Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Any changes in opinion about her?” Enzo asks in a low voice.
Raffaele turns away from the prince. Today they both stand at the entrance of the caverns, looking on as several of the Daggers train. Both of their gazes are focused on the same thing: Adelina, who sits in a corner with Michel and practices weaving threads of her energy into small, familiar objects. A golden ring. A knife. A piece of lace. With each gesture, Raffaele feels her energy shift. Watching her learn to create illusions reminds him of the energy he feels when he watches Michel at work. Trying to imitate life. As she goes, Michel critiques her work with a string of halfhearted insults, but Raffaele can tell that the young painter is impressed with her. Nearby, Lucent stops training now and then to shout out challenges for Adelina. Make a gold talent! Make a bird! Make a statue! Adelina obliges, her illusions growing in complexity. Lucent nods in admiration.
“Adelina was right,” Raffaele finally replies, noting the growing friendships. Perhaps he had misjudged her in the beginning. “I was training her too slowly for her to work with her powers.”
Enzo nods once in agreement. “She’s learning at a pace I’ve never seen.”
The words make Raffaele uneasy. He thinks back to the way she reacted to the amber and nightstone, how he warned Enzo that night to get rid of her. He thinks of the alarming shifts in her darkness lately, how the new speed of her training is affecting her energy, how frequently she seems anxious, scared, and alone. The emotions seep from her. Something about Adelina . . . there is a frailty underneath the dark shell she has started to build around herself, a small remaining light. A light that wavers precariously from day to day.
“There is a reason I trained her too slowly, you know,” Raffaele says after a moment.
Enzo looks at him. “You were holding her back on purpose.”
“I was holding her back to protect us.” Raffaele chooses his next words carefully. “It’s true, she may become the most powerful of us all. She can already create illusions that trick the eyes and ears. Eventually, she’ll realize that she can also trick one’s taste, smell, and touch.” He casts Enzo a sideways glance. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“She will be able to fool a thirsty man into drinking liquid metal. She will be able to make someone feel pain that isn’t there.”
Raffaele shivers at the possibilities. “Make sure the control she learns doesn’t eclipse her loyalties to you. Adelina may have aligned the strongest with fear and hatred, but she also aligned with passion and ambition. The combination drives her to recklessness, makes her unreliable and hungry for power.”
Enzo looks on as Adelina slowly conjures a detailed illusion of a wolf, so realistic that it looks as if the animal were really standing there on the cavern floor. Michel claps his hands in approval. “She will be magnificent,” he replies.
This time, Raffaele feels Enzo’s energy shift at the mention of Adelina, flickers of an emotion not usually associated with the Reaper. Not for years. Something happened between them, he realizes. Something dangerous.
“She’s not Daphne,” Raffaele reminds him gently.
Enzo looks at him, and in that moment, Raffaele feels a pang of deep sympathy for the young prince. A memory comes back to him of the afternoon when he’d accompanied Enzo to the apothecary to see the shop’s young assistant. When he’d witnessed Enzo’s proposal. Even though quiet rain fell outside the shop, the sun still shone through, painting the world in a glittering haze of light. Daphne had laughed at the affection in Enzo’s eyes, teased the gentleness in his voice, and he’d laughed with her. Raffaele had glimpsed her touching Enzo’s cheek and pulling him close.
Marry me, Enzo had said to her. She’d kissed him in reply.
After she died, Raffaele never again sensed that emotion in Enzo’s heart.
Until now.
Finally, Enzo nods a brief farewell and turns to leave. “Prepare her,” he tells Raffaele before he goes. “She’s coming with us to the Spring Moons.”
I joined the Spring Moons festivities for the first time,
and it was as if I had come into a strange land. The people have transformed into visions of faeries and ghouls. I cannot decide
if I want to stay or leave.
—Letter from Amendar of Orange to his sister,
on his second voyage to Estenzia
Adelina Amouteru
There was a time during my childhood, a brief time, when my father was kind to me. I dream of it tonight.
I am thirteen. My father wakes up in a cheery mood, then comes to my bedchambers and pulls my curtains open to let the light in. I watch him warily, uncertain what has brought about this sudden change. Did Violetta say something to him?
“Get dressed, Adelina,” he says, smiling at me. “Today I am taking you to the port with me.” Then he leaves, humming to himself.
My heart lurches in excitement. Can this be happening? Father always takes Violetta to the ports, to watch the ships and buy her presents. I have always stayed home. I sit in bed for a moment longer, still unsure, and then I hop to the floor and rush to my dresser. I choose my favorite outfit, a blue-and-cream Tamouran silk dress, and tie two long strips of blue cloth around my hair, securing it high behind my head. Maybe Violetta is coming with us, I thought. I skip out of my room to hers, expecting her to be ready too.
Violetta is still in bed. When I tell her where we’re going, she looks surprised, then worried. “Be careful,” she says.
But I’m so happy that I just sneer at her. She seems kind here, but that is only because she’s jealous that she isn’t coming. I turn away. Violetta’s warning fades from my thoughts.
The day is wonderful, full of bright colors. My father takes me on a canal ride. He helps me out of the gondola. The port is bustling with people, merchants calling for their wares to be shipped to the appropriate addresses, shopkeepers standing behind their stands, calling out at curious passersby, children chasing after dogs. My father holds my hand. I hurry alongside him, laughing at his jokes, smiling when I know I should smile. Deep inside, I am frightened. This is not normal. My father buys us each a bowl of sweet ice flavored with milk and honey, and together we sit to watch the woodmen and caulkers work on a new ship. He chats animatedly, telling me how strict Estenzia is about the quality of her ships, how every rope and sail and bobbin is tagged with labels and colors identifying the craftsman responsible. I don’t understand everything he says, but I don’t dare interrupt him. I wait for him to turn violent. But today my father looks so carefree that I can’t help but fall under the spell, letting myself believe entirely that he is finally happy with me.
Maybe things will be different from now on. Maybe I had just been making mistakes up until now.
Finally, when the sun begins making its way down the sky, we return to the gondolas and head for home. “Adelina,” he says as we sit together, swaying and creaking with the current. He takes my face in his hands. “I know who you really are. You needn’t be afraid.”
My smile stays on, even though my heart wavers. What does he mean?
“Show me what you can do, Adelina. I know there must be something inside of you.”
I stare back in confused silence, my foolish smile still planted on my lips. When I don’t answer, my father’s gentle expression starts to fade.
“Go on,” he coaxes. “You needn’t be afraid, child.” His voice lowers. “Show me that you are no ordinary malfetto. Go on.”
Slowly, I start to realize that he has been using kindness to coax my power out of me. Perhaps he’s even made a wager with somebody already, somebody who would pay my father for me if I could demonstrate some strange ability. My smile trembles along with my heart. He has tried violence and failed to provoke a power in me. Now he wants to try affection. Be careful, Violetta had told me. Do you see what a fool I am?
Still, I try. I want so badly to please him.
The next day, we repeat the same routine. My father is curiously gentle and attentive, treating me as if he saw Violetta before him instead of me. Violetta says nothing more, and I’m relieved. I know what he wants from me. And I am so hungry to accept this false kindness that I try every day, as hard as I can, to conjure something to please my father.
It never happens.
Finally, weeks later, my father’s good humor wanes. He takes my face into his hands one last time on that carriage ride home. He asks me to show him what I can do. And again, I fail. The carriage lurches along in an awkward, uncomfortable silence.
After a while, my father’s hands leave my face. He edges away from me, sighs, and looks out the window at the moving landscape.
“Worthless,” he mutters, his voice so quiet that I barely hear him.
The next morning, I lie in bed and anticipate my father coming in again with a smile on his face. Today is the day, I tell myself. This time, I am determined to please him, and his kindness will be able to coax something useful out of me. But he doesn’t come. When I finally get out of bed and find him, he ignores me. He has given up his quest to find me useful. Violetta sees me in the hallway. The distance between us feels overwhelming. Her eyes are large and dark, pitying. Her face, as usual, is perfect. I look away from her in silence.
My two weeks have come and gone.
Throughout it all, I haven’t found a single chance to visit Teren at the Inquisition Tower. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it on purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that my time is now up, and he will be expecting me. I know what will happen if I don’t show my face soon.
And tonight is my first official mission with the Daggers.
Their plan for tonight, as far as I understand, goes something like this:
The Spring Moons, Kenettra’s annual celebration of the season, is made up of three nights of festivals and parties, one night in honor of each of our three moons. Each night, a huge masquerade ball will take place at the water’s edge in Estenzia’s largest harbor. At midnight, six ships laden with fireworks will put on a dazzling display of lights over the water.
But the Daggers are going to set fire to the ships before that can even happen, destroying the fleet in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. It will be a display of power, defiance against the king, to show his weakness. And I’m going to help them do it.
“The city is quickly turning into a powder keg,” Raffaele explains to me as we head out from his chambers. Tonight he’s a vision in green and gold robes, part of his face hidden behind an intricate gold half mask, his cheekbones and brows dusted with glitter. “If the king wants to burn us at the stake, then the Daggers are going to respond.” He smiles at me. It is an expert expression—secretive, shy, trained. “The people are tired of a weak king. When Enzo seizes the throne, they will be ready for the change.”
I listen, distracted by my own thoughts. For a moment, I fantasize about myself in such a position—instead of being trapped by the whims of others, what would it be like to have others bowing to me, obeying my every command? What must it feel like to have that kind of power?
It’s the first time I’ve stepped out into Estenzia at night. Soon, gondolas arrive on the canal that the court’s street lines, and the court’s consorts split into groups as we step into our individual boats. I join Raffaele and two others in the same boat, the seats creaking as I gently lower myself in. My movement sends ripples across the water. We pull away, gliding off to the harbor. I gape at the city.
No nights are as lovely as the nights of the Spring Moons, and no city is as breathtaking as Estenzia, which has transformed into a wonderland of light.
Lanterns hang along all the bridges, their glow bouncing off the water’s surface in waves of orange and gold. Gondolas drift through the waterways, and music and laughter ripple through the masked crowds that have gathered out in the warm evening air. Overhead, the three moons hang large and luminous in a near-perfect triangle. Baliras glide past them, their glittering, translucent wings illuminated by moonlight. This close view of them is still a startling contrast to the faraway figures I’d seen before I’d arrived in Estenzia, and the sight of their long, ray-like bodies passing before the moons takes my breath away.
Farther out at the harbor, the silhouettes of six ships with their fireworks sit on the water.
Inquisitors, some on horseback and some on foot, patrol the bridges. They are the only ones not adorned with bright, glittering colors and sparkling masks, and their white and gold figures look harsh against the festivities. They are everywhere tonight, adding to a uniform tension in the air. I turn my face carefully away from them. The city is a powder keg, Raffaele had said, and we are going to light it tonight.
By the time we arrive at the main harbor, the celebrations are in full swing. The statues of the angels and gods that line the square are all covered from head to toe in flowers. A few masked revelers, already drunk this early in the night, have climbed on top of the statues to wave at the cheering crowds. I inhale deeply, catching the scents of ocean, sweet and savory pastries, roasting pig and fish.
Raffaele waits until the others have left our gondola. Then he steps gracefully out and offers me a hand. I join him on land. The other consorts eventually scatter, each of them joining clients waiting for them along the edge of the harbor. Raffaele guides me through a section of the crowd. Then he squeezes my hand once. “Go,” he whispers. “Remember the paths back down to the catacombs if you lose yourself during the mission.”
Then he’s gone, making his way through the crowd. For a beat, I’m all alone, lost among swirling colors. I look around; my heart pounds. I’ve grown so dependent on Raffaele’s guidance that his absence always leaves me short of breath.
A sudden hand on my waist makes me look to my side. It’s Enzo.
If I didn’t know to meet him here, I wouldn’t have recognized him tonight. His hair is covered beneath a mask that transforms him from a young prince into a forest fae with glittering horns twisting up over his head, the structure adorned with dangling silver strings that gleam in the light. All I can see of his face are his lips and, if I look past the shadows the mask casts, his eyes. Even through his disguise, I can sense him taking in my new appearance, my elaborate Tamouran headwrap and my gold reveler’s silks, the glittering white porcelain hiding the scarred side of my face. His lips part slightly, ready to say something.
Then he bows to me. “A lovely evening,” he says. I return his smile as he kisses me gently on the cheek and offers his arm. I gasp at the brief flush of heat from the touch of his lips to my skin.
He leads us through the throngs. He keeps a respectful distance between us, our only contact being my arm looped through his . . . but even so, I can feel the warmth radiating from his robes, a soft, pleasing feeling, reaching for me. I force myself to stay calm. Through my mask, I focus on the silhouettes of ships at the harbor.
We enter an area full of dancers. Here and there are other consorts, swirling with their clients and patrons and other onlookers in a sea of glitter, laughing uproariously as they move in time with the beat of drums and serenade of strings. I catch a glimpse of Raffaele with a richly dressed noblewoman on his arm, but neither he nor Enzo acknowledges each other. Inquisitors watch the scene from atop their steeds.
Enzo gives me a sidelong glance. Then he pulls me closer and puts one hand on the small of my back. Around us, the world turns into a frenzy of cheering and bright colors. He smiles his warm, genuine smile—it’s a lovely expression he so rarely makes as the Reaper.
“Dance with me,” he murmurs.
All part of our act. All part of the disguise. I tell myself this repeatedly, but it doesn’t change the way I lean into his touch, how his words stir the longing in my chest. If he notices, he doesn’t show it . . . but he does seem to stand closer than he needs to, and look at me with an intensity that I don’t remember seeing before.
We spin with the others in a large circle. More join in, until we are all a tightly packed whirl of bodies. The minutes fly by. Enzo’s movements are flawless, and somehow I find myself moving in sync with him, my steps as accurate as his. Enzo releases me as we dance into the arms of new partners, then switch off again and again in a widening circle. The drums keep time with my heartbeat. I spin until I’m paired once again with Enzo. He smiles at me from behind his mask. I want to reach up and touch his face. Then I remember that I’m disguised as his consort, and such a gesture wouldn’t be strange. So I do. I laugh, draw closer to him, and brush his cheek with my hand. It might be my imagination, but his eyes soften at my touch. He doesn’t stop me. He’s just playing along. I don’t mind.
It takes me a moment to realize that the dance has ended. Around us, the others all give their dancing partners a quick kiss, the gesture of harmony between love and prosperity. Laughter and whistles go up from the crowd. All part of the custom. I glance at Enzo, suddenly shy—am I love, or am I prosperity?
He smiles, draws me close, and leans down. The elaborately carved grooves of his mask brush against my skin, and I wonder if it will leave a touch of glitter behind. I close my eye. A moment later, his lips touch my own. Only a touch.
It must have been brief—probably a second, no more—but to me, it seems like forever, like he let us stay this way for a beat longer than needed. The familiar bubbling of heat courses through me, the luxurious feeling of a hot bath on a cold night; I return his kiss, leaning into him, savoring his heat.
Then it’s over. I find myself looking into his eyes, and there I see thin lines of scarlet slashed within his irises, glowing. His lips are still very, very close.
He steps away from me and guides us out of the dancing circle as a new song starts. We’re now closer to the harbor than we were before, and a wooden railing separates us from the rocky pier near where the ships are waiting. Perfectly in position. I’m short of breath, still dizzy and giggling, and Enzo laughs along, his low, velvet voice mixing with my higher one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before. It’s a soothing sound, both tender and unsure, reminiscent of someone who used to laugh more. His arm stays wrapped securely around my waist. My lips tingle. Even if he’s just trying to continue our disguise, he’s doing an excellent job.
The crowds thin as we near the point that overlooks the beach; only a few scattered figures are out along the rocks and sand, admiring the trio of moons hanging suspended at the horizon. Several Inquisitors stand guard at each of the piers that lead out to the six ships. Long shadows shroud the piers in darkness.
My energy stirs restlessly. Almost time for my debut. I glance briefly up at the roofs of the closest buildings. I can’t see anyone there, but I know that several Daggers are lying in wait, watching us for the first signal.
We head down to the piers. The lights from the festivities make way for the shadows cast by the buildings closest to shore, and I shiver as the cool night air surrounds us. Enzo pulls me close to whisper in my ear. I can feel his lips turned up into a small smile.
“The first pier,” he murmurs. “Watch for me.”
I giggle loudly in return, as if he’d just whispered some romantic nothings in my ear. One of the Inquisitors lounging along the first pier casts us a bored look and then turns away.
We edge steadily closer to the pier, continuing our little charade of romance the entire way. At least, it seems to be a charade for Enzo. Far be it from me to complain—the laughs he coaxes out of me are real, and so is the flush on my cheeks. His hand is hot at my waist, the rivulets of warmth delicious on such a cool night.
Finally, I stumble over a rock and fall, giggling, into his arms. We’re on the far end of the pier now, and the two Inquisitors guarding this pier are barely a few yards away. One of them holds up a gloved hand. “No one allowed past this point,” he says, nodding in our direction.
Enzo gives them a disappointed sigh. He places a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. All pretense of lightheartedness vanishes from his face—in the blink of an eye, he has transformed from a smiling boy to a predator.
The Inquisitor looks at Enzo’s hand in surprise. But before he can brush it off, his eyes widen. He shoots Enzo a stricken look. Beside him, his partner’s stance wavers.
“Are you all right?” he asks the first Inquisitor. He draws his sword—but before he can do anything else, the sword unravels right before his horrified eyes. It reappears a dozen yards away, falling uselessly to the sand. Michel is here in the darkness.
Enzo touches his other hand to the second Inquisitor’s arm. Both of them open their mouths in silent screams.
He’s melting them from the inside. Even knowing that this was the plan, the sight catches me off guard. I look on in horror as their faces turn red and contort in agony. Blood leaks from one’s mouth. They shudder.
“Now,” Enzo whispers to me.
I reach within and pull on my energy right as the two Inquisitors’ knees buckle, sending them collapsing to the pier’s deck. All around us, I conjure a vision of an empty pier—planks of wood appear over where the Inquisitors lie—and Enzo and I both disappear behind an illusion of waves and night air, rendering both us and the dead men invisible. The darkness and unease in me soars, thrilling my heart, and I embrace the ecstasy. On top of this illusion, I weave an image of two white-cloaked Inquisitors standing as if nothing had happened. Up close, it’s easy to tell that the two fake Inquisitors are nothing more than smoke and air, their faces too simple to be real. But from the point of view of anyone who might look in this direction from afar, it’s a convincing cover.
The whole scene looks as if we were never here. As if I’m not standing in front of two corpses.
Such power. I swirl in the midst of it all, my jaw clenched, my lips curving into a triumphant smile even as another part of me recoils at what we just did. I feel numb—in control and yet completely helpless.
Through my invisibility shield, I sense Enzo give me a single nod. I nod back, letting him know that I’m ready. He leaps down from the pier. Fire erupts from both of his hands—he holds them out, and in the shadows, I see a masked figure that must be Michel lift his arms. He unravels Enzo’s flames, then reforms them far down the pier onto the deck of the first ship, near its crates of fireworks. The two vanish into the darkness. Seconds later, I hear the sound of startled shouts from the ship.
My hands tremble. Flashbacks of the night when I killed my father come rushing back to me, clouding my illusions. Suddenly my father’s ghost smiles at me in my thoughts. I think I can even see him standing on the pier. You’re a murderer, Adelina. Nice to see you coming into your own.
Seeing him disrupts my concentration—the shroud I’d put over the two dead Inquisitors at my feet suddenly vanishes, revealing them to the world. I start running to the second pier. My mind is completely numb; the image of the dead men is seared into my vision. Keep going. You can’t afford to stop. My attention turns to the buildings lining the harbor, and to the other Inquisitors patrolling the other five piers. Taking a deep breath, I call forth more of my energy. The threads pull taut in my mind, protesting.
I force them to bend, then to weave together.
Against the walls of the buildings, silhouettes of people run by. Illusions of dark blue hoods. Suddenly, Daggers seem to be everywhere on the piers. Inquisitors on the other piers raise the alarm—I conjure Daggers all around them, then run toward the second pier. My fear heightens, and as it does, so do the illusions closest to me. Inquisitors call for help as they strike out against my phantom Daggers. I reach the second pier under cover of invisibility just as flames ignite onboard the second ship.
“They’re all fake!” one of the Inquisitors cries as his sword slashes straight through one of my illusions. He calls on the other soldiers to stop, but they’re all too distracted, blinded with fear from my apparitions. “Stop—find the culprit who’s—”
He never finishes his sentence. One of the Daggers lunges for him with the speed of a striking viper—he twists the man’s arm around and stabs him straight through his chest with his own sword. A real Dagger. Dante. The other Inquisitors turn at his shriek, then attack the Spider, but he’s far too quick for them. He cuts them down in quick succession. His movements blur in the night, so that even after I erase the false Daggers, it looks as if there were more than one of him. The last Inquisitor at this pier tries to run for his life. Dante catches him before he can, and runs a dagger across his throat.
Up at the festivities, some revelers finally notice what’s going on.
Screams go up—then complete chaos.
My mind races. I move on to the third pier, then the fourth. We slaughter the Inquisitors as more patrols rush from the festivities in our direction. So much death.
My eye goes again to the roofs closest to the piers—and this time, I see figures stir. The other Daggers, flesh and blood, their faces hidden behind masks and hooded sapphire robes. One of them rises up from her crouch, carefully notches an arrow to her bow, and aims at the Inquisitors. Gemma. Above her swirls a circle of ravens—when she lets the arrow fly, the ravens plummet down, aiming in unison for the enemy. My illusion of phantom Daggers moving along the walls flickers for a moment, but I grit my teeth and sharpen my concentration. The phantom Daggers turn solid again. More Inquisitors run in their direction.
The Inquisitors are now within firing range. Suddenly, one of them is yanked straight up into the air. He lets out a strangled shriek as he’s thrown up as high as the top of the buildings, then plummets to his death. I wince—my illusions shudder again. That was Lucent’s work. Up above, more arrows rain down, one piercing the throat of a second Inquisitor.
Hurry, Enzo. As the other Daggers kill the Inquisitors with ruthless efficiency, I clench my teeth in desperation. I want to leave this place. I glance over to the ship docked at the first pier.
And there I see him—Enzo, this time with his face entirely covered by a hood and silver mask. He flashes through the inky blackness of the night. There one moment, gone the next. My cue to get out of here.
Dante grabs my arm, then breaks into a sprint. The wind rushes past us. In a matter of seconds, we’ve crossed the sand and grass and run into the shadows of the festivities overlooking the harbor. Screams everywhere. I drop the illusions I’ve been holding. The threads of energy all snap back into place, and I gasp at the sudden emptiness.
The first ship explodes.
The blast knocks me right off my feet. The earth shudders; screams burst from everyone around me. I cover my eye from the blinding glow, and when I squint through my hand at the inferno, I see a rainbow of fireworks light up the night sky in a terrifying display of glory. Fire and fireworks consume the ship’s deck. I picture Enzo setting each of the ships ablaze, his figure a shadow in the night.
Rough hands yank me up onto my feet. “Get to the Messenger,” Dante hisses at me. Then he vanishes into the crowd, his eyes fixed on other Inquisitors.
I fight my way through the crowd, remembering my next step. Meet Raffaele at the end of the square. He’ll usher you to safety. The energy in the air is like lightning—I can practically smell the terror—the power crackling all around me in a glittering shower of energy threads. The darkness inside me hungers for it, yearning to break free, and I have to force down the irresistible urge to flood this entire square with illusions of Underworld monsters. So much power around me, going to waste. For a moment, I attempt to shroud myself in invisibility—but too many people are jostling past me, and every time I start to throw the illusion over myself, I’m jolted out of it. Finally I just give up and continue running.
It takes me a moment to realize that some in the crowd are cheering. They raise their fists to the sky at the fireworks and flames. They watch the dazzling display with smiles on their faces. I recall what Raffaele had told me earlier. Let the Inquisition Axis see what happens when they force us to humiliate ourselves. The people here are cheering on the Young Elites. Applauding the strike.
At the piers, a second ship explodes. Then, a third. An unstoppable chain reaction continues along the water’s edge, each ship’s demise causing the next, until flames and exploding fireworks consume the entire harbor, transforming the night into day, orange and yellow everywhere I look, the earth trembling from the sheer energy released into the sky. Explosions, the roar of flames, the shouts of thousands of people—it all swirls together into deafening chaos. Never could I have imagined panic like this. Their fear pools in me, a black and powerful current.
I have to find Raffaele. I turn a corner into a narrower alley in an attempt to get away from the frenzied crowds. For a moment, I’m alone. Almost there. My slippers hit a puddle, and cold water splashes against my ankles.
Something white flashes before my face.
Before I can react, a hand catches me around my neck and shoves me against the wall. I see spots exploding before me. Blindly, I strike out.
A voice chuckles at my antics. I freeze. I recognize that voice. The white blur that flashed past my eye now stills into the unmistakable look of an Inquisitor’s cloak. “Well, well, well,” the voice says. “A Tamouran girl.”
I stare into Teren’s face.
No. Not here. Not tonight.
The sight is enough to unleash my energy. I bare my teeth at him as a red-eyed demon lunges out from the wall behind me and throws itself at Teren with a shriek. Teren flinches for a split second, but his grip never lightens. His eyes widen in surprise.
“What’s this?” he says with a smile. “Have you grown defiant since the last time we talked?” He hoists a crossbow. “Any more moves like that, and I might decide to kill off your sister. I gave you your two weeks.” His smile turns hard. “And you are late.”
“I’m sorry,” I say urgently. My mind spins. “Don’t—please don’t hurt her. I couldn’t find a time to get away and see you. They’ve been training me relentlessly.” I glance at the main square. “If the Elites see me talking to you, they will kill me, and you won’t get your—”
Teren only ignores me and keeps me pinned in place. His grip is unnaturally strong, his face too close. “In that case, you had better start talking. You owe me some information.”
I swallow hard. The Daggers can’t be that far away. They knew I would be heading down this way, and if I don’t show my face soon, they will search for me. And they will see me here.
Teren’s grip tightens so much that it starts to hurt. My hands fly up to where he holds my neck. He narrows his colorless eyes. “Give me their names.”
“I—” What can I tell him, without destroying the Daggers? My mind scrambles frantically for a solution.
“I saw you arrive at the festival with a Fortunata Court consort,” Teren adds. “He has been with you before, too. Is he one of them?”
No. I shake my head automatically, letting the lie come. “He was just my escort.”
Teren’s stare wanders across my face. “Just your escort,” he muses.
Tears well up in my eye. No. Please don’t hurt Raffaele. “Yes, just my escort.”
Teren makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “Talk. Lady Gemma—does that name sound familiar to you? Any idea why she was a rider at the qualifying races?”
I shake my head dumbly.
“Who leads them?”
No, no, I can’t. “I don’t know. Truly, I don’t!”
Teren narrows his eyes again. He hoists his crossbow with one arm and points it right in front of my good eye. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not,” I whisper through his tight grip.
“Violetta will pay for this, you know. Not you. Violetta.” He leans close, his voice like honey. “Do you want to hear all the things I will do to her?”
He whispers them into my ear, one by one, and I start to cry in earnest. I don’t know what to do. My thoughts are too tangled. Violetta. I glance again to the chaotic square. Where is he keeping her? Energy lurches through me, feeding on my terror. It begs for release, but I clamp down hard on it.
“I beg you—” I start to say. My mind spins. “I’ll tell you what you want. Just give me one more week. Please. You can’t be seen here with me, it won’t help either of us.” I scan the alley. “There’s no time. They’re here too. They can’t—”
Before I can utter anything else, Teren’s eyes flicker up. I do the same—and see a flash of dark robes high up on the rooftops. A jolt of terror leaps up my spine. The Daggers, they’re coming. They’re going to see us. All around us, the other Inquisitors are consumed with containing the chaos. He doesn’t have enough men with him. I can feel him weighing his options, deciding whether or not he has time to force answers out of me right now before the Daggers catch up to me.
Please. Please let me go.
His instant of hesitation vanishes. He grabs me by my collar and pulls me close. “You have three days,” he says in a low voice. “If you go back on your word again, I will shoot an arrow through your sister’s neck and out the back of her skull. She’ll be lucky if that’s the first thing I do.” He smiles, his teeth flashing in the night. “We can be enemies, Adelina, or we can be the best of friends. Understood?”
That’s all he has time to say. I look up to the roofs. And I see Dante crouched there, arrow nocked, staring at both of us through his mask.
A rush of sapphire robes strikes Teren, knocking him to the ground and releasing me from his clutches. I stumble against the wall. Before me is a tangle of white and blue—Teren shoves a Dagger off him and rolls up onto his feet. The two face each other. It’s Enzo, face hidden behind his silver mask, daggers in hand.
“The Reaper!” Teren exclaims, pointing his crossbow straight at Enzo and pulling out his sword. “Always coming to the rescue of malfettos, aren’t you?”
Enzo’s blades turn bright red, then white hot. He lunges at Teren before he can fire his crossbow, then strikes, seeking out his eyes. Teren dodges him with a fluidity that shocks me. He swings his sword in an arc—it almost catches Enzo in the chest before he darts out of the way. Fire bursts from Enzo’s hands and consumes the two of them in a haze of light. Through the inferno, I can see Teren locked blade on blade with Enzo.
The flames don’t harm him. His skin seems to burn for an instant, then return back to normal, smooth and untouched. I freeze at the sight. It is not just a trick of the light—the flames do not harm him at all.
How is that possible? Unless—
“Go!” Enzo snaps at me. Their blades clash with a ring of steel. Again and again. Overhead, an arrow sails down and strikes Teren near his neck. He grunts in pain—but then, to my horror, he reaches up and yanks it out unceremoniously. He tosses it away. His skin stitches itself together, healing in seconds, until I see nothing but a smear of blood on his neck.
Teren is a Young Elite.
I find my feet and make a run for it. When I glance up, I catch sight of Lucent with her bow and arrow locked on Teren, trying to find a good shot.
A rough hand clamps down on my arm. I turn and stare right into the silver mask of a Dagger.
Dante. “How about you cloak us in invisibility and get us out of here.” There is something in his voice that chills me. Something in his eyes that tells me he saw more tonight than I wanted him to see.
All around us is screaming, panic, people, the roar of a firework-fueled inferno raging at the harbor. I force myself to do as Dante says. I cloak us in a hurried illusion of invisibility, and he leads us away in the direction of the closest catacomb entrance. Behind us, Enzo has already vanished, disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Teren’s voice rings in my ears.
Three days.
They were the best of friends as long as they did not know
they were supposed to be enemies. The truth would do its
damage soon enough.
—Brothers in Fire, by Jedtare