Adelina Amouteru
Irest alone in my room.
Out in the streets, people chant for and against the king, for and against the Elites.
Maids come in to check on me, making sure I’m unharmed from the previous night, but I send them away and stay under my blankets. Every time I hear one of them approaching, I jump—it is Dante, who has figured out my betrayal and is coming to kill me. Once, I hear Enzo’s voice out in the hallway, asking a servant whether I’m all right. Gemma tries to get me to come out, but I refuse her. I lie here until the shafts of light have shifted to the other side of the room. Memories of Violetta run through my mind, tangled with all the ways Teren has promised to torture her.
I have three days. Three days of time, before I either tell the Daggers the truth or betray them entirely.
I linger on the way Teren’s skin stitched itself together after Dante’s arrow tore through his shoulder. Teren is an Elite hell-bent on killing other Elites, on killing malfettos altogether. I turn the thought over and over in my head, unable to make sense of it. No wonder Enzo didn’t even try attacking Teren on my execution day. No wonder they have not targeted Teren earlier. How can an Elite turn on his own kind?
Through my shock, I feel a sinking despair. If even the Daggers cannot hurt Teren, then what chance do I have?
Raffaele is the only one who finally pulls me out of my thoughts. He comes to my door at sunset. “You’re awake,” he says gently. “Come. Get dressed and follow me.”
I have a sudden urge to tell Raffaele everything—Teren’s threats, his stranglehold on my sister, what he has offered. You could get the others to help me right now. We could do a mission together, to save my sister. But each time I think this, I hesitate. They are intent on seizing the throne. An attempt to free Violetta from the Inquisition’s clutches is a significant and dangerous detour. Do they care enough about me already to risk their entire mission? Besides, I have no idea where my sister is. Teren could kill Violetta before any of us gets to her in time.
Raffaele watches me carefully. I hope he can’t predict why my energy is shifting so much. I open my mouth, and out comes a harmless phrase. “Is it time?”
At my expression, he nods. “Yes, it’s time.”
A lump lodges in my throat. I’d looked forward to this day. Now I’m not so sure.
He starts to turn away, then pauses and looks back at me. “I know last night was frightening for you,” he says. “It’s all right, mi Adelinetta. No one will hold it against you.”
He thinks I feel this way because of yesterday’s killings, because Teren attacked me. He doesn’t know what Teren said to me. I nod in silence beside him, then keep my gaze turned down.
We make our way through the now-familiar corridors, then head out into the courtyard and down toward the cavern. Neither of us says a word.
Finally, we step into the cavern. For only the second time, I see all the Daggers gathered. The only one missing is Enzo. His absence sends a spike of panic through me. He’s probably at his royal estates, or gathering his patrons. Or . . . what if Teren has discovered his identity? What if the Inquisition is after him right now?
Raffaele nods for me to come forward. I do as he says, until I’m only a few feet away from him. The other Daggers look on without a word. Gemma flashes me a smile, and so does Michel. I smile faintly back. At the other end, Dante watches me with a dark, ominous look. I try to ignore him, but his expression sends nausea through me, reminding me of Teren’s words. What is he thinking? What did he see? I look at the others again, searching for anything I might have missed. Do any of them know?
Raffaele steps toward me and hands me a neatly folded bundle of cloth. When he steps aside, I see that within the cloth is a silver mask. In the silence, I take it and hold it out solemnly before me. They don’t know yet.
My hands are shaking uncontrollably now. In spite of everything, my heart still leaps in a moment of excitement. This is my silver mask, my dark robe. From this day forward, I am supposed to be one of them. For the first time in my life, I have been accepted by a group.
The excitement fades quickly, replaced by dread.
“Repeat after me,” Raffaele says. I nod wordlessly, my throat dry. His words echo all around us.
“I, Adelina Amouteru—”
Violetta will pay for this, you know. Not you. Violetta.
“—hereby pledge to serve the Dagger Society, to strike fear into the hearts of those who rule Kenettra—”
I’ll tell you what you want. Just give me one more week. Please.
“—to take by death what belongs to us, and to make the power of our Elites known to every man, woman, and child.”
Three days. If you go back on your word again, I will shoot an arrow through your sister’s neck and out the back of her skull.
“Should I break my vow, let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.”
I repeat the words. Every single one. Darkness swims inside me. Should I break my vow, let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.
Raffaele bows his head to me when we finish. “Welcome to the Dagger Society.” He smiles. “White Wolf.”
Afterward, I dress in a flowing length of red robes and head down to the cavern with Gemma. The others are already there by the time I arrive, along with several strangers dressed in aristocratic clothing. Patrons? Around them swirl a few consorts from the Fortunata Court. The Daggers have donned formal Kenettran robes tonight, and now they lounge in a circle on pillowed divans in the underground sitting room, ignoring the trays of cold grapes and spiced wine. Despite the intense conversations they seem to be having with the richly dressed strangers, there’s a noticeable sense of celebration in the air, the nearing of their end goal. It contrasts oddly with the urns and ashes lining the walls. Their voices sound low, excited. I watch it all like it’s a dream of colors moving around me. None of it seems real. Somewhere beyond these walls, the Inquisition Tower looms.
How will I ever find a chance to get away?
I pick out Enzo’s figure in the midst of the group. Raffaele is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s not attending this meeting, or perhaps he’s occupied. I try to explain away his absence.
“Adelina.” Gemma’s voice cuts through my maelstrom of thoughts. She smiles at me, then leads me over to the group. The strangers cast me curious glances. I look back at them. Only one looks familiar—the madam of the Fortunata Court, dressed tonight in an elaborate silk gown of blue and gold. “These are our noble patrons,” Gemma whispers as we take a seat on a divan. “They’re eager to meet you.”
So, these are the people who support Enzo’s claim to the throne. Gemma introduces me around the circle with her animated chatter, stopping to point out her father in particular. I smile and play along as the patrons each greet me in turn, their eyes lingering. At the other end of the circle, Enzo leans back on a divan with a glass of wine in one hand, his boots crossed on a low table and his face partially hidden behind a mask. He glances briefly at me and returns to his conversation.
“I’ve heard the king cannot cancel the Tournament,” one of the patrons says to Enzo. “It would make him look like a fool and a weakling to the people. He and the queen must appear by tradition.”
“Exactly the corner we wanted him backed into,” another replies.
“Can your illusion worker get us into the palace?” says a third. His eyes flicker to me, and I feel a jolt of anxiety. “The people are ripe for an overthrow now, especially after last night’s display. We could try making a move before the Tournament, even tonight.”
Enzo shakes his head. “My sister will not be with the king. Their apartments are on opposite ends of the palace. Adelina’s skills are not strong enough to hold an illusion for that long, at such close quarters. The Tournament is our best chance.”
The others break into frustrated murmurs. Michel sits back and holds up a glass of wine in apology to Enzo. “If only I could unravel living things. I’d happily march into the palace and unravel the royals off a cliff for you.” Scattered laughter.
Lucent rolls her eyes as she twirls a curly blonde lock of hair around her finger. “And I still say we all forget about saving this damned country, ship off to Beldain, and live like kings. Some nations know how to treat malfettos.” More laughter, while Michel affectionately mocks Lucent’s Beldish accent.
I just look on numbly, trying to play along.
“He will, someday,” Gemma whispers to me. I startle at her voice, then realize she must think I’m confused by the conversation. “Michel, I mean. He’ll figure out how to unravel living creatures. He says the energy of the soul gets in the way.”
The energy of the soul. If Michel were to see the energy of my own soul, what would he see?
The conversation filters back to me as I hear myself mentioned again. “And can she work her illusions well enough for the Tournament?” one patron asks Enzo.
“Yes, Your Highness—can she uphold her end of the mission?”
“We want a demonstration.”
“Adelina,” Enzo suddenly says, looking in my direction. The nobles turn to look at me too.
I blink, taken off guard. “Yes?”
“Create an illusion of a person for us.”
I hesitate, then suck in my breath and concentrate on the darkness in my chest. Gradually, I weave in midair a face that resembles Enzo, the same eyes and nose and mouth and hair, the thin scar prominent on the cheek. The nobles murmur among themselves. It’s still not quite right—there is a lack of refinement in the details, the glassy-eyed look of something that doesn’t seem quite human, the amateur texture of the skin. It wavers a little. Now and then, it looks translucent. It would not work for us at close quarters. But it will be enough. I hold the illusion there for a moment, then release it.
Enzo smiles at me. “When the Tournament of Storms comes,” he says, “the king and queen will announce the horse races, then watch from a close vantage point. If you can disguise Gemma, no one will notice her when she’s moving on the back of a horse. Can you get her close enough to strike?”
He’s announcing before all his patrons that I’m included in their final mission. My heart jumps at the thrill, then squeezes painfully at the memory of Teren’s words. “I can do it,” I reply.
The nobles look thrilled with me. Enzo smiles pleasantly with them and clinks glasses—but even here, in the safety of the cavern and surrounded by supporters, he has a wariness about him, the lingering unease of someone preoccupied with other problems.
I wonder if he can sense anything suspicious about me. Thank the gods that Raffaele isn’t here to notice the dark shifts in my energy. He must have a client tonight. The spiced wine eases some of the anxiety stirring in me, and I find myself holding my glass out again for the consorts to refill it.
“You seem less cheerful than you should be,” I say to Enzo in a low voice, when there’s a lull in his conversation with the nobles.
He glances back at me, seems to think about answering, and then glides around my comment. “Feeling festive, mi Adelinetta?” He nods as a consort fills my glass for the second time. My heart flutters fiercely at the way he says the affectionate version of my name. “Careful. It’s a strong wine.”
It’s true; the wine makes me bold, helps me forget. “I’m the White Wolf,” I reply. “Surely that deserves a second helping.”
Enzo’s lips tilt up in amusement, and I feel the roar of attraction rising in me. How will I tell him about the Inquisition? His eyes wander back to the other Daggers. “So it does.” He raises his glass in the air, and the nobles join him. “To the White Wolf,” he says, glancing at me. “And the beginning of a new era.”
Gemma leans over to me as I take a sip of my wine. “You like him,” she teases, jabbing me hard in the ribs.
I wince and shove her with my elbow. “Quiet,” I hiss. Gemma laughs with mischief at the expression on my face, then pushes away from me and hops up, barefoot, onto the divan. I let my breath out again, but I can’t help smiling. Of course she’s just messing around with me.
Enzo glances at her. She crosses her arms. “I’ve been practicing, Reaper,” she declares. “Watch this.”
She points at Enzo, then narrows her eyes. I watch curiously. “You!” she commands. “Fetch me a slice of melon.”
Enzo raises an eyebrow at her. “No,” he answers flatly, and the patrons let out a round of laughter. Her father smiles indulgently.
Gemma laughs along, then rolls her eyes and slumps back down on the divan. “Well, just you wait,” she says. “Men aren’t so much more complicated than animals. I’ll figure it out.”
Her antics coax an affectionate smile out of Enzo, cutting briefly through his tension. “I don’t doubt it, my Star Thief,” he says, and she beams at him in the midst of more chuckles from the Daggers and nobles. I look on, trying to fight down my envy as Gemma laughs with her father.
One of the consorts claps her hands. “A game!” she exclaims. She passes out long golden necklaces to us. I’m not familiar with this, but apparently the others are—because they let out whoops and whistles. The consort notices my puzzled look. “Loop your necklace around the person you’re most fond of,” she explains with a smile. “The one with the most necklaces wins.”
The shouts and laughter fly fast and thick. Gemma attempts to steal everyone’s necklaces for herself, only to have Lucent toss them up into the air and knock Gemma onto a divan with a playful gust of wind. The aristocrats clap, applauding their powers and murmuring about how they will show them off during the Tournament. Several consorts loop their necklaces over Michel’s neck, making his grin as wide as his face. Even Dante, with his permanent scowl, lets a consort give him a necklace and wraps his arm around her waist.
Gemma offers me her necklace, as does one of the other male consorts. I blush, laughing along. Enzo watches us all with a calm expression. He twines his gold necklace around his fingers, deep in thought.
“Come, Your Highness,” Michel calls out at him, twirling his trio of necklaces around his hand. He grins. “Unless you’re most fond of yourself.”
More carefree laughter. Enzo gives him a small smile, then tosses his necklace up in the air. “For you, then,” he replies. Michel gestures at the necklace, and it vanishes in midair and reappears wrapped around his hand. He throws it around his neck with a triumphant grin. Enzo waves off the consorts attempting to give him a necklace and looks on as the others fight over the prizes, each one more enthusiastic than the last.
None of them know what’s going through my mind. None of them know that even as they celebrate, I am thinking about what to do with Teren, how to get to the Inquisition Tower to save my sister. How I will betray everyone in here.
I sway in my seat. The others don’t notice, but Enzo does—he turns to look at me. I put down my glass of wine and take a deep breath, but it’s no use. Darkness pools in the pit of my stomach, feeding ravenously on my fear. I can’t stay here.
It takes me a moment to realize that Enzo has risen to his feet. He strides over to me, offers me his gloved hand, and helps me up. I lean unsteadily against him. The others pause for a moment to look over at us, and some of the laughter fades.
“Are you all right, Adelina?” Gemma calls out.
I start to say something, but it’s hard to focus. Enzo wraps an arm around me and guides me away from the circle. “Carry on,” he tells the others. “I’ll return shortly.” Then he lowers his voice to me and leads me back inside the court. “You look like you need to rest,” he murmurs.
I don’t argue. As the noise of the others fades away, leaving only the echo of our footsteps up the stone path to the surface, I slowly come back to life. The darkness fades a little, replaced with the pulse of Enzo’s heart. His hand is hot against my side. My legs feel weak, but he keeps me steady. My head reaches to his shoulder and I’m reminded again of how tall he is, how small I am.
“I don’t think I’ve quite gotten over last night,” I murmur as we walk, trying to think of a good excuse.
“Don’t apologize,” Enzo replies. “Teren is not an Inquisitor to take lightly.”
I look at him. My curiosity rises. “Your fire didn’t hurt him,” I decide to say. “Have you . . . always known?”
Enzo hesitates. “I knew him when we were children.” There’s something strange about the way he says this, as if he feels a certain sympathy for Teren. “He’s the only Elite that Raffaele cannot sense.”
Raffaele. “Where is he tonight?”
“The madam informed me that Raffaele was called to a client’s home,” Enzo says after a moment. “I’m sure all is well.” But something about his tone tells me that Raffaele should have returned by now. I look back down, trying not to think the worst.
We reach the wall that opens to the courtyard fountains. A light drizzle has started, chilling the night air. By now, I’m able to walk on my own again, and I pause here for a moment to savor the quiet dance of rain on my skin. Enzo waits patiently. I tilt my face up and close my eye. The drizzle is cold, clearing my senses. The damp grass soaks the hem of my robes. “I feel better now,” I say. Partly true, at least.
He gazes out at the courtyard too, as if taking in the shine that the rain gives to the night scene. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. Finally, he turns back to me. He looks like he wants to ask what’s troubling me, as if he knows it extends deeper than what I’d claimed, but he doesn’t. Can I tell you? Would you turn on me?
Enzo watches me silently. The lanterns on the courtyard wall outline his face in a halo of damp, golden light, and the beads of water in his hair glitter in the darkness. He is such a startlingly different beauty from Raffaele—dark, intense, wary, perhaps even menacing—but I see a softness in him, a stirring desire. Something mysterious flickers in his eyes.
The spiced wine from earlier now gives me a sudden rush of courage. On impulse, I take my gold necklace off, then lift my arms and drape it over his neck. My hands brush past his crimson hair, the skin of his neck. I half expect Enzo to push me away. But he doesn’t stop me. His eyes are liquid dark and beautiful, slashed with scarlet, ringed with long lashes, full of an emotion deep and wanting. I swallow, suddenly aware of the attention I’ve stirred. Then I lean up on my toes, gently tug the necklace toward me, and bring his lips to mine.
I hover there for a second, heady with the rush of courage. He doesn’t move a muscle. To my surprise and dismay, warmth doesn’t surge through me at the connection between us. Not the way it had when he’d kissed me at the Spring Moons. There’s fear in his heart. He’s holding back his energy. This thought brings me back to reality, and suddenly I feel stupid. Our last kiss had been one of necessity, part of blending into the festivities. That was all. I pull away. Rain dances cold against my face. Stupid. I’m in no state to act appropriately right now—there are too many thoughts racing through my mind, and I am so exhausted from them. I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, so I just start to step away.
He places a gloved hand against the small of my back and stops me. I stand still for a moment, trembling in his grasp. Rain shines on his lashes. His other hand tilts my chin up. I only have time to glance once at his face before he brings his lips down to mine. Then he’s kissing me, really kissing, reaching deep down for more.
Heat explodes inside me, flooding every vein in my body, a fire so intense that I can’t catch my breath. My mouth opens, gasping for air until he seizes my kiss back. The hand he uses to lift my chin now runs along the naked line of my jaw, careful and caressing, but even as he restrains his deadly abilities, I can sense the raw power churning under the surface. He pins me to the damp wall so that his body is pressed solidly against mine. In this moment, I can’t seem to remember anything. I push myself up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel the contour of his chest through his doublet and linen, the body hidden beneath the Reaper that makes him human.
His kiss goes on and on—I have trouble keeping my thoughts straight now. My hand slides from the back of his neck to the part of his throat exposed by his shirt. I push the linen farther aside, revealing bare skin, then the smooth line of his collarbone, then the curve of his brown shoulder. My fingers run across a scar there. He takes my hand, pulls it away from his skin, and pins it firmly to the wall over my head. His kisses wander down to my neck. Heat ripples in rings across my skin each time his lips make contact. My toes curl. I’m going to fall, I’m sure of it—but he holds me steady. The edges of my skirts are sliding higher, leaving wet streaks on my legs. His gloved hands. Soft leather against my skin. Then another wave of liquid fire bubbles through my body, and I can think of nothing else. The tiny raindrops landing on my lips and skin are pinpricks of ice against the heat coursing through me. I delight in the contrast. When I squint into the drizzle, I see the steam of my breath curling up into the night sky. A strange tingle runs through my toes. I cannot think—I’m losing control over my powers. Threads of my energy start to snake out of my chest, searching for Enzo’s heart, wrapping its strings around his own, clouding them with darkness.
This is dangerous. A small light of warning flashes inside me, and with all my strength, I force my illusions back under control. “Stop,” I whisper, pushing away.
He pulls back immediately, taking the heat of his energy with him. My body cools. He looks confused, as if he can’t quite remember what’s just happened. His eyes search my face. The moment ends, and all of my dark thoughts return in a rush, leaving me weak and nauseous. My skin tingles. What had my energy been trying to do? I can still feel the remnants of its dark threads, still eager to seek out Enzo, to overwhelm him.
“I’m not seventeen yet,” I decide to say. “I cannot give myself away.”
Enzo nods. “Of course.” He suddenly seems to recognize me again, the familiarity returning to his eyes, and the expression puzzles me. He gives me a small smile that seems tinged with apology. “Let’s not anger the gods, then.”
He guides us out of the courtyard and back into the hall. We walk in silence, my heartbeat keeping time with our footsteps. Finally, we reach my chamber door. Enzo doesn’t linger. Instead, he gives me a courteous bow and bids me good night. I watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears. Then I enter my chamber.
The room is dark, the reflections of rain on the windows painting moving shadows against the walls. I stand against the door for a while, replaying our kiss in my mind. My cheeks stay hot. Long minutes drag by, until I have no idea how long I’ve been here like this. Had I run my hand along the naked skin of his throat, the line of his collarbone, his exposed shoulder? Had my energy surged out of control, seeking to wrap itself around him?
I have to tell him.
I’m an official Elite now; I should be able to tell the Daggers everything. Enzo had confided in me that he had some sort of history with Teren—if I should tell anyone about what Teren whispered to me, I should be able to tell him. Suddenly, I find myself moving toward the door again. I step out, then follow the corridor the way I’d come. I will never have another chance like this.
The sky is completely dark by the time I make my way back down the corridor, the candles lining the hall are already lit, and the sound of rain beats steadily against the roofs. I head down to the cavern. Laughter and conversation drift from the space. Everyone must still be down here, and by the sound of it, the wine’s still flowing freely. My hands tremble as I walk.
I reach the hall leading into the cavern, then pause behind the final pillar that overlooks the room. Here and there, I catch a glimpse of Enzo’s crimson hair. The sight of him sends my heart pounding. I’m one of them now. They are my friends and allies. They deserve to know. I start to step out.
Then I stop.
Dante has pulled Enzo aside. They exchange a few words, and then Dante nods toward my hallway. They walk in my direction, seeking out the corridor for a private chat. I tense. They’ll discover me here. For some reason, fear or curiosity or suspicion, I shrink back into the shadows and conjure a curtain of invisibility around myself. I paint the illusion of an empty hall over me, blending myself in with the shadows of the wall and pillar. Then I hold my breath.
What are they talking about? Beside me, my father’s ghost appears without warning, his shattered chest heaving, his mouth twisted into a dark smile. He places a skeletal hand on my shoulder and points at their approaching figures. Do you see that? he whispers in my ear, turning my insides to ice. Let’s listen to what your enemy has to say to your love.
I want to ignore his voice, but when Enzo and Dante finally reach the hall and come to a stop barely a dozen feet away from me, I catch their conversation. They’re talking about me.
And Moritas rose out of the Underworld with such fury in her eyes that all who saw her fell to their knees, and all wept,
begging her forgiveness. But Moritas had no desire to forgive.
She called on the earth, the earth trembled, and the mountains
buried the village in ash and stone.
—An account of the destruction of Teaza Island, by Captain Ikazara Terune