“Enzo!” I cry out. I scramble to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. He waves me away and shakes his head, but he’s coughing so hard that he cannot speak. There’s blood on his lips, glistening in the night. His face contorts in pain. One of his hands comes up to grip his chest, and when I look, I notice with horror that a deep, scarlet wound is growing in the center, right over his heart.
He needs help. I leap out of bed, run to the door, and throw it open with all my strength. All of my limbs feel like they’re dragging through the darkness, struggling through some invisible current. Behind me, Enzo’s breathing turns desperate. I stare wildly down the hall.
“Help!” I scream. Why are all the lanterns dimmed now? I can barely see through the shadows of the corridor. My feet pound silently against the floor. I can feel the coldness of the marble. “Help!” I cry again. “The prince—he’s hurt!”
The hall goes on and on. Raffaele will know what to do. Why can’t I find the way back to the underground cavern? I keep running until I remember that Raffaele isn’t at the cavern with the others. He doesn’t come back on this night, because he has been captured by the Inquisition.
The hall is endless. As I run, the paintings lining the court’s ornate walls begin to peel away, burnt and ashen, the corners ruined by fire. There are no doors or windows. Somewhere in the distance comes the sound of pouring rain.
I pause to catch my breath. My limbs burn. When I look behind me, I can no longer see my own chambers. The same hall stretches in both directions. I continue forward, walking now, my heart pounding against my ribs. New paintings begin to appear on the walls. Perhaps they’ve been there the entire time, and I’ve just noticed them. None of them make any sense. One of the paintings shows a girl with large, dark eyes and a rosy mouth—she sits in the middle of a garden and holds a dead butterfly in her hands. A second painting is of a boy dressed in white Inquisition armor, his mouth stretching from one ear to the other, his teeth scarlet red. He crouches inside a wooden box. A third painting runs from the ceiling to the floor. It is a girl’s face, and half of it is gruesomely scarred. She does not smile. Her brows are knotted in anger, and her eyes are closed, as if they might open at any moment.
Fear begins to gnaw at my stomach. There are whispers here, the familiar whispers that plague me. I start to run again. The hall grows narrower, closing in on me from all sides. Up ahead, it finally reaches an end. I pick up my pace. Help! I call out again, but it sounds strange and distant, like an underwater cry.
My steps now make a splashing sound. I stumble to a halt. Water is pouring down the hall, black and cold. I start to back away, but the current sweeps me off my feet, and the water swallows me whole. I cannot think, I cannot hear, I cannot see anything except for the swirling darkness all around. The cold numbs me. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I look for the light of the surface, but the same darkness yawns all around me.
The Underworld.
Black shapes swim through the depths. Through the darkness, I finally see a set of stairs that I instinctively know leads back to the hallway. Back to the living world. I try to swim toward the stairs, but they never seem to get any closer.
Adelina.
When I look over my shoulder, a shape materializes out of the blackness. It is a monstrous form, with long, bony fingers and milky, sightless eyes. Her mouth is open in a snarl. The fear in my heart turns to terror.
Caldora. The angel of Fury.
I struggle toward the stairs, but it is no use. Hissing fills my ears. When I look behind me again, Caldora’s hands reach for me, fingers curled into claws.
I jolt awake at the ominous blare of a horn from above deck. Sunlight streams in from our porthole. The storm has passed, although the waters are still choppy. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to still my pounding heart. The whispers are stirring, but their voices are muted, and after a few seconds, they fade away entirely. My fingers shake as they run along the fabric of my pillow. This feels real. I hope it is. A part of me yearns to go back to the Fortunata Court, to throw my arms around Enzo and will him back to life—but another part of me is afraid to blink, lest I return to the Underworld’s waters. Even glancing out the window sends a ripple of fear through me—the water is a dark, opaque blue, eager to swallow a ship.
I look to Violetta’s bed. She’s not there.
“Violetta?” I jump to my feet and hurry to the door. I make my way through the dark, cramped passageway of the ship’s belly. My sister. She’s gone. My nightmare comes back to me—the scorched, endless hall—and suddenly I’m terrified I’m still lost inside it. But then I reach the ladder leading to the deck, and I climb it gratefully.
When I peek over the top of the ladder, I see Violetta at the bow of the ship, leaning over the rails and talking in a low voice to Sergio. My limbs turn weak with exhaustion. I take a deep breath, calm myself, and pull myself up onto the deck. Several other crewmembers give me long looks as I pass by. I wonder which of them are also mercenaries, and whether Sergio has told any of them about our conversation from yesterday.
As I draw near, Sergio puts a hand on Violetta’s arm. He laughs at something she says. A feeling of jealousy runs through me. It’s not that I want Sergio’s attention—but rather that he is attracting Violetta’s. She is my sister.
“What was the horn for?” I ask. I purposely push between them, forcing Sergio to take his hand off my sister and assume a more distant stance. Violetta shoots me a sullen look. I blink innocently back at her.
Sergio points toward the outline of land on the horizon, still faint through the morning mist. “We’re nearing the city of Campagnia. Have you been there before?” When I shake my head, he continues, “It’s the closest port city to Estenzia. My guess is that we’re not going to be greeted with open arms in the capital. It’d be impossible to dock.”
Violetta nods in agreement. “Adelina’s illusions are good,” she says, “but she can’t protect all of us forever from the number of Inquisitors in that city.”
Estenzia. Somehow, it feels as if we left the capital a lifetime ago.
Sergio just shrugs it off as we watch the outline of a city gradually appear on the shore. “We’ll dock in Campagnia soon,” he reassures us. “They haven’t passed any mandates outside of the capital that I know of. It’ll be safer.”
I nod. Sergio falls back into a conversation with Violetta. As they talk, I look around the deck. “Where’s Magiano?” I ask.
Sergio’s eyes roll skyward. “In the crow’s nest,” he replies, pointing up. “Gambling away his life’s work.”
On cue, a perfect imitation of a crow’s caw sounds out. We all glance up to see Magiano above us, leaning so far forward that I’m afraid he’ll topple right out. He’s shouting something at the other sailor in the nest.
“I’ll make that twenty gold talents, then,” he calls out, leaning back into the nest and out of sight.
“Is he . . . winning?” Violetta asks, squinting up at the sky. We look on as Magiano mutters a train of words to himself. A half-mad thief and a rejected Dagger—I’m certainly off to a good start in building my Elite society.
Sergio shrugs. “Does it matter? If he loses, he’ll just steal the poor bastard’s winnings, anyway.”
Suddenly, the sailor Magiano is playing hops up to his feet. He points out at the water. Magiano cranes his neck toward land too, then shouts something down to Sergio that I can’t make out.
Sergio bites his lip. I watch him, noting the tiny sparks of fear coming off him. I stare hard into the mist. For a long moment, none of us can see anything. Only when the morning sun burns away more of the mist do I detect the faint outline of golden sails, the curving hull of a ship sailing out of Campagnia’s harbor. The sound of horns floats toward us again. This time, they’re deafening.
Overhead, Magiano grabs the rope attached to the crow’s nest and glides do
wn the mast. He lands with a light thump. His hair is in wild disarray, and the salty smell of ocean permeates his clothes. He gives us a passing glance. “An Inquisition ship,” he says when he sees my questioning expression. “Looks like they’re heading straight for us.”
“You saw the Inquisition’s flag on them?” I fold my arms and try to swallow the fear building in my throat. “But we’re a completely common-looking ship.”
“We’re also the only ship passing the bay right now,” Magiano replies. He frowns out at the water. “Why would they care if a cargo ship’s making its way to Campagnia’s port?”
The Inquisition’s ship is getting closer. Something about the sight of its familiar emblems stirs the whispers in my head, and they shuffle their little claws, restless. The fear in my throat gives way to something else—a wild courage, the same thing I felt when I confronted the Night King.
A chance at revenge, the whispers say over and over. Adelina, it’s a chance at revenge.
“Teren may be expanding his operations into Kenettra’s other cities,” Violetta says, casting me a sideways look. Are you all right? her expression says.
I tighten my lips and push down the whispers. “Do you think they’re going to board us?” I ask Magiano.
Magiano points to how the small ship is now positioning itself behind us. “It’s a small team, but they’re going to steer us into the port,” he replies. “And then they’re going to inspect every nook and cranny of this ship.” His expression darkens as he turns to me. “If I’d known you were going to cause this much trouble in the first three days since our little agreement, I would’ve left you to the Night King without a second glance.”
“Good,” I shoot back. “I’ll remember that the next time I see you in danger.”
My answer makes Magiano let out a surprised laugh. “You’re charming.” He grabs my wrist before I can stop him, then nods at Violetta to follow him. “It looks like we’re stuck together now, aren’t we?” he says. “I recommend we hide.”
We hurry back belowdecks, where a nervous and sweaty crewmember hisses at Magiano to take us down to the ship’s belly. Our footsteps echo hollowly across the narrow wood floors.
We make our way down three ladders before finally reaching a closet where crates are stacked haphazardly from floor to ceiling. Here, he ushers us into its dark recesses. The space is nearly pitch-black, except for a dense iron grating high overhead that lets in slivers of dim light.
Magiano gives me a pointed look. “Stay quiet,” he whispers. He glances at Violetta. “Keep a lid on your sister’s power. It’d be in all of our best interests for it not to careen out of control like it did in Merroutas.”
“She’s going to be fine,” Violetta answers, a note of irritation in her voice. “She knows how to control herself.”
He looks unconvinced, but still gives her a nod. Then he’s gone, closing the door behind him and leaving us in darkness.
I can feel Violetta’s faint trembling. She doesn’t do as Magiano suggested—take away my power—but she doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with me, either. “You’re feeling okay, right?” she whispers to me.
“Yes,” I reply.
We wait without saying another word. For a while, the only thing we can hear is the familiar sound of waves outside the ship. Then, we hear new voices. Footsteps.
“Don’t lose control again,” Violetta whispers. After such a long silence, her words sound deafening. She doesn’t even look at me. Instead, her eyes stay fixed on the grating above us.
I turn up to stare at it too. I keep waiting for that strange, hazy pressure to hit me again, like it did in Merroutas—but this time, my strength holds steady, and I keep a firm grip on my powers. “I won’t,” I whisper back.
The voices are very faint. Through two layers of wooden floors, all I can make out are muffled human sounds and the subtle vibrations of boots on the deck. I sense a general unease in the energy of the ship’s crew. Violetta’s head turns as the voices travel from one end of the deck to the other.
“They’re going to come belowdecks,” she whispers after a while. And sure enough, no sooner have the words left her mouth than we hear the stomp of boots on the ladder leading downward. The voices abruptly become louder.
Now I can hear the soldiers speaking to one another. My fear rises as they draw steadily closer overhead.
In the mix, Magiano’s animated voice suddenly appears. “And, why, the last time I was in Campagnia, I fell in love with your wines. Do you know I’ve never been drunker? I—”
An Inquisitor cuts him off with an exasperated sigh. “When did you leave Merroutas?”
“A week ago.”
“A lie, boy. No ship takes a week to reach our shores from Merroutas.”
Sergio’s more reasonable voice now sounds out. “We docked in Dumor first, to drop off some cargo,” he says.
“I see no Dumorian stamps on your ship. You left Merroutas recently, I wager. Well, some new laws have come into effect here in Campagnia. The Inquisition deems all arriving ships subject to search. Malfettos from other countries are no longer allowed in this city, you see.” He pauses for a moment, as if to peer closer at Magiano. His eyes must not be slitted, because the soldier steps back again. “So if anyone in your crew is a malfetto, I recommend you tell us now.”
“We have none that I can think of, sir.”
“And you wouldn’t happen to have any stowaways?”
“You’re welcome to search,” Magiano pipes up. “Malfettos—a pile of trouble, aren’t they? I still count us lucky that we’d already left Merroutas by the time the incidents down at their pier happened. You heard about that by now, haven’t you?”
I glance at Violetta in the darkness. She stares back. Her mouth puckers into a word. Ready?
Slowly, I weave a web of invisibility across us, changing us into the slants of light on an empty closet floor, the dark grooves of an empty closet’s walls. The voices and footsteps draw steadily closer, until they sound like they’re right on top of us. I peer at the grating through the darkness.
The bottom of a boot suddenly appears over it, then another. They’re directly overhead now. I hold my breath.
“Anyone else on board this ship?” the Inquisitor asks. He’s turned toward who I assume must be Sergio. “Is the entire crew here?”
“All accounted for, sir,” Sergio replies. “Supplies are on the lowest deck.”
More muttering between the soldiers. I stiffen as footsteps now sound out from our deck. Moments later, the door to the dark supply room opens, and someone approaches our closet. I tighten our invisibility illusion. The door flies open.
An Inquisitor squints straight at us. Through us. He looks bored. One of his hands taps restlessly against the hilt of his sword. Violetta’s hand shakes harder, but she doesn’t make a sound.
He peers through us and around the closet for a moment before leaving the door ajar and wandering around to search the rest of the room. His cloak billows past us. I continue to hold my breath. If he tries to step inside this closet after the rest of his search, and he bumps into our bodies, I will have to kill him.
Above us, Magiano’s voice pipes up again. “You’re searching the wrong ship,” he says. His tone has changed from lighthearted innocence to something ominous. “How do I know this?” He digs around in his pocket for a moment before pulling something out and holding it up to the light. Even from down here, I can see the object glinting. It is the pin he stole from the Night King. “Do you see the crest engraved on the side of this beauty? This is the Night King’s very own emblem. We are a crew of his protected fleet from Merroutas, and none are more aggrieved than us by news of his death. But even in death, he is a wealthier and more powerful man than any of you could ever hope to be. If you dare kill one of our crew, just in the futile hopes of finding a fugitive that’s probably making his way as far
from Kenettra as possible, I can guarantee you that you will be answering to your Lead Inquisitor and your queen.”
A taunting note enters Magiano’s voice. “After all, think for a moment, if your mind is capable of that. Why would a fugitive who fled Kenettra hide on board a ship that’s now trying to dock back in Kenettra?” He holds his arms out in an exaggerated shrug.
I can’t help feeling a certain gratitude to Magiano for defending us like this. He could have turned us in for a good price. I shake my head. He’s not doing it for you. He’s doing it for himself, for money and survival. Not for you.
For an instant, I think that the Inquisitors will take Magiano’s words to heart. My stare stays on the Inquisitor studying our hiding spot.
Then Sergio’s boots shuffle across the grating. I look up, hoping my illusion doesn’t waver. One of the other soldiers has grabbed Sergio around the neck and pressed a knife to his waist. In a flash, Sergio slips out of the grip and whips out a blade of his own. From down here, I can see the edge flashing in the light. The other Inquisitors draw their weapons. Magiano lets out a groan and an incoherent curse as he takes out a dagger too, and together, they stand off against the Inquisitors.
“A good story,” the leader of the soldiers says. He takes a step closer to Sergio, blade pointed at him. “But we have a description of the ship that the Night King’s soldiers believe their fugitives sailed away on. It is undoubtedly yours. Congratulations.” The soldier raises his voice. “Show your face, illusion worker, or some up here may start losing their heads.”
Violetta looks at me. Her dark eyes shine. If only we’d stayed above deck with the others, I could have disguised our faces and attacked the soldiers before they ever boarded the ship. But now there is an Inquisitor standing right in front of us, the closet door still ajar, staring through us as if he might see something any moment.