The complete lack of doubt in his voice makes my heart beat faster. Before I can respond, he looks around the room and settles on the door. “Where are the others?”
This is the second piece of what I must tell him—the harder piece. The one that cannot be all truth. If I tell him what I did to Raffaele at the arena, if I reveal to Enzo that I had twisted an illusion of pain around Raffaele that left him unconscious on the ground, I will never be forgiven. He’ll never understand that. So instead, I tell him this. “The Daggers aren’t here. It is only me, my sister, and several Elites you may have heard of.”
Enzo narrows his eyes. For the first time, he looks wary. “Why are the Daggers not here? Where am I?”
“Everyone thought you were dead,” I say softly. This, at least, is the truth. “The entire country mourned you, while the Inquisition rounded up all malfettos and began a massive hunt for the Daggers.” I pause again. “Raffaele and the Daggers blamed me for your death. They cast me out,” I say. The memory of my last real conversation with Raffaele haunts me. “Raffaele thinks I helped Teren and the Inquisitors, and that I betrayed the Daggers.”
“And did you?” Enzo’s voice is quiet, the calm before a predator’s strike. His trust in Raffaele runs so deep that he knows there must be a good reason why Raffaele cast me out. I think of the way he’d once tilted my chin up with his gloved hand, how he’d told me so firmly not to cry. That I was stronger than that. I remember the way he once pushed me against the rocky wall of the training cavern, and how, when he left, a scorched handprint remained on that wall. I tremble. This is my Enzo.
“No,” I reply. “I wish I could convince the Daggers of that.” I sound more certain than I feel. The lies come more easily now. “I don’t know where the Daggers are now, or what they plan to do next. All I know is that they will certainly strike the palace.” I steady my trembling voice and I give Enzo a determined look. “We can still take the crown.”
Enzo studies me for a moment. I sense him searching for buried truths in my story. His gaze wanders from the scarred side of my face, to my lips, then to my good eye. How strange that I should be the one sitting here now, and he is in bed. I think of when he had first come into my chambers on the day we officially met, how he’d smiled and asked me if I wanted to strike against the Inquisition. What does he see now?
Can we rule together?
The whispers in my head hiss at me. They are upset, I realize, with Enzo’s presence. There is no rightful heir to Kenettra’s throne. You deserve it, as much as anyone. I try to silence them, annoyed.
At last, Enzo sighs and softens his gaze. “When I mentioned what I remembered from the Underworld,” he says, “I left something out.” His hand closes around mine. This time, I jump at his touch. His fingers are scalding hot, the energy underneath them overwhelming. A delicious, familiar heat rushes through me. His ability with fire churns under his skin, stronger than I remember it ever being. He leans toward me.
“What?” I whisper, unable to turn away.
“I saw you, Adelina,” he whispers. “Your energy wrapping around me, pulling me through the black ocean and up to the surface. I remember looking up and seeing your dark silhouette in the water, framed by the quivering glow of the moons through the ocean’s surface.”
The moment when Maeve tied him to me, forever.
“And do you remember me well?” I ask. “Do you remember all that has happened in our past?”
“I do,” he replies. And I wonder whether he is remembering the last night we spent together, when he told me of his darkest fears, when we slept side by side for comfort.
“I’ve missed you,” I say, my voice hoarse, and the truth in those words burns me until I’m raw. It takes me a moment to realize that my cheek is wet. “I’m sorry.”
Enzo tightens his fingers around mine. Heat rushes from his hand and through me in a current, and for a moment, I’m helpless. The whispers’ protests fade away into nothing. The tether wraps tightly around us both, entangling us as surely as if a rope had tightened around our hearts, and I lean toward him, unable to resist the pull. This is something different altogether, the strength fueled by the history between us, the passion I once felt for him, that I still feel. Did Enzo ever love me? He must have. He looks at me now with a strange hunger in his eyes, like he can feel the pull of the tether too.
“What is this?” he whispers. His lips are very close to mine now. “This new tie between us?”