I smile. A memory burns through my mind: the cold, rainy night; my father talking to the stranger downstairs; I’m sitting along the stairs, pretending from my perch that I am a queen on a balcony. I blink. The power of that desire rushes through me like a wild wind. “Simple. We take away the throne from Queen Giulietta and the Inquisition Axis. Then the Kenettran royal treasury becomes ours by right.”
Magiano blinks. Then he starts to laugh. The laughter grows louder, until his eyes shine with tears, until he finally stops to let himself catch a breath. When he composes himself, his eyes slit, glowing in the darkness. In the silence that follows, I press on. “If you join us, and we take the Queen of Kenettra’s throne, then malfettos will have a ruler like themselves. We can stop Teren’s thirst for our blood. You can have more gold than you ever dreamed of. You can have a thousand diamond-encrusted lutes. You would be able to buy your own island and castle. You’d be remembered as a king.”
“I don’t want to be a king,” Magiano replies. “Too many responsibilities.” But his answer is halfhearted, and he doesn’t move. He’s considering my plan.
“You don’t need to be responsible for anything,” I say. “Help me win the crown and save the country, and you can have everything you’ve ever desired.”
Another long silence drags on. His gaze wanders to my mask. “Take it off,” he mutters.
I hadn’t expected an answer like that. He’s buying himself some time to think, distracting me in the process. I shake my head. After all this time, the thought of showing a new stranger my greatest weakness still sends fear through me.
Magiano’s expression flickers, if only slightly, and some of the wildness seeps out of his eyes. Like he knows me. “Take off your mask,” he whispers. “I do not judge a malfetto’s markings, Adelina, nor do I work with someone who hides her face from me.”
When Violetta nods, I reach up and fiddle with the knot behind my head. The mask loosens, then swings completely off to dangle in my hand. The cold air hits my scar. I force myself to stare steadily back at Magiano, bracing myself for his reaction. If I’m going to have my own Elites, they will need to trust me.
He steps closer and takes a long look. I can see the slashes of honey gold in his eyes. A slow, lazy smile starts to creep onto his face. He doesn’t ask about my marking. Instead, he lifts the lower corner of his silk shirt and bares part of his side.
I inhale sharply. A hideous scar snakes its way across his skin, then disappears up under his shirt. Our eyes meet, and a moment of understanding passes between us.
“Please,” I say, lowering my voice. “I don’t know what happened to you in your past, or what your full marking looks like. But if the promise of gold doesn’t entice you enough, then think of the millions of other malfettos in Kenettra, all of whom will die in the next few months if no one saves them. You are a thief, so perhaps you have your own code of honor. Is there a place in your heart where you would mourn for the deaths of all who are like us?”
Something about my words strikes Magiano, and his eyes take on a faraway look. He pauses and clears his throat.
“It’s just a rumor, you know,” he says after a moment. “The story about the queen’s crown jewels.”
“The crown jewels?”
“Yes.” He looks at me. “The Kenettran queen’s crown jewels. I never stole them. I tried to—but couldn’t manage it.”
I watch him carefully. There is something shifting in the balance of our conversation. “Yet you still want them,” I reply.
“What can I say? It’s a weakness.”
“So, what will you do? Will you join us?”
He holds up a slender finger covered with gold rings. “How do I know that you’ll keep your promise, if I do help you get what you want?”
I shrug. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life stealing a handful of jewels at a time and running gambling stands in Merroutas?” I reply. “You said yourself, you wonder what you could have done if you’d known me earlier. Well, here’s your chance.”
Magiano smiles at me with something akin to pity. “The girl who would be queen,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “The gods play interesting games.”
“This is no game,” I say.
At last, he lifts his head and raises his voice. “I do owe you a life debt. And that’s something I never play games with.”
I stare silently at him, thinking back to the night before, when he’d originally met us to pass along his thanks for saving his malfetto companion.
Magiano holds out a hand in my direction. “If you want to take on the Inquisition, you will need a whole host of people at your back. And if you want people at your back, you need to build a reputation. I don’t follow anyone until I’m convinced that they’re worth following.”
“What can we do to convince you?”
Magiano smiles. “Beat me in a race.”
“A race?”
“A little game between us,” he says. “I’ll even give you a head start.” His smile takes on a wicked tilt. “A man called the Night King rules this city. He has many soldiers, as well as a secret army of ten thousand mercenaries scattered throughout the island. You may have seen his men patrolling the streets, with moon-and-crown emblems on their sleeves.”