“The first pier,” he murmurs. “Watch for me.”
I giggle loudly in return, as if he’d just whispered some romantic nothings in my ear. One of the Inquisitors lounging along the first pier casts us a bored look and then turns away.
We edge steadily closer to the pier, continuing our little charade of romance the entire way. At least, it seems to be a charade for Enzo. Far be it from me to complain—the laughs he coaxes out of me are real, and so is the flush on my cheeks. His hand is hot at my waist, the rivulets of warmth delicious on such a cool night.
Finally, I stumble over a rock and fall, giggling, into his arms. We’re on the far end of the pier now, and the two Inquisitors guarding this pier are barely a few yards away. One of them holds up a gloved hand. “No one allowed past this point,” he says, nodding in our direction.
Enzo gives them a disappointed sigh. He places a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. All pretense of lightheartedness vanishes from his face—in the blink of an eye, he has transformed from a smiling boy to a predator.
The Inquisitor looks at Enzo’s hand in surprise. But before he can brush it off, his eyes widen. He shoots Enzo a stricken look. Beside him, his partner’s stance wavers.
“Are you all right?” he asks the first Inquisitor. He draws his sword—but before he can do anything else, the sword unravels right before his horrified eyes. It reappears a dozen yards away, falling uselessly to the sand. Michel is here in the darkness.
Enzo touches his other hand to the second Inquisitor’s arm. Both of them open their mouths in silent screams.
He’s melting them from the inside. Even knowing that this was the plan, the sight catches me off guard. I look on in horror as their faces turn red and contort in agony. Blood leaks from one’s mouth. They shudder.
“Now,” Enzo whispers to me.
I reach within and pull on my energy right as the two Inquisitors’ knees buckle, sending them collapsing to the pier’s deck. All around us, I conjure a vision of an empty pier—planks of wood appear over where the Inquisitors lie—and Enzo and I both disappear behind an illusion of waves and night air, rendering both us and the dead men invisible. The darkness and unease in me soars, thrilling my heart, and I embrace the ecstasy. On top of this illusion, I weave an image of two white-cloaked Inquisitors standing as if nothing had happened. Up close, it’s easy to tell that the two fake Inquisitors are nothing more than smoke and air, their faces too simple to be real. But from the point of view of anyone who might look in this direction from afar, it’s a convincing cover.
The whole scene looks as if we were never here. As if I’m not standing in front of two corpses.
Such power. I swirl in the midst of it all, my jaw clenched, my lips curving into a triumphant smile even as another part of me recoils at what we just did. I feel numb—in control and yet completely helpless.
Through my invisibility shield, I sense Enzo give me a single nod. I nod back, letting him know that I’m ready. He leaps down from the pier. Fire erupts from both of his hands—he holds them out, and in the shadows, I see a masked figure that must be Michel lift his arms. He unravels Enzo’s flames, then reforms them far down the pier onto the deck of the first ship, near its crates of fireworks. The two vanish into the darkness. Seconds later, I hear the sound of startled shouts from the ship.
My hands tremble. Flashbacks of the night when I killed my father come rushing back to me, clouding my illusions. Suddenly my father’s ghost smiles at me in my thoughts. I think I can even see him standing on the pier. You’re a murderer, Adelina. Nice to see you coming into your own.
Seeing him disrupts my concentration—the shroud I’d put over the two dead Inquisitors at my feet suddenly vanishes, revealing them to the world. I start running to the second pier. My mind is completely numb; the image of the dead men is seared into my vision. Keep going. You can’t afford to stop. My attention turns to the buildings lining the harbor, and to the other Inquisitors patrolling the other five piers. Taking a deep breath, I call forth more of my energy. The threads pull taut in my mind, protesting.
I force them to bend, then to weave together.
Against the walls of the buildings, silhouettes of people run by. Illusions of dark blue hoods. Suddenly, Daggers seem to be everywhere on the piers. Inquisitors on the other piers raise the alarm—I conjure Daggers all around them, then run toward the second pier. My fear heightens, and as it does, so do the illusions closest to me. Inquisitors call for help as they strike out against my phantom Daggers. I reach the second pier under cover of invisibility just as flames ignite onboard the second ship.
“They’re all fake!” one of the Inquisitors cries as his sword slashes straight through one of my illusions. He calls on the other soldiers to stop, but they’re all too distracted, blinded with fear from my apparitions. “Stop—find the culprit who’s—”
He never finishes his sentence. One of the Daggers lunges for him with the speed of a striking viper—he twists the man’s arm around and stabs him straight through his chest with his own sword. A real Dagger. Dante. The other Inquisitors turn at his shriek, then attack the Spider, but he’s far too quick for them. He cuts them down in quick succession. His movements blur in the night, so that even after I erase the false Daggers, it looks as if there were more than one of him. The last Inquisitor at this pier tries to run for his life. Dante catches him before he can, and runs a dagger across his throat.
Up at the festivities, some revelers finally notice what’s going on.
Screams go up—then complete chaos.
My mind races. I move on to the third pier, then the fourth. We slaughter the Inquisitors as more patrols rush from the festivities in our direction. So much death.
My eye goes again to the roofs closest to the piers—and this time, I see figures stir. The other Daggers, flesh and blood, their faces hidden behind masks and hooded sapphire robes. One of them rises up from her crouch, carefully notches an arrow to her bow, and aims at the Inquisitors. Gemma. Above her swirls a circle of ravens—when she lets the arrow fly, the ravens plummet down, aiming in unison for the enemy. My illusion of phantom Daggers moving along the walls flickers for a moment, but I grit my teeth and sharpen my concentration. The phantom Daggers turn solid again. More Inquisitors run in their direction.
The Inquisitors are now within firing range. Suddenly, one of them is yanked straight up into the air. He lets out a strangled shriek as he’s thrown up as high as the top of the buildings, then plummets to his death. I wince—my illusions shudder again. That was Lucent’s work. Up above, more arrows rain down, one piercing the throat of a second Inquisitor.
Hurry, Enzo. As the other Daggers kill the Inquisitors with ruthless efficiency, I clench my teeth in desperation. I want to leave this place. I glance over to the ship docked at the first pier.
And there I see him—Enzo, this time with his face entirely covered by a hood and silver mask. He flashes through the inky blackness of the night. There one moment, gone the next. My cue to get out of here.
Dante grabs my arm, then breaks into a sprint. The wind rushes past us. In a matter of seconds, we’ve crossed the sand and grass and run into the shadows of the festivities overlooking the harbor. Screams everywhere. I drop the illusions I’ve been holding. The threads of energy all snap back into place, and I gasp at the sudden emptiness.
The first ship explodes.
The blast knocks me right off my feet. The earth shudders; screams burst from everyone around me. I cover my eye from the blinding glow, and when I squint through my hand at the inferno, I see a rainbow of fireworks light up the night sky in a terrifying display of glory. Fire and fireworks consume the ship’s deck. I picture Enzo setting each of the ships ablaze, his figure a shadow in the night.
Rough hands yank me up onto my feet. “Get to the Messenger,” Dante hisses at me. Then he vanishes into the crowd, his eyes fixed on other Inquisit
ors.
I fight my way through the crowd, remembering my next step. Meet Raffaele at the end of the square. He’ll usher you to safety. The energy in the air is like lightning—I can practically smell the terror—the power crackling all around me in a glittering shower of energy threads. The darkness inside me hungers for it, yearning to break free, and I have to force down the irresistible urge to flood this entire square with illusions of Underworld monsters. So much power around me, going to waste. For a moment, I attempt to shroud myself in invisibility—but too many people are jostling past me, and every time I start to throw the illusion over myself, I’m jolted out of it. Finally I just give up and continue running.
It takes me a moment to realize that some in the crowd are cheering. They raise their fists to the sky at the fireworks and flames. They watch the dazzling display with smiles on their faces. I recall what Raffaele had told me earlier. Let the Inquisition Axis see what happens when they force us to humiliate ourselves. The people here are cheering on the Young Elites. Applauding the strike.
At the piers, a second ship explodes. Then, a third. An unstoppable chain reaction continues along the water’s edge, each ship’s demise causing the next, until flames and exploding fireworks consume the entire harbor, transforming the night into day, orange and yellow everywhere I look, the earth trembling from the sheer energy released into the sky. Explosions, the roar of flames, the shouts of thousands of people—it all swirls together into deafening chaos. Never could I have imagined panic like this. Their fear pools in me, a black and powerful current.
I have to find Raffaele. I turn a corner into a narrower alley in an attempt to get away from the frenzied crowds. For a moment, I’m alone. Almost there. My slippers hit a puddle, and cold water splashes against my ankles.
Something white flashes before my face.
Before I can react, a hand catches me around my neck and shoves me against the wall. I see spots exploding before me. Blindly, I strike out.
A voice chuckles at my antics. I freeze. I recognize that voice. The white blur that flashed past my eye now stills into the unmistakable look of an Inquisitor’s cloak. “Well, well, well,” the voice says. “A Tamouran girl.”
I stare into Teren’s face.
No. Not here. Not tonight.
The sight is enough to unleash my energy. I bare my teeth at him as a red-eyed demon lunges out from the wall behind me and throws itself at Teren with a shriek. Teren flinches for a split second, but his grip never lightens. His eyes widen in surprise.
“What’s this?” he says with a smile. “Have you grown defiant since the last time we talked?” He hoists a crossbow. “Any more moves like that, and I might decide to kill off your sister. I gave you your two weeks.” His smile turns hard. “And you are late.”
“I’m sorry,” I say urgently. My mind spins. “Don’t—please don’t hurt her. I couldn’t find a time to get away and see you. They’ve been training me relentlessly.” I glance at the main square. “If the Elites see me talking to you, they will kill me, and you won’t get your—”
Teren only ignores me and keeps me pinned in place. His grip is unnaturally strong, his face too close. “In that case, you had better start talking. You owe me some information.”
I swallow hard. The Daggers can’t be that far away. They knew I would be heading down this way, and if I don’t show my face soon, they will search for me. And they will see me here.
Teren’s grip tightens so much that it starts to hurt. My hands fly up to where he holds my neck. He narrows his colorless eyes. “Give me their names.”
“I—” What can I tell him, without destroying the Daggers? My mind scrambles frantically for a solution.
“I saw you arrive at the festival with a Fortunata Court consort,” Teren adds. “He has been with you before, too. Is he one of them?”
No. I shake my head automatically, letting the lie come. “He was just my escort.”
Teren’s stare wanders across my face. “Just your escort,” he muses.
Tears well up in my eye. No. Please don’t hurt Raffaele. “Yes, just my escort.”
Teren makes an annoyed sound in his throat. “Talk. Lady Gemma—does that name sound familiar to you? Any idea why she was a rider at the qualifying races?”
I shake my head dumbly.
“Who leads them?”
No, no, I can’t. “I don’t know. Truly, I don’t!”
Teren narrows his eyes again. He hoists his crossbow with one arm and points it right in front of my good eye. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not,” I whisper through his tight grip.
“Violetta will pay for this, you know. Not you. Violetta.” He leans close, his voice like honey. “Do you want to hear all the things I will do to her?”
He whispers them into my ear, one by one, and I start to cry in earnest. I don’t know what to do. My thoughts are too tangled. Violetta. I glance again to the chaotic square. Where is he keeping her? Energy lurches through me, feeding on my terror. It begs for release, but I clamp down hard on it.
“I beg you—” I start to say. My mind spins. “I’ll tell you what you want. Just give me one more week. Please. You can’t be seen here with me, it won’t help either of us.” I scan the alley. “There’s no time. They’re here too. They can’t—”
Before I can utter anything else, Teren’s eyes flicker up. I do the same—and see a flash of dark robes high up on the rooftops. A jolt of terror leaps up my spine. The Daggers, they’re coming. They’re going to see us. All around us, the other Inquisitors are consumed with containing the chaos. He doesn’t have enough men with him. I can feel him weighing his options, deciding whether or not he has time to force answers out of me right now before the Daggers catch up to me.
Please. Please let me go.
His instant of hesitation vanishes. He grabs me by my collar and pulls me close. “You have three days,” he says in a low voice. “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. She’ll be lucky if that’s the first thing I do.” He smiles, his teeth flashing in the night. “We can be enemies, Adelina, or we can be the best of friends. Understood?”
That’s all he has time to say. I look up to the roofs. And I see Dante crouched there, arrow nocked, staring at both of us through his mask.
A rush of sapphire robes strikes Teren, knocking him to the ground and releasing me from his clutches. I stumble against the wall. Before me is a tangle of white and blue—Teren shoves a Dagger off him and rolls up onto his feet. The two face each other. It’s Enzo, face hidden behind his silver mask, daggers in hand.
“The Reaper!” Teren exclaims, pointing his crossbow straight at Enzo and pulling out his sword. “Always coming to the rescue of malfettos, aren’t you?”
Enzo’s blades turn bright red, then white hot. He lunges at Teren before he can fire his crossbow, then strikes, seeking out his eyes. Teren dodges him with a fluidity that shocks me. He swings his sword in an arc—it almost catches Enzo in the chest before he darts out of the way. Fire bursts from Enzo’s hands and consumes the two of them in a haze of light. Through the inferno, I can see Teren locked blade on blade with Enzo.
The flames don’t harm him. His skin seems to burn for an instant, then return back to normal, smooth and untouched. I freeze at the sight. It is not just a trick of the light—the flames do not harm him at all.
How is that possible? Unless—
“Go!” Enzo snaps at me. Their blades clash with a ring of steel. Again and again. Overhead, an arrow sails down and strikes Teren near his neck. He grunts in pain—but then, to my horror, he reaches up and yanks it out unceremoniously. He tosses it away. His skin stitches itself together, healing in seconds, until I see nothing but a smear of blood on his neck.
Teren is a Young Elite.
I find my feet and make
a run for it. When I glance up, I catch sight of Lucent with her bow and arrow locked on Teren, trying to find a good shot.
A rough hand clamps down on my arm. I turn and stare right into the silver mask of a Dagger.
Dante. “How about you cloak us in invisibility and get us out of here.” There is something in his voice that chills me. Something in his eyes that tells me he saw more tonight than I wanted him to see.
All around us is screaming, panic, people, the roar of a firework-fueled inferno raging at the harbor. I force myself to do as Dante says. I cloak us in a hurried illusion of invisibility, and he leads us away in the direction of the closest catacomb entrance. Behind us, Enzo has already vanished, disappearing as quickly as he’d come. Teren’s voice rings in my ears.
Three days.
They were the best of friends as long as they did not know
they were supposed to be enemies. The truth would do its
damage soon enough.
—Brothers in Fire, by Jedtare
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?