I am alone in my dungeon cell. Illusions are useless if I have no one to affect but myself, and so I do nothing but curl up on the ground while soldiers stand on the other side of the wall, beyond my iron door. Out of my reach.
Unlike the dungeons of Estenzia, my cell is suspended high above the city in a maze of spiraling towers that funnel wind through their passages like maelstroms. A lone window sits high above me. Through it, weak slants of moonlight illuminate parts of the floor where I’m now huddled. I stay very still. The wind outside howls, taking on the tone of the whispers in my head. I try to rock myself to sleep. It has been far too many days since I last took my herbs to calm the whispers, so I can feel the madness creeping forward again, threatening to wrestle control from me.
I wish desperately that Magiano were with me.
Something creaks. My prison door. I raise my head to stare at it. The guards, they must be delivering my supper early. A sharp pain tugs on my chest. I frown as the door slowly opens—and then realize, somehow, at the last moment, that on the other side of the door are not the guards at all. It is Teren and his Inquisitors.
Impossible. He is my prisoner, trapped in Estenzia’s dungeons.
My heart leaps into my throat. I scramble to my feet, stumble forward and attempt to close the door. But no matter how hard I throw myself against it, Teren edges in bit by bit, until I can see his mad eyes and blood-soaked wrists. When I look away and back at the interior of my dungeon cell, I see my sister’s body lying in one corner, her face pale in death, lips drained of color, eyes staring vacantly at me.
I jerk awake. Outside, the wind is howling. I tremble against the stones of my prison floor—until I hear my door creak open again. Again, I rush toward it in an attempt to keep the Inquisitors out. Again, they push back. Again, I look away to see Violetta dead on the floor, eyes pointed at me. I jerk awake.
The nightmare repeats itself over and over.
Finally, I wake with a terrible gasp. The wind is still howling outside my prison door, but I can feel the cold floor beneath me with a solidity that tells me I must be awake. Even so, I can’t be sure. I sit upright, trembling, as I look around my cell. I am in Tamoura, I remind myself. Violetta is not in here with me. Teren is in Estenzia. My breath fogs in the moonlit air.
After a while, I gather my knees up to my chin and try to stop shivering. In the corner of my vision, ghosts of clawed, hooved figures move in the shadows. I look out at the night sky through the barred window and try to picture my ships waiting for me out at sea.
Just agree to Raffaele’s request. Agree to help the Daggers.
Indignation rises in my chest at the mere thought of caving to Raffaele’s demands. But if I don’t, I will stay helpless in this cell, waiting for Sergio to lead my army to storm the palace. If I simply say I will help them, they will have to agree to a truce and let me free. They’ll free Magiano. The thought turns round and round in my head, gaining momentum.
Raffaele has betrayed you many times in the past. Why not use this as a chance to betray him? Agree. Just agree. Then you can strike them when they least expect it.
It seems too easy to be true, but it is my only way out of this prison. I look upward and try to gauge when the next rotation of soldiers will stand at my door.
The strings tug again, hard. A spike of pain shoots through me. I clutch my chest, frowning—this is what I’d felt in my dream, with the current yanking me down. But my nightmare has already ended. A sudden fear hits me, and I squeeze my eye tightly shut. Perhaps I am still in one.
The tug again. This time it hurts enough to make my body seize. I glance toward the door. The pull is from Enzo. Now I recognize the fire of his energy, his barbs in my heart as surely as mine are in his. Something is wrong. When the tug comes again, the door creaks . . . and then, it opens.
The guards are not waiting there. Instead, it is Enzo, swathed in shadows. My breath catches in my throat. His eyes are pools of black, completely devoid of any spark of life. His expression is nonexistent, his features seemingly carved from stone. My gaze darts down to his arms. They are exposed tonight, a mass of destroyed flesh. My heart freezes.
Did Raffaele send him here? He must have told the guards to step aside and let him in. I stare at him, unsure what to do next.
“Why are you here?” I whisper.
He says nothing in return. I can’t even tell if he’s heard me. Instead, he continues to walk forward. His gait seems off, although I can’t quite put my finger on why it looks strange. There is something . . . unrealistic about it, something stiff and uneven, inhuman.
He is gripping daggers in both hands.
I must still be in a nightmare. Enzo narrows the black pools of his eyes. I try to push through our tether to read his thoughts, but this time I feel nothing except an all-consuming darkness. It is beyond even hatred or fury—it is not an emotion at all, but the lack of all emotion and life. It is Death herself, extending out through Enzo’s vessel of a body and pulling me forward through the threads of energy that bind us. The touch feels ice cold. I shudder, pressing myself hard against the wall. But the cold claws of Enzo’s changed energy continue to reach for me, drawing closer and closer—until they hook into me and pull tight.
My energy lurches. The whispers in my head burst free and roar in my ears. I cry out at the overwhelming sensation. The control I have over my energy starts to slip, and the whispers gradually take on Enzo’s voice—and then, a new tone, one from the Underworld.
“What do you want?” I scramble backward against the floor, dragging my chains with me, until I can go no farther. Enzo approaches me until we are separated by nothing but his armor and my robes. His soulless eyes stare down at me as he sheathes his daggers. His hands clamp down on the chains that encircle my wrists and—in a moment that reminds me of the day he had rescued me from the stake—he heats the chains until they turn white-hot. They clatter to the floor. His lips curl.
“You have something that is mine,” Enzo murmurs, in a voice not his own. It resonates within my very core, and I immediately recognize it as the voice of Moritas, speaking through the Underworld.
She has come for Enzo. The tug between us pulls taut again, making me cry out in pain. She will kill me in order to take him back.
“Why don’t you jump, little wolf?” he whispers.
And, suddenly, I feel a desire to step out of my cell, walk up the rampart, and fling myself from the tower. No. Panic flutters in my mind as my energy turns on me and Enzo gains control. An illusion wraps around me—I’m no longer on the top of this tower, but clutching the skeletal hands of the goddess of Death herself, hanging desperately on as I float in the waters of the Underworld, trying not to drown. Cold hands pull at my ankles.
“You belong here,” Moritas says, her featureless face leaning down to me. You always have.
“Don’t let me go,” I beg. The words come out silent to my ears. Magiano! I cry. This must be a nightmare, but I can’t wake up. It can’t possibly be real. Perhaps he will be nearby and save me from my illusion as he always does.
Magiano, help me! But he isn’t here.
I blink, and now I am back in the prison tower, walking out of my cell’s ajar door to stand on the wind-whipped steps outside. Enzo follows behind me as I continue forward. The hands of Death grasp my heart through our tether, and the ice of her touch burns me. Fires protected inside colored lanterns illuminate the path with spots of light. I squint in the darkness, then turn my face to where the stairs wind up and around my cell. I take a step forward, one after another. A narrow gap between the cells appears, where a thin rampart overlooks the night landscape and then the ocean beyond. I strain to see any sign of my ships, but it is too dark. The wind numbs my fingers. I approach the rampart and grip the ledge with both hands. The tether pushes me forward, urging me over the wall.
The whispers shriek over the wind. Why don’t you jump, little wolf?