The Rose Society
Page 15
“It’s not real,” she finally whispers.
It’s not real. Of course it’s not—with those words, I realize that I recognize the energy this place is giving off, the millions of threads holding everything together. The renewed bathhouse is an illusion. Just like something I would have created. In fact, the threads of energy that created this image of the perfect bathhouse feel exactly like my own threads.
Another illusion worker?
I don’t understand. How could he have created something with a power that should belong to me?
The illusion breaks without warning. The brightly lit temple, the steaming water and statues—all disappear in an instant, leaving us back in the dark recesses of the broken bathhouse and its overgrown shell. Spots of light still float across my vision. I have to adjust to the darkness, almost as if I’d been blinded by something real.
Magiano swings his legs idly. “The things I could’ve done,” he muses, “had I known you earlier.”
I clear my throat and try not to look too stunned. “You … you have the same power as I do?”
He laughs at the hesitation in my voice. With a grandiose half bow, he jumps onto his feet and spins once on the beam, like he is dancing. It looks effortless. “Don’t be stupid,” he replies. “No two Elites have the exact same power.”
“Then …”
“I imitate,” he continues. “Whenever I encounter another Elite, and she uses her power, I can briefly glimpse the weave of her energy in the air. Then I copy what I see—if only for a moment.” He pauses to give me a grin so large that it appears to split his face in two. “This is how you saved my life, and you didn’t even know it. When you were in the dungeon cell next to mine, I mimicked you. I tricked my way out of my cell by making the soldiers think my cell was empty. They came over to investigate, and I stepped right out when they opened the door.”
Gradually, the realization hits me. “You can mimic any Elite?”
He shrugs. “When I was lost and penniless in the Sunlands, I mimicked an Elite named the Alchemist, and transformed an entire wagon’s worth of silks into gold. When I ran from the Inquisition in Kenettra, I mimicked the Lead Inquisitor’s healing abilities in order to protect myself against the arrows his men launched at me.” He spreads his hands, nearly drops his lute, and grabs it again. “I am the brightly colored fish that pretends to be poisonous. You see?”
A mimic. I look down at my hand and move my fingers, watching my ring glint in the light. I eye the sash Violetta has tied back onto her dress. “When you stole our things,” I say slowly, “you used my power against us.”
Magiano tunes one of the lute’s strings. “Why yes. I replaced your ring with an illusion of it, slipped it off while convincing you that I was just idling on the balcony.”
Of course. It’s something I would have done—something I have done before—when stealing money from noblemen’s purses. I swallow, trying to grasp the sheer extent of his power. My heart beats faster.
Violetta’s mistrust of him has turned to fascination. “That means—around the right people—you can do anything.”
Magiano pretends to have the same realization she does, and his jaw drops, mocking her. “Well, now. I do believe you’re right.” He swings the lute over his back again, skips along the ceiling beam until he reaches a pillar, then hops down to a lower beam so that he now crouches close to us, close enough for me to see the wide array of colorful necklaces hanging around his neck. More jewels. And now I can see what bothered me about his eyes. His pupils look strangely oval—slitted, like a cat’s.
“Now, then,” he says. “We have been introduced to each other and gotten all our pleasantries out of the way. Tell me. What do you want?”
I take a deep breath. “My sister and I are running from the Inquisition,” I say. “We are heading south now, out of their reach, until we can gather enough allies to return to Kenettra and strike back.”
“Ah. You want revenge against the Inquisition.”
“Yes.”
“You and the rest of us.” Magiano snorts. “Why? Because they imprisoned you? Because they’re horrible? If that’s the case, then you’re better off leaving them alone. Trust me. You’re free now. Why go back?”
“Have you heard the latest news from Estenzia?” I ask. “About Queen Giulietta? And her brother’s—” I choke on the mention of Enzo’s death. Even now, I cannot bring myself to say it.
Magiano nods. “Yes. That news spread rather quickly.”
“Have you also heard that Master Teren Santoro is planning to annihilate all malfettos in Kenettra? He is the queen’s pet—she will give him the power to do it.”
Magiano leans against the beam. If this news disturbs him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gathers his braids and pulls them over one shoulder. “So, what you’re trying to say is that you want to stop Teren’s ruthless little campaign. And you are trying to gather a team of Young Elites to help you do this.”
“Yes.” My hopes rise a little. “And you are the Elite we hear about the most.”
Magiano stands taller, and his eyes glint with pleasure. “You flatter me, my love.” He gives me a rueful smile. “But flattery won’t be enough, I’m afraid. I work alone. I’m quite happy right where I am, and I have no interest in joining a noble cause. You’ve wasted your time on me.”
It’s not real. Of course it’s not—with those words, I realize that I recognize the energy this place is giving off, the millions of threads holding everything together. The renewed bathhouse is an illusion. Just like something I would have created. In fact, the threads of energy that created this image of the perfect bathhouse feel exactly like my own threads.
Another illusion worker?
I don’t understand. How could he have created something with a power that should belong to me?
The illusion breaks without warning. The brightly lit temple, the steaming water and statues—all disappear in an instant, leaving us back in the dark recesses of the broken bathhouse and its overgrown shell. Spots of light still float across my vision. I have to adjust to the darkness, almost as if I’d been blinded by something real.
Magiano swings his legs idly. “The things I could’ve done,” he muses, “had I known you earlier.”
I clear my throat and try not to look too stunned. “You … you have the same power as I do?”
He laughs at the hesitation in my voice. With a grandiose half bow, he jumps onto his feet and spins once on the beam, like he is dancing. It looks effortless. “Don’t be stupid,” he replies. “No two Elites have the exact same power.”
“Then …”
“I imitate,” he continues. “Whenever I encounter another Elite, and she uses her power, I can briefly glimpse the weave of her energy in the air. Then I copy what I see—if only for a moment.” He pauses to give me a grin so large that it appears to split his face in two. “This is how you saved my life, and you didn’t even know it. When you were in the dungeon cell next to mine, I mimicked you. I tricked my way out of my cell by making the soldiers think my cell was empty. They came over to investigate, and I stepped right out when they opened the door.”
Gradually, the realization hits me. “You can mimic any Elite?”
He shrugs. “When I was lost and penniless in the Sunlands, I mimicked an Elite named the Alchemist, and transformed an entire wagon’s worth of silks into gold. When I ran from the Inquisition in Kenettra, I mimicked the Lead Inquisitor’s healing abilities in order to protect myself against the arrows his men launched at me.” He spreads his hands, nearly drops his lute, and grabs it again. “I am the brightly colored fish that pretends to be poisonous. You see?”
A mimic. I look down at my hand and move my fingers, watching my ring glint in the light. I eye the sash Violetta has tied back onto her dress. “When you stole our things,” I say slowly, “you used my power against us.”
Magiano tunes one of the lute’s strings. “Why yes. I replaced your ring with an illusion of it, slipped it off while convincing you that I was just idling on the balcony.”
Of course. It’s something I would have done—something I have done before—when stealing money from noblemen’s purses. I swallow, trying to grasp the sheer extent of his power. My heart beats faster.
Violetta’s mistrust of him has turned to fascination. “That means—around the right people—you can do anything.”
Magiano pretends to have the same realization she does, and his jaw drops, mocking her. “Well, now. I do believe you’re right.” He swings the lute over his back again, skips along the ceiling beam until he reaches a pillar, then hops down to a lower beam so that he now crouches close to us, close enough for me to see the wide array of colorful necklaces hanging around his neck. More jewels. And now I can see what bothered me about his eyes. His pupils look strangely oval—slitted, like a cat’s.
“Now, then,” he says. “We have been introduced to each other and gotten all our pleasantries out of the way. Tell me. What do you want?”
I take a deep breath. “My sister and I are running from the Inquisition,” I say. “We are heading south now, out of their reach, until we can gather enough allies to return to Kenettra and strike back.”
“Ah. You want revenge against the Inquisition.”
“Yes.”
“You and the rest of us.” Magiano snorts. “Why? Because they imprisoned you? Because they’re horrible? If that’s the case, then you’re better off leaving them alone. Trust me. You’re free now. Why go back?”
“Have you heard the latest news from Estenzia?” I ask. “About Queen Giulietta? And her brother’s—” I choke on the mention of Enzo’s death. Even now, I cannot bring myself to say it.
Magiano nods. “Yes. That news spread rather quickly.”
“Have you also heard that Master Teren Santoro is planning to annihilate all malfettos in Kenettra? He is the queen’s pet—she will give him the power to do it.”
Magiano leans against the beam. If this news disturbs him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he gathers his braids and pulls them over one shoulder. “So, what you’re trying to say is that you want to stop Teren’s ruthless little campaign. And you are trying to gather a team of Young Elites to help you do this.”
“Yes.” My hopes rise a little. “And you are the Elite we hear about the most.”
Magiano stands taller, and his eyes glint with pleasure. “You flatter me, my love.” He gives me a rueful smile. “But flattery won’t be enough, I’m afraid. I work alone. I’m quite happy right where I am, and I have no interest in joining a noble cause. You’ve wasted your time on me.”
