole honor front…
    Marcello’s smile faded. “Of course.”
    “What of your brother, Marcello?” I asked carefully. “Is there any news of Fortino?”
    “Too little.” His big, brown eyes moved to the fire, as if he could see his brother’s image in the flames. In the fifteen months he’d been here without me, he and Luca had filled out—become more men than the boys they had been. He shook his head a little, and his curly ponytail edged over one shoulder. I shifted in my seat, wishing we could be alone. I wanted to kiss away his sorrow, his fear.
    He’d dealt with more than a year without me, wondering if I would ever return. He’d lost his father and seen his brother beaten and taken prisoner. He’d lost his home—not that this palace was too shabby—but it wasn’t home . He was more a man of the woods than a man of the city. And to know your brother was hurting, maybe even dying—who could really relax and enjoy any part of their life with that going on in their head?
    I leaned forward and took Marcello’s hand. “So…how are we going to get him back?”

Chapter Four
     
    Mom spent all day in a room, hidden away, trying to teach Dad the dances we’d be expected to lead after the celebration feast tonight. Their distraction was welcome—giving me hours with Marcello and Lia hours with Luca. We took a stroll along the city wall, finding it too difficult to maneuver along the crowded streets full of well-wishers. Up top we had to contend only with grinning guards who raised playful eyebrows in our direction.
    We paused at the highest point of the wall, where it descended to a valley and looked out for miles over brown, winter-dormant hills. “Gabriella,” Marcello said, turning to me. He took my hand in both of his and stared into my eyes. “Tell me you won’t leave again.”
    “I’ll do all I can to never leave you again,” I said, as much as I could promise.
    He stared into my eyes, clearly understanding but wishing he could press for more.
    “I don’t know if leaving is even an option,” I said. “If we go back, would my dad die en route? Would we lose him all over again?”
    “You could halt your journey before his death,” he said reluctantly. “As you did to bring him here.”
    “And what? Go back to freshman year with a seventeen-year-old’s body? Run the risk of running into a younger version of myself?” I shuddered. “No way,” I muttered in English.
    “Freshman year?” he asked.
    “A nightmare I don’t wish to share,” I said with a grin.
    His eyes remained curious, but he didn’t press. He probably didn’t want to encourage me to think of the possibility of leaving. And I couldn’t blame him. Had I been the one who had to survive a year without him, I would’ve been a total basket case. Zoned. A puddle of tears, all the time. No, that just would not work. Here, here now was where I belonged.
    “If you are to stay, then I should speak to your father, without delay, of my intentions.”
    His intentions…about marriage? I shifted uneasily. “Uh, about