As we draw near the camps, Inquisitors come into sharp view along the banks of the canal. One of them notices our gondolas floating with the current toward the city walls. “Sir,” he calls to one of his companions. “More stray boats. Should we pull them ashore?”
Another Inquisitor peers at my gondola first. I cringe, reminding myself to keep a tight hold on our illusions.
“Empty,” the second Inquisitor says. He makes a distracted gesture with his hand and starts to turn away. “Ah, just let them float by and come help me with these malfettos. The gondoliers can find their boats piled somewhere in the canals after this storm’s over.”
I can’t move much without risking detection, but as the Inquisitors turn away, I lift my head enough to see down a path among the shelters. At the far end, I catch a glimpse of disheveled, frightened malfettos lowering their heads as the soldiers pass them. The sight of them makes my stomach churn. For a moment, I wish I could do what Raffaele does.
We keep moving. The walls loom closer, until I can see their individual stones washed dark by the rain. By now, night has fallen completely. Aside from the few scattered torches and lanterns holding up against the rain, I can hardly see anything. In front of me, Violetta stirs underneath our shield of invisibility.
“The gate is up,” she says back to me.
I look ahead. The gate is indeed drawn up, allowing the canal to swell, and beyond it I can see the start of inner Estenzia, the cobblestone streets and archways of buildings. The city’s celebrations are subdued by the rain, and broken paper lanterns litter the streets. Brightly colored flags hang limp and soaking from balconies.
Two Inquisitors walk where the canal meets the gate, their eyes trained on the water, but aside from them, we are alone.
We are not as lucky with this second pair of Inquisitors. One of them leans over the edge of the canal as we sail by. His boot stops our gondola with a jerk. I bite my tongue in frustration. In the darkness and rain, he can’t see that the gondola looks empty. He nods to his partner. Behind us, the second gondola carrying Magiano and Sergio comes to a stop.
“Check that one,” the first says to his partner. Then he turns back to ours, draws his sword, and points it down into the boat—right at Violetta’s crouched body. He lifts the blade. Violetta tries to press herself away, but it will be useless if he stabs down all along the length of the boat.
Behind us, the second Inquisitor lifts his blade at the other gondola.
I yank back my blanket of invisibility. We suddenly come into view.
The Inquisitor pauses for an instant as he sees eyes blinking back at him from where moments ago there had been nothing. “What in—” he blurts out.
I narrow my eye and lash out at him. Threads of energy whip around his body, the illusion hooking into his skin and pulling taut. At the same time, Violetta leaps out of the boat and knocks the Inquisitor’s sword from his hand. It clatters to the ground. The man lets out a half shriek, but I cut it off as my threads tighten around him. The energy in me surges with delight as the man’s confusion changes into terror. His eyes bulge, filling with pain.
Behind us, Magiano leaps out of their boat to attack the second Inquisitor.
The first Inquisitor clutches his chest and falls to his knees. He reaches for the sword on the ground, but I grab it first. As I move, I catch a glimpse of Violetta’s face. Her lips are set in a grim line. I half expect her to cower in the darkness, or reach out with her powers to stop me, but instead, she stoops down and grabs the Inquisitor’s cloak. She yanks it, forcing him to topple backward. He gasps in pain.
The world around me closes in—for a moment, all I can see is midnight and my victim. I grit my teeth, lift his sword, and plunge it into his chest.
The man trembles on the blade. Blood sprays from his mouth. I glance to my side to see Sergio with his arm wrapped tightly around the second Inquisitor’s throat. Sergio squeezes hard. His Inquisitor’s arms grapple frantically for him, but Sergio hangs grimly on. I breathe in the terror of the struggling man.
The Inquisitor I stabbed stops trembling. I close my eye, lift my head, and take a deep breath. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mixing with the wetness of the rain—it is all so familiar. When I open my eye again, I’m no longer looking down at the Inquisitor. I’m looking down at my father’s ruined corpse, his ribs smashed in by his horse’s hooves, his blood staining the cobblestones—
And I’m not horrified. I look at it, indulging in the darkness around me, feeding me, strengthening me, and I realize that I’m happy I killed him. Truly happy.
A hand touches my shoulder. My face jerks around to see who it is, and my energy surges, eager to hurt again.