“How long was that?” Violetta asks after she manages to catch her breath again. She looks pale and fragile, as she always does after she uses her power, and her cheeks are unnaturally flushed.
“Longer than yesterday,” I reply. “That was good.”
To be honest, I want her to learn faster, so that we can confront Teren again sooner. But I have to be careful when I practice with her, lest she fall ill. I go slowly, gently, encouraging her along. Maybe I also do this because I am afraid of her, because her power is the one that I can never defeat. She is, after all, partly responsible for all my childhood abuse, for holding me back without ever telling me. If she wasn’t my sister, if I didn’t love her, if she had a harder heart … “Well, what do we do?” Violetta asks. I turn in the direction of the Night King’s court. My eye narrows at the glow of the setting sun. The whispers in my mind awaken as they sense what I’m thinking, and then they start to twitch and chitter in excitement, pushing and shoving against my thoughts until they crowd every dark corner. This time, I listen to them. This is my chance to send a signal to the Inquisition that I am coming for them, that they have not crushed me.
“We make the Night King cower at our feet,” I say.
It is a hot and humid evening, and the city shimmers under the light of a setting sun. Violetta and I make our way through the smoke-filled streets until we end up on a hill, overlooking a lush garden estate in the center of the city. Here, blue-and-silver flags depicting the symbol of a crown and moon hang from every balcony. The Night King’s main quarters.
I can see why Magiano chose a night like this to steal the pin. Because it’s so hot, everyone is eating and lounging outdoors, and a bustling outdoor space must be easier for a thief to work with. Sure enough, the garden inside the Night King’s estate now buzzes with servants, all setting up for the evening meal.
Violetta and I hide in the shadows under a row of trees. We stare at the guards posted along the estate’s walls. Farther down the hill, soldiers patrol near the main entrance.
“We can’t go over the walls,” I whisper. “Not without causing a scene.” If the Windwalker were with us, she could have effortlessly lifted us onto the walls—but now that we are no longer with the Daggers, I can rely only on my own powers.
“Look,” Violetta says softly, touching my arm. She points to the main entrance below. There, a cluster of young dancers gathers by the doors, waiting to be let in. They laugh and talk with the guards.
“Let’s find a different way,” I mutter. I don’t like the sight of them. Somehow, their ornate hair and colorful silks remind me too much of the Fortunata Court—of sensual consorts I once knew, who could hypnotize their audience with a sweep of their lashes.
“Do you want to waste all your energy on keeping us invisible for hours?” Violetta says. “It will be the easiest way to get in. You said Raffaele trained you while you stayed in the—”
“I know,” I interrupt, perhaps more harshly than I intended. Then I shake my head and soften my voice. She’s right. If we want to get in, we should go as dancers, and we need to play nicely with the guards. “But I never could charm clients like Raffaele did,” I admit. “I only played a novice who never needed to speak.”
“It’s not so hard, really.”
I give her a withering stare. “Maybe not for an unmarked malfetto like you.”
Violetta just lifts her chin and gives me a teasing look. It is the same look she used to give our father whenever she wanted something. “You are powerful, mi Adelinetta,” she says, “but you have all the charisma of a burnt potato pudding.”
“I like burnt potato pudding. It’s smoky.”
Violetta rolls her eyes. “My point is that it doesn’t matter what you like, it matters what others like. All you have to do is listen and look for what makes the other person happy, and feed it.”
I sigh. Violetta may not be able to lie about important things, but she does know how to charm. My gaze lingers on the dancers at the gate, and with a sinking feeling, I imagine us down there with them. Too many memories of the Fortunata Court. I only work with the worthy, Magiano had said. If we can’t survive tonight, then we aren’t worthy.
Maybe the loyalty of Magiano isn’t worth all this. Surely there are plenty of other Elites, lesser ones, who might join us without us risking our lives with the Night King. Magiano may be the most notorious of them all, but he is making us enter a snake pit in order to win him over.
Then I remember Teren’s pale, mad eyes. I think back on the massacre in the arena, Enzo’s death, and Teren’s taunts. With his versatile power, Magiano may be the only one capable of fighting Teren. If I’m going to return to Kenettra, I can’t afford to go with a ragtag bunch of Elites. I need to have the best. This goes far beyond Magiano. This is about us taking the Night King’s strength, of gathering our own power.
You have to be brave, the whispers say.