“Stay where you are,” I cry.
Break the illusion, Adelina. You have to. None of this is real.
I tell myself this, but I don’t know how to escape my mind.
I stagger out of my father’s house and into the rain. Silverware glistens on the wet ground all around me. I am sixteen, and I am trying to run away. Behind me, my father emerges from our home’s entrance with a bloodstained knife clutched in his hand. His eyes meet mine. I whirl, looking wildly around for my horse, but there is none. I stagger forward, then trip over the silver candelabras and dishes cluttering the ground. I fall, making a thunderous clatter. I start to crawl on my hands and knees. My father gets closer. My breaths come in ragged sobs.
I just want to get away. I just want to escape. I just want to be safe. Somebody help me.
A rough hand grabs my ankle. I kick frantically, but it’s no use. Another hand grabs my soaked shirt and yanks me up, then slams me against the wall. My arms fly up in defense. My father’s snarling face appears before me, rain carving rivers down his cheeks and chin, water making his teeth slick. He grabs my hair tightly in one fist. There is fire around us, distant shouts.
“No—” I cry out. Break out of the illusion break out of the illusion it’s not real tell me it’s not real.
My father’s knife presses against my chest. He stabs down, hard. I can feel the knife slice into my flesh. It hits deep. My eye widens—my mouth opens in horror. I try to stop him, but my arms are weak and useless. The blade hits my lungs.
I take a deep breath and scream.
“Adelina! Adelina!”
Hands are trying to pull my arms down. I scream and scream, unable to stop. Stop saying my name.
And then, everything leaves me in a rush. I crumple in sudden exhaustion.
It takes me a long moment to realize that the person calling my name is Magiano, and it is his arms wrapped around me. Beside him stands Violetta. She has taken my power away. Our old home, my father, the silverware littering the ground, the knife, Teren—they’ve all vanished, leaving me huddled at the entrance of the Fortunata Court, drenched in rain. I cling desperately to Magiano. How had my illusions felt so real this time? How can I be sure that Magiano and Violetta are not an illusion? What if they aren’t here at all?
“It’s okay,” Magiano whispers into my hair as I cry. He kisses my face. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”
I try to say that I’m grateful he’s here, that I hope he’s real, but my words are lost in my sobs. Violetta watches me helplessly, then turns away and looks at Magiano.
“What happened?” she calls out over the rain.
“A group of attackers,” Magiano replies. “They ambushed us.”
Violetta gasps. “Inquisition?”
“No. These were foreign soldiers, with foreign accents.” One of his arms loops under my legs, while the other presses against my back. He lifts me effortlessly. I huddle against his warmth, balling his shirt into my fist. “I don’t know where Enzo’s gone. Some of the other mercenaries have given chase.” He raises his voice. “Hey! A little help here!” A couple of our men run toward us.
I realize, slowly, that the fires and shouting around us are real. Someone had attacked us. The tether between Enzo and me is pulled tight, stretched thin. I reach out through it, but he is too far away for me to control him. The distance sends a sharp pain through me, and I wince, trying to choke that pain down. He’s gone. I blink through the rain, fighting to see the difference between illusion and reality. Am I truly here?
“Get a warm cloth,” Magiano is saying over me. We head inside and up the stairs, where he places me gingerly on the bed. The rain dripping from my hair soaks the sheets. From here, I can see out the window toward the black sea.
“Who were they?” I whisper. I’m still not entirely sure that any of this is happening.
“The Beldish, I think,” Magiano mutters. “They must have sent a hunting party out after us.”
I shudder. The knife stabbing into my chest had felt so real—my father had been right there, Teren had slammed me against the wall. My wild illusions, like my powers, are starting to take on more facets than just sight and sound. They can touch me, make me think they are hurting me. I think of all the times I have used this against others. Then, the thought of it turning against me.
I look up at Magiano. He stares at me with a worried expression. His eyes are not slitted. His pupils are black, and his gold eyes are warm and bright. “This is your tether making things worse,” he says. “I know it. You told me you aligned with passion. It calls to you when you’re tied to him, doesn’t it?”