Our conversation pauses as the procession makes its way to the main clearing. It’s led by two young Inquisitors who now gleefully shove forward several people with bound arms. They stumble and fall, then crouch into some resemblance of a bow in my direction. All around them, the crowd cheers. Wine spills out of goblets.
“Your Majesty!” one of the Inquisitors calls up to me. His hair shines in the light, revealing a glimmer of scarlet red against the black. “Found these four in the streets and brought them in for you. I overheard one using the word malfetto. Another was trying to pass as one of us with false markings.”
At that, the crowd—all of whom are marked—starts to shout curses at the people tied up on the ground. I peer at them to get a closer look. One is an old man, while another is an aging woman. The third is a boy, barely out of childhood, while the fourth is a girl newly wedded, still wearing double bands around one of her fingers. I can tell the girl is the one who was trying to wear false markings—the color in her hair and against her skin looks disturbed, where an Inquisitor must have smeared his hand across it.
“Burn them all!” someone yells, and this is met with a thunderous cheer.
“Let’s have some fun!” another shouts.
Over by the archway, Magiano’s eyes meet my own. He isn’t smiling anymore. Their fear and hatred fill this place. The whispers chitter again, fully awake now, and the terror wafting off the four prisoners fills my senses, feeding me. I take them in and feel little pity. After all, not much time has passed since they once stood by and watched as the marked were dragged through the streets and set ablaze, saw our families stoned to death by crowds of enthusiastic onlookers. We used to be the ones to sneak powders and potions from apothecaries, desperate to hide our markings. How quickly our former enemies have tried to adopt our appearance—how eagerly they smear colors on themselves in an attempt to be more like us.
Why shouldn’t we cheer their punishment now?
Beside me, Sergio has gone silent too. I look on as an Inquisitor lights a torch from one of the lanterns, then glances expectantly at me. So does everyone else. The noise fades as they wait for my command.
I am their queen. The malfettos, the malformed, the marked. I give them what they want, and they give me their loyalty. It is what I want too. My gaze turns to the trembling prisoners on the ground. I stop on the youngest, the boy. He stares back at me with vacant eyes. Beside him, the old man lifts his tear-stained face long enough for me to see the blinding hatred in them. Demon queen, I know he’s thinking.
The whispers in my head build to a dull rumble. I bow my head and close my eye, trying in vain to shut them out. On another night, I would be more ruthless—in the past year I’ve ordered prisoners executed before me, so this would be nothing new. But tonight, my heart feels heavy with the weight of Raffaele’s message. Visions of Violetta continue to crowd my thoughts.
One glance in Magiano’s direction is enough. He gives me the subtlest shake of his head, and his words return to my mind, as if whispered in my ear. Perhaps he is drawing on my power. Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta.
“Release them,” I hear myself saying as I rub my temples. “And get on with the celebrations.”
The crowd’s raucous cheers fade away as they gradually understand what I’ve said. The prisoners stare at me in stunned silence, as do my Inquisitors.
“Was I not clear?” I call out, my voice ringing in the chamber. The corners of the space turn dark, and a haunting wail whips through the air. The crowd lets loose a round of frightened gasps as they edge away from the encroaching blackness. My soldiers jump to action now, untying the ropes that bind the prisoners’ arms and forcing them to their knees so that they can thank me. They sway, blinking away confusion, and I look on, wondering how my sister has the power to influence my decisions even when she’s not here.
“Get out of my sight,” I snap to the kneeling prisoners. “Before I change my mind.”
They need no second bidding. The girl scrambles to her feet first, then rushes over to the old man and pulls him to his feet. The old woman follows. The boy lingers the longest, puzzling over my expression before he, too, hurries after the others. The crowd’s eyes turn from me to them, and as the musicians try to strike up the songs again, scattered singing begins to puncture the awkward silence.
My focus shifts back up to the archway, but Magiano is no longer there.
His absence cuts through the rising tide of darkness in my chest, leaving me exhausted—in this moment, all I want is to get away from here and find him. I weave an illusion of invisibility around myself while the crowd tries to resume celebrating. Only Sergio realizes that I’ve gone, although he doesn’t call out to stop me.
I shake my head in disgust as I walk. All this dwelling on Violetta has turned me soft tonight.
I make my way out of the gardens and into a dark hall. There are crowds of new nobility here too, marked people to whom I’d handed aristocratic titles after stripping them from their unmarked masters. I push through them. One of the nobles spills her wine as I shove by. I rush down the hall until I come to a winding staircase guarded by Inquisitors, and then I head up to an empty floor. Finally, peace.
I stop and lean my head against the wall. The whispers whirl in a cloud around me, and their fury adds to the dizziness in my head. I try to steady myself. “Magiano,” I call out, wondering if he might be nearby, but my voice just echoes down the hall.
You shouldn’t have let them go, the whispers say. They always respond when no one else does.
“Why not?” I retort through gritted teeth.
The harmless grow up to become the bringers of wrath. You know this better than anyone, you fool.
“An old couple and a pair of children,” I murmur with a sneer. “They can’t hurt me.” I close my eye, and in the darkness, the whispers lurch forward, flashing their naked grins at me.
Oh? How arrogant you’ve grown, little wolf. My anger flares at their use of my old nickname, and in response, the whispers clap in delight. Yes. That makes you furious, doesn’t it? You are arrogant, my queen. Why, look. The boy has already come back for you.
I open my eye again and glance around. There, standing in the hall right before me, is the boy with his grave eyes. He looks at me without a word.
My anger ignites again, and the ghosts of illusions flicker in the corner of my consciousness. “I thought I told you to get out.”
The boy doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a step closer. Are those tears of blood coming from his eyes? The blood fever. My anger shifts to uncertainty. Then the boy emits a shriek and lunges at me with a knife.
I scream, stumble backward, and throw my arms instinctively across my face. Through my haze of thoughts, I see the boy vanish. He is replaced by a hulking beast. Black boils cover his hunched back, and his long claws click against the floor. He jerks toward me, his fangs stretching all the way around his head. The incarnation of my whispers.
What’s the matter, Your Majesty? Afraid of your own halls?
He charges at me with arms outstretched, mouth extended. He is an illusion, just an illusion. He’s not really there. Raffaele’s note has distracted me, disturbing my energy, so I’ve lost control again. That’s all this is. If only I stand still, he will disappear in a cloud of dust when he reaches me. He cannot hurt me.
But I can’t make myself stop. I am in danger. I need to run. So I do. I run as the monster pursues me, his claws tearing up the floor’s stone. I can feel his hot breath on my back. The hall stretches endlessly before me, like a gaping mouth, and when I blink, arms tear out from each of the corridor’s walls, reaching for me.
Wake up, I scream at myself as I run. Wake up. Wake up!