Like everything else about Magiano, his little challenge to me is probably a trick.
“He said he’d make his move tomorrow morning,” Violetta says to me that evening, as we sit together on the floor of a small tavern room on the edge of Merroutas. We are practicing our powers, just as we do every night.
“He’ll make his move sooner than that.” I weave a tiny ribbon of darkness on the ground and let it dance in a pattern. “Tricksters don’t tell the truth.”
“Then what should we do? We don’t have much time if we want to beat him.”
I shake my head, concentrating on weaving the ribbon into a miniature, dancing faerie. I mold as much detail as I can into its face. “Remember,” I say, “our goal isn’t to steal the diamond pin before Magiano can. Our goal is to convince him that we are worth following.”
Violetta watches as I shift my illusion of the dancing faerie, hunching its back, replacing its beautiful hair with hideous spikes. I grow it into a hulking monster. “You’re thinking about what he said, aren’t you?” she asks after a moment. “How the Night King has ten thousand mercenaries and an army at his back. You’d love to have that kind of support at your disposal.”
“How did you know?”
Violetta gives me a timid smile before putting her chin in her hands and admiring my illusion. “I’ve known you my whole life, mi Adelinetta. And I think Magiano told you about those mercenaries for a reason.”
“And what reason is that?”
“Perhaps he wants you to win them over to your side.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as I play with the illusion. The monster gradually changes into a sleek, golden doe, Violetta’s favorite animal. My sister’s smile expands at the sight, encouraging me to make it even prettier for her. “Magiano is arrogant,” I say. “If we really want to win him over, we can’t just steal a diamond pin.” I look at her again. “We need to surprise him with what we can do.”
Violetta looks away from the doe illusion and arches an eyebrow at me. “How do we plan on doing that? You heard Magiano. And you saw the soldiers during the Midsummer Festival too. They are all intimidated by the Night King. He rules with fear.”
At that, the doe’s golden hide turns black, and the creature’s eyes glow scarlet. Violetta instinctively shrinks away from it.
“So do I,” I say.
Violetta realizes what I want to do. She laughs a little, both uneasy and admiring, then shakes her head. “You were always good at playing games,” she replies. “I could never beat you.”
I’m not that good, I think, even as her words warm me to her. I tried to play Teren’s game against him, and I lost everything.
“Adelina,” she whispers, seriously this time. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“You won’t,” I reply, taking her hand. “We are just going to show off what we can do. Mercenaries can be persuaded to turn against their employer. If we can show how much more powerful we are than the Night King—if we can make him fear us, and make sure his men see—some of them may switch their allegiance. They could follow us.”
Violetta looks up at me and searches my gaze. There is guilt there, for how she had once left me to fend for myself. “Okay,” she says.
It is her way of telling me that she’ll never betray me again. I squeeze her hand, then lean back. “Go ahead,” I say to Violetta. “Take my power away.”
She reaches out and tugs at my threads of energy. My illusion wavers wildly. When Violetta uses her power, it feels as if an invisible hand were reaching down my throat and pulling the energy out of my body. She holds on to it tightly—my illusion dissolves. I try to access my power, but I can’t anymore. A feeling of panic bubbles up like bile, the sudden and familiar fear that I will never, ever be able to defend myself again, that I am now exposed for all to see.
Don’t panic. I remind myself of our promise and force myself to relax. “Hold on,” I murmur to Violetta through gritted teeth. I have to let her do this. She needs to practice her stamina.
The seconds crawl by as I continue to push back my panic, trying to get used to the feeling. There is a certain solace in it, yes. The absence of darkness. The lack of twisted whispers in the night. But without it, I feel helpless, and I spiral into the version of myself that used to cower before my father. Again and again, I try to reach out for my energy. Again and again, I find nothing but air, emptiness where there had once been a churning pool of darkness. More minutes.
When I feel like I can’t stand it any longer, I finally choke out, “Give it back.”
Violetta exhales.
My power rushes back to me, and I crumple in relief as strength floods me again, filling every nook and crevice of my chest with its sickness. Both of us lean back in exhaustion. I give Violetta a small smile.