The Young Elites (18 page)

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

I
rest 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.”