Adelina Amouteru
We head back to the safety of the catacombs. When evening starts to fall, stretching long shadows across the entire city, I finally dare to leave the tunnels again and lead Violetta farther into the city.
“Where are they headed?”
Violetta’s voice is strained and breathless as she hurries along behind me, holding my hand. We make our way through the dark streets in a blind rush, relying only on what I remember of the city’s layout. “They’re growing fainter,” she replies. “To the right. I think they might be going this way.” She gestures toward where a series of buildings surrounded by archways begins. The university.
“That’s one of their safe houses.” I shouldn’t be going back to the Daggers. But with Raffaele held hostage, and Enzo preparing to duel Teren tomorrow in the arena, I feel the pull of the bonds I’ve formed over the past few weeks. My steps quicken. I cannot leave Raffaele to die like this. Perhaps Dante was the only one who wanted to get rid of me. Perhaps I can still be a Dagger, and they care about me, and I can still belong.
Lying to yourself again, my dear? My father’s voice whispers in my head. I ignore him.
“This way,” I say after a moment. We hurry on.
Finally, as we near the university, I pause to find the entrance to the catacombs again and lead us down. It will be too dangerous for us to get inside the university out in the open, while Inquisitors might be patrolling its halls. Through the catacombs, I find the worn stairs that lead up to the dark hall inside one corner of the university. I take the steps one at a time, careful not to trip. Behind me, Violetta is tiring fast. Her power must drain her much more quickly than mine does.
“They’re here,” she whispers.
I stop in front of the door at the top of the stairs, then place my hand on the gem embedded in the wood. It opens.
We emerge from the underground. The hall is so quiet that we can still hear the commotion outside the university’s walls, the sounds of Inquisition patrols marching by, of raucous crowds. The next thing I hear are voices coming from within—voices that I know. I shrink into the shadows, and Violetta follows my lead.
The first voice I recognize is Lucent’s. She sounds frustrated. “He’ll kill him before morning even comes—how can you believe a word he says?”
I pause for a second longer, collecting myself, and then I start hurrying toward the voices. Violetta follows behind me. They lead us into the university’s main temple, where the doors are bolted shut. Light streams in from the stained glass high above us. And there, in the center of the looming space, stand several figures I know all too well.
They pause at the sight of us too.
I take a deep breath. Then I step out of the shadows.
“Where have you been?”
Lucent asks the question first. I have no idea how to answer. Where do I even start? Enzo requested a small room in the hall of the university temple’s apartments for us, and now Violetta and I are holed up inside, resting on the tiny twin cots. Lucent stands at the doorway, questioning me with her arms crossed over her chest. Enzo sits in the lone chair in the corner of the room, while Gemma and Michel perch on the edge of one of the cots. Violetta stays close to me on the other cot, silent and still, trembling slightly. I’m glad she’s too afraid to speak.
I glance at Enzo, who leans forward in the chair and rests his chin on top of his hands. He watches me in silence. “Teren threatened to kill my sister,” I reply. “He was keeping her in the dungeons of the Inquisition Tower.”
Enzo narrows his eyes. “When did your path first cross with Teren?”
Weeks ago. I can’t bring myself to say it. “He threatened me during the Spring Moons, before he fought you.”
Michel furrows his brows. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks.
I hesitate. “I didn’t think you would help me,” I decide to say. And it’s the truth. “It was too risky to involve everyone so close to the Tournament date.”
Lucent sniffs and turns in the doorway so that I see her profile. She doesn’t go so far as to accuse me of betrayal, but I can sense it in every line of her body. She doesn’t trust me. Her respect for me has withered to make room for suspicion. I tell myself to stay calm. Even though Raffaele’s capture is a large part of why I’ve come back to the Daggers at all, in this moment I’m relieved he’s not here with the others.
He would probably sense the lies I’m weaving around myself.
My gaze wanders back to Enzo, who stays silent for a long time. He doesn’t speak for me, but he doesn’t speak against me either. Finally, he straightens in his chair and regards all of us.
“Teren is not going to keep his word,” he says. “Make no mistake. When we duel tomorrow, he will use it as a chance to kill not only me, but the rest of us. He is not going to release Raffaele. He knows we will all be in the crowds at the arena, and he wants it to be the last standoff. He wants an all-out battle tomorrow.”
Enzo is including me in the plans. I am still one of them.
“What exactly is the plan then, Reaper?” Lucent says. “The king is dead, and your sister has Teren under her thumb. The Inquisitors are rounding up every malfetto in sight. How do we take on Giulietta?”
“Giulietta will never show her face at the arena tomorrow,” Enzo replies. “She’ll be hiding somewhere, protected by her guards. Tomorrow morning, our remaining patrons will send their supporters to attack the arena. We’ll rescue Raffaele, and I will kill Teren.” His jaw tightens. “We are going to wage war.” He glances at me. “I need your help.”
When we kissed in the courtyard, I say to myself, surrounded by rain and lanterns, did you mean it? What do you really want with me?
Finally, I give him a small nod.
Beside me, Violetta stirs. Everyone’s eyes shift to her. When she doesn’t speak, I do it for her. “I brought my sister here not just to protect her,” I say, “but because she can help us. She has something that can turn the tide.”
Michel gives her a skeptical look. “Are you a malfetto?” He glances over her, searching in vain for a marking.
“She’s an Elite,” I answer. “I think she lacks markings because of what she can do.” My gaze returns to Enzo. “She has the ability to take others’ powers away.”
Silence follows. And attention. Enzo leans forward in his chair, regards both of us thoughtfully, and then tightens his lips. I know that everyone is thinking the exact same thing.
Violetta can help us kill Teren.
“Well,” he says. “Let’s see what she can do.”
Violetta’s fever continues that night, a low burn that leaves her in a strange state of half consciousness. She murmurs for me now and then. I hold her hand until the whispers stop and her breathing evens out.
It’s quiet in the university’s temple hall. The others must have all retired to their chambers by now, although I doubt anyone is completely asleep. I want to venture outside, to get away from my sister for a moment and let the cool night air clear my senses. But the Daggers have locked us in our chamber. Lucent says it’s for my safety, but I can sense the subtle hint of fear lingering behind her words. Walls are slowly rising between us.
The sound of steel ringing out in the hall catches my attention. I sit up, more alert now. For an instant, I think it might be Inquisitors. They’ve discovered our hideout here and are coming after us. But the more I listen, the more I realize that the sound is coming from one sword, its lonely sound echoing every few seconds from some distant chamber. I rise from the bed and press my ear to the door. It sounds like swordplay. I listen for a while, until it finally dies down.
Footsteps approach in the hall outside. I lean away from the door. Seconds later, a soft knock sounds out. It takes me a moment to answer. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Enzo’s voice. I stay quiet, and a moment later I hear the lock click. The door opens a sliver to reveal part of Enzo’s face. He returns my stare for a moment before his gaze falls on Violetta’s fragile form. “How is she?” he asks.
“She just needs rest,” I reply. “I’ve seen her like this enough times. It seems to happen after she uses her powers.”
“Come with me,” he says after a moment. Then he leaves the door ajar and motions for me to follow him.
I hesitate, and for an instant I’m afraid that this will be the moment when Enzo finally gets rid of me once and for all. But he waits patiently, and after a while, I get up and follow him out of the chamber. One look at him sends a warm flush through me. He’s clad in simple clothes tonight, his linen shirt hanging loose over his torso, its undone lacings revealing skin underneath. His hair is untamed and untied, a dark red mane falling slightly past his shoulders. One hand holds a sword. That’s what the ringing sound had been in the hallway. Enzo must be practicing for the duel tomorrow.
I follow him down the hall with soft steps until we reach the door of his chamber.
We enter without a sound. In here, Enzo’s figure is barely illuminated by soft candlelight. My heart hammers in my chest. I stand near the door while he wanders over to the tiny desk at his bedside and uses his energy to strengthen the candle’s glow. His loose shirt reveals the skin of his lower neck. The silence sits heavily between us.
He gestures to the desk’s chair. “Sit, please.” Then he leans against the edge of his bed.
I sit. A long silence passes between us. Now that we’re alone, his eyes are gentle—not the hard, dark vision I’m so accustomed to—the same softness I’d seen when we kissed in the courtyard. He studies me. There’s a cloud of fear hovering around him tonight, subtle but significant. Is he afraid of me? “Tell me. Why did you really run away?” he asks. “There was another reason, other than your sister. Wasn’t there?”
He knows. A sudden fear floods through me. He doesn’t know about Dante—how could he? He’s digging for something else. Slowly, I let myself revisit the night when I covered the floor of my bedchamber with visions of blood, when I scrawled words of fury onto my wall. “Is it true?” I finally reply. “What Dante said to you in the hallway that night? About . . . getting rid of me?”
Enzo doesn’t look surprised. He suspected my reason all along. “You were there in the hall,” he says. I nod wordlessly. After a while, he clears his throat. “Dante’s opinions were his own.” Then, he adds in a softer tone, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Were. I shiver. Suddenly the room seems colder. “What happened to Dante?” I say.
Enzo pauses for a while, considering. Then he looks at me again. He tells me how they all scouted the city that night after seeing Inquisitors flooding the streets. How they split up. How all of them came back except one. How Lucent was the one to discover Dante’s body in an alley.
The story stirs the whispers in my mind, calling them back to the surface so that for a moment I can barely hear Enzo through the hisses of my thoughts. Dante deserved it, the whispers say. I murmur my condolences through a fog, and Enzo takes it all with a composed face.
How long can I keep up this lie?
We fall into a long silence. As the seconds drag by, I sense a new energy coming from Enzo, something all too familiar to me but foreign from him. I watch him for a while before I’m sure of what I’m feeling. He’s afraid.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” I whisper.
Enzo hesitates. It’s so unlike him to have this aura of fear. It sends an ache through my chest, and I rise from the chair to move closer to him. Dante was wrong. I must mean something to him. He must care.
Enzo watches me drawing near. He doesn’t move away. When I come to sit beside him, some of his tension seems to ease, and his expression softens, letting me in. “Teren’s father taught me how to fight.” He says it in a matter-of-fact way. “I am good. But Teren is better.”
I think back to how the two confronted each other before—first at my burning, and then at the Spring Moons. Each time, their clashes lasted for mere seconds. What will happen tomorrow morning, when they face each other in a fight to the death?
“Has he always hated us so much?” I murmur.
Enzo gives me a wry smile. “No. Not always.”
I wait for a moment, and soon Enzo begins talking again. He unveils the story of them as children, sparring together, and as I listen, the world around me fades until I feel as if I were standing in the palace courtyard from years ago, looking on as a young prince and a Lead Inquisitor’s son faced each other on a sunny afternoon. They were very young; Enzo was eight, Teren nine, both of them still unmarked. The blood fever had not yet hit Estenzia. Teren’s eyes were a deeper blue back then, but lit with the same intensity. Beside them, the old Lead Inquisitor looked on and called out instructions as the boys dueled. He was careful not to criticize the crown prince, but his words landed harshly on his own son, hardening him. Enzo shouted at the man sometimes, defending Teren’s skills. Teren would bow to Enzo after every match, complimenting him.
As I listen, I picture the difference between the two boys. Enzo himself must have still fought like a young boy, but Teren . . . his intensity sounded unlike a child’s, even frightening.
“He struck as if to kill,” Enzo says. “I liked training with him, because he was so much better than me. But he was not cruel. He was just a boy.”
Enzo pauses, and the scene fades. “Years later, the fever swept through,” he continues. “We both emerged marked. Teren’s father died. After, I would wander into the courtyard and Teren would no longer be there, eager for afternoon sparring sessions. Instead, he spent his days muttering in the temples, mourning his father, building his self-loathing, taking in the Inquisition’s doctrine that malfettos were cursed demons. I don’t think he hated us, not yet, because neither of us knew yet about our powers. But I saw the shift in him, and so did my sister.” His jaw tightens. “Ever since he became Lead Inquisitor, he’s hunted Elites, as well as those who help Elites.”
Something in the way he says it sparks a memory. It takes all my strength to ask. “Daphne?” I say hesitantly.
Enzo looks up at me. A hint of something familiar dances in his eyes—and I wish I didn’t know what it meant. The pain that comes from him, an emotion of darkness and anger and guilt and grief, glitters in the air as countless threads of energy.
“Her name was Daphne Chouryana,” he says. “Tamouran girl, as you can tell. She was an apprentice at a local apothecary.”
His words pick away at my heart, piece by piece, reminding me that the things he loved about me might not have been me at all. He must have seen her in my face, in the olive of my skin. He must have seen her every time he looked at me.
“She would sneak illegal herbs and powders from the apothecary to help malfettos hide their markings,” he goes on. “Dyes that temporarily changed hair color, creams that temporarily erased dark markings on skin. She was a friend to us. When we first discovered Dante, still wounded from battle, she nursed him back to health.”
“You loved her,” I say gently, sad for his loss and bitter for mine.
Enzo doesn’t acknowledge this directly. He doesn’t need to. “A malfetto prince is still a prince. I couldn’t marry her. She wasn’t from a noble family. It didn’t matter, in the end.”
I don’t want to ask the details of what happened to her. Instead, I bow my head in respect. “I’m sorry.”
Enzo nods back, accepting my condolence. “So it may go for all of us. We must move forward.” He seems weary, and I wonder whether it has to do with thoughts of Daphne or grief over Teren. Perhaps both.
In the silence that follows, he leans toward me until we are separated only by inches. The glow in his eyes beckons me. There is a heaviness about them, a dark depth that I might never understand. He touches my chin. His heat flows through me again, and I realize how much I’ve missed it right as he bends toward me.
“I know who you are,” Enzo whispers, as if he can sense the thought in my head. Do you care for me only because of Daphne?
No. He knows me. He cares for me because of who I am. The thought floods me with exhilarating speed, awakening all of my senses. His kisses are gentle this time, one after another, patient and exploring. His hands brush against mine, running up my arms, drawing me in. Nothing separates us except the thin fabric of my nightgown and his linen shirt, and when he pulls me into his embrace, his heat sparks against my skin. My alignment to passion roars, sending my energy hurtling through me, desperate to weave its dark threads into Enzo’s own, ensnaring him. It makes me dizzy, the same way I felt the night in the alley, the night I am forcing myself not to remember. It is out of control. I can’t stop it.
He pulls away. Then he leans his head against mine and sighs. “Stay,” he whispers. And I know that the aura of fear around him is fear of tomorrow, of what might happen to all of us, that perhaps he cannot save Raffaele’s life, he cannot win against Teren, that in the morning he may step out of this place and never return. He is afraid, and it leaves him vulnerable tonight. I try to forget my own fears by putting my hands on his face, then running them down to clasp his neck.
After a moment, I nod without a word. He settles down beside me as I curl up on one side of the bed, and then he brushes my silver hair away from my forehead. Instinctively, I shrink away when his eyes settle on the broken side of my face, but he doesn’t react. His fingers trail gently across my scars. They leave a path of warmth in their wake. It soothes me, leaving me drowsy. His eyes close eventually, and his breathing turns even. I find myself sinking into the comfort of early sleep too. I concentrate on the sensation until I feel nothing anymore, until I fall into a restless nightmare of demons, sisters, fathers, and words from a young Inquisitor with pale blue eyes.
I heard my sisters wailing through the night. They knew
what I had done, and they hated me for it.
—Dantelle, by Boran Valhimere