Violetta’s eyes open wider as she understands my plan. She starts to smile. “How will Maeve tell the difference between the real Raffaele and a false one?”
Magiano lets out a bark of laughter, while Sergio smiles wide enough to show a glimpse of teeth. “Brilliant!” Magiano exclaims, clapping his hands together once. He leans toward me. “If we can meet them in the arena at the same time they arrive, you can disguise yourself as Raffaele.”
Sergio shakes his head in admiration. “Maeve will tether Enzo to you. And we will have a reborn prince on our side. It is a good plan, Adelina. A very good one.”
I smile at their enthusiasm. But deep down, something still tugs at my conscience. Memories flicker through my thoughts. I am the White Wolf, not a Dagger, and they are no longer my friends. But then I saw Gemma, and the old pull returned. I hadn’t felt it since I left them. No matter how they betrayed me, I still remember Gemma offering me her necklace in friendship. No matter how often my father abused me, I still remember the day he showed me the ships at the harbor. No matter how Violetta abandoned me in childhood, I still protect her. I don’t know why.
You’re so stupid, Adelina, the whispers say with disdain, and I want to agree.
“You’re still loyal to the Daggers,” Magiano murmurs as he studies me, his joy subdued. “You miss the way things used to be. You’re hesitant to break them apart like this.”
My jaw tightens as I stare back at him. I hesitate. There’s no question that I want revenge against the Inquisition. The burning whispers return, their hisses sharp and disapproving. You want the crown, they remind me. It will be your ultimate revenge. It is why your new Elites follow you, and you cannot let them down. So why do you keep protecting the Daggers, Adelina? Do you really think they will accept you again, that they will let you have your throne? Can you not see that they are even willing to use and abuse their own former leader?
Enzo can take his place properly on the Kenettran throne—at your side. You can rule together.
Violetta speaks up. “Malfettos in this country are still dying every day,” she adds quietly. “We can save them.”
In the silence that follows, Sergio leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what you experienced when you were with the Daggers,” he says. He hesitates, as if not sure whether to share this with us, but then he scowls and goes on. “But I considered them my friends, until they weren’t.”
Until they weren’t. “How are we different?” I say, meeting Sergio’s eyes. “You are a mercenary.” My gaze shifts to Magiano. “What happens to our alliance if we fail to get the throne?”
Sergio gives me a bitter smile. “You think too far ahead,” he says. “This is nothing personal. But at least we’re not pretending with you. You and I both know what we’re doing, and why. I gather mercenaries for you, and you put us to good use. You reward us as you have promised. I have no reason to betray you.” He shrugs. “And I have no desire to work with the Daggers. It gives me great pleasure to know that we will take their prince from them.”
“And where will your mercenaries be, when we need them?”
Sergio gives me a sidelong look and takes a swig of water. “They will be waiting for us in Estenzia. You’ll see when we get there.”
I lower my head and close my eye. Why shouldn’t I have as much of a right to rule Kenettra—as much as Giulietta, or Enzo, or Maeve and the nation of Beldain? Raffaele is a gentle soul, but he has his darkness too. He can be a traitor, just like me, and untrustworthy. Should he be the one controlling Enzo? My old affection for Raffaele starts to bend, fueled by Sergio’s story and my own memories, curving until it turns into bitterness. Into ambition. Into passion.
I think of Enzo back in the world of the living, of what it will be like to see him again. To rule, side by side. The thought of such a future makes my heart ache with longing. This is right, the two of us. I can feel it.
I pull myself upright and lean forward from my pillows. My stare lingers first on Violetta, then Magiano and Sergio. “The Daggers failed because I didn’t trust them,” I say. “But I have to trust you. We have to trust one another.”
Sergio nods. There is a brief silence. “Then perhaps we need something to solidify our plans. We are a force as much as the Daggers are.”
“A name, then,” Magiano adds. “Names give weight, reality, to an idea. Sergio, my friend, what did the Daggers call you when you stayed with them?”
Sergio frowns a little, reluctant to remember, but still decides to answer Magiano’s question. “They called me the Rainmaker.”
“Ah, the Rainmaker.” Magiano plucks a note in reply. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any.”