The Young Elites
Page 13
In the center of the chamber is a low, raised circular platform, ringed with thick scarlet cushions for guests to sit on. They are already half filled with people.
“I’ll leave you here,” Raffaele says as we stop behind the silk veil leading into the main chamber. “You know the routine.”
“Are you performing tonight?” I ask.
Raffaele gives me a small smile. Then he kisses me on both cheeks. “Look for me.” Then he leaves without another word.
The instant I step past the veil and into the chamber, I make my way toward where other consorts-in-training are already lounging on the cushions near the back. As I go, several clients catch sight of me, their eyes lingering before they glide on to available consorts. One man in particular, clad from head to toe in dark, glittering velvet, his face hidden entirely behind a black mask, watches me for a long moment, only half interested in his conversation with his companions. I keep my gaze determinedly forward. It always takes me a moment before I let down my guard at these events.
The other consorts-in-training exchange eye contact with me, but none of us speak. I choose a cushion at one end, then look on as more masked clients and consorts swirl in the room, until it fills to capacity.
Finally, servants extinguish several of the lanterns lining the walls. The room dims, and the conversation hushes. Other servants light the lanterns that circle the raised platform. I straighten, wondering what Raffaele will look like. After a few minutes, the court’s madam sweeps through the crowd and stops before the platform’s edge. She is tall and regal, still beautiful in her golden years, with lines of gray in her hair. She spreads her arms wide. I’ll have to ask Raffaele next time if she’s a patron to the Daggers. She must be.
“Welcome to the Fortunata Court, my guests,” she says. Her voice is rich and warm, and everyone in the audience leans forward, drawn in. “It is a cool, calm night, a lovely time for us to gather. And I know why you all have come.” She pauses to smile. “You want to see our court’s shining jewel perform.”
A round of low applause answers her.
“I won’t delay it any longer, then,” she continues. “Abandon yourselves to an evening of desire, my guests, and dream of us tonight.”
With that, the rest of the wall’s lanterns go out, leaving only the platform illuminated. Deep drumbeats echo, one after another. They send a tremor through me, stirring my alignment to passion, and I feel my energy churn. A young consort glides through the darkness of the crowd. When he reaches the platform and steps into the light of the lanterns, I stifle a gasp.
Raffaele is dressed in pale silks that make him stand out, his chest is bared, and a glittering gold line is painted down the middle of his torso. He stops in the center of the raised platform, eyes lowered, and then kneels in a fluid gesture, his arms folded before him, wide sleeves trailing. His robes pool in a circle around him. He stays there for a moment as the drumbeats thicken, and then he rises back to his feet and walks in a slow, hypnotic circle. I have never seen a composed, delicate dance like this, paired with a song that is nothing but drums—I may never see such a thing again. I glance at the clients filling the room. They are stunned into silence. Gradually, as the tempo increases, two other consorts join Raffaele on the platform, a girl and a boy, and together they glide in circles around one another, eyes both shy and piercing, movements flowing like water. The other two consorts are beautiful, but they pale next to Raffaele. There is no question whom the audience’s eyes follow. I watch, mesmerized. Then Raffaele’s moment of deep sadness comes back to me, and the performance chills me to the bone.
Someone new sits behind me. I don’t think much of it at first—the room is crowded with patrons, at any rate, all focused on the platform. It is only when the person speaks that my heart stops.
“I won’t hurt you, Adelina. Just listen.”
The voice is very close to my ear, close enough that I can feel the speaker’s breath, soft on my skin. He’s so quiet, I barely hear him over the drums. But I do. I’ve heard this voice only once in my entire life, but I would recognize it anywhere.
Teren.
The energy in my heart spikes, and I have a sudden urge to scream in the middle of the performance. He found me. From the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s not dressed in his Inquisitor armor and robes, but in black velvet, his face hidden behind a mask just like everyone else here. He is the man I saw earlier, the one whose gaze lingered on me. How did he find me? I’ve been too careless. Did he spot me wandering around the court? Did he recognize me from the balconies? Is he alone? Are there other Inquisitors in the crowd? My heart beats frantically. Are they waiting to strike?
“You have no reason to trust me, I know,” he murmurs as the performance continues. “But I did not track you down to arrest you. I’ve come to make a deal with you. This can work out strongly in your favor, if you want it.”
I stay quiet. My hands are trembling violently in my lap, and I clutch them together harder so that no one will notice. My gaze stays fixed straight ahead at Raffaele’s performance. Does anyone else notice him? Does Raffaele? Someone help me, I think, my eye darting around the room. If I make a commotion now, Teren will be revealed—but what will stop him from dragging me back to the Inquisition Tower, or killing me on the spot? The other Daggers aren’t here to protect me, and Raffaele can’t. I’m on my own.
“Tell me,” Teren whispers. “Have the Young Elites taken you under their wing?”
Drumbeats pound in my ears. I stay frozen, unable to answer his question.
“Seeing as how you’re alive and well, I’ll assume yes.” I don’t even have to see Teren’s face to know that he’s smiling. “Are you so sure about their intentions? Do you trust your rescuers so easily?”
If I weren’t terrified, I would laugh at his words. As if I had a reason to think the Inquisitors would be any more trustworthy.
“Speak, Adelina,” Teren warns me. “I would hate to make a scene and arrest you.”
My voice startles to life. I turn my head slightly, then whisper back in a tiny, choked voice drowned out by the drums. “What do you want?” I stammer.
The beat of the drums changes. Teren whispers to me through their thundering rhythm. “I know you are new to them. You probably don’t know everything about their inner workings. But I suspect you will, and soon.” He shifts closer as the drums grow steadily more frantic. “So here’s how we can help each other out.”
Why would I want to help you? I suck in my breath in a vain attempt to calm myself, and in the dark corners of the room I can see memories of my burning day, the way Teren’s pale eyes had pulsed at me.
“Observe everything,” he whispers in my ear. “Look, listen, and remember. I know where you are now. I will check in on you from time to time. And I expect you to share what you learn with me.”
My heart keeps time with the frenzied drumbeats. I can’t breathe.
“If you do, not only will I spare your life, but I will shower you with riches. I can grant you your every desire.” He smiles. “Just think of it. You can redeem yourself, change from an abomination in the gods’ eyes to a savior.” He pauses, and his voice deepens. On the platform stage, Raffaele pulls the young female consort to him. The two twirl. He spins away from her and does the same with the male consort. “If you don’t, not only will I destroy you, but I will destroy everything you care about.”
Tides of fear and anger rise in my chest, fusing into one, filling my mind with whispers. “What do you know of what I care about?” I murmur harshly.
“Have you already forgotten your little sister? What a cold heart.”
Violetta. An icy claw grips my heart. Suddenly I’m back in my nightmare, putting my arm around my frail sister as a thunderstorm rages outside, then turning her around to find that she is not there at all.
No. He’s just trying to bait you. “What could you possibly know about my sister?” I snap.
“Plenty enough. On the morning of your burning, she came to me to beg for your life. Did you know that? Now it’s your turn to return her favor.”
He’s lying.
“You don’t have her,” I mutter.
Teren’s reply is one full of amusement. “Do you really want to play that game with me?”
My resolve quivers. She had gone to him? What if Teren is telling the truth—what if she did, and he kept her? Whispers swirl in my mind, their words incomprehensible, filling me with the buzz of terror. And I thought she had moved on, perhaps promised to marry some wealthy man. What if she’d instead been with the Inquisition for weeks?
Why would you do that for me, Violetta?
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
Teren doesn’t answer, and for a long moment, we just listen to the drums. Just when I think he might have left altogether, he replies, “I have your sister, whether you want to believe it or not. And I will happily torture her until you can hear her screams from the Fortunata Court’s beautiful balconies.”
He is lying. He is lying. He must be. I imagine Violetta’s terrified face, tears streaking her cheeks. I imagine blood.
“Give me time,” I finally whisper. I don’t know what else to say.
“Of course,” Teren answers soothingly. “We are on the same side. You’ll soon realize you’re fighting for the right cause.” His tone turns strangely reverential. Serious and grave. “You can help me fix this world, Adelina.”
I’m caught in the middle of a tightening web.
“Next week,” he whispers. “I want to see you at the Inquisition Tower. Bring me some information that I’ll find useful.”
“How do I know you won’t simply seize me once I arrive?”
“Stupid girl,” Teren snaps. “If I wanted you arrested, I’d do it right now. Why would I seize you when you can be my little helper?” He draws very close, his breath hot against my ear. “If I like what you tell me when you arrive at the Tower, your sister gets to be pampered and fed until the next time I see you. If you don’t come to me . . .” He pauses. I can see his subtle shrug out of the corner of my vision. “Then I don’t keep up my end of the bargain.”
Then he will kill her. I have no choice. I simply nod.
No answer. The brush of his breath against my ear vanishes, and cool air prickles my skin. The drumbeats finally come to a stop. Up on the platform, Raffaele and the other two consorts bow to the crowd. The roomful of clients leap to their feet, roaring their enthusiasm, their applause thunderous. In the midst of the chaos, I look around me in a frantic attempt to find Teren’s face.
But he’s already disappeared into the sea of masked faces, as if he were never there. Only his words remain, echoing in my mind, haunting me.
I have been turned into a spy against my will.
Let it be known, so the gods help me. I am not a traitor. I am not a spy.
—Inscription etched in stone on the wall of an Estenzian prison cell, by an unnamed prisoner
Adelina Amouteru
I retreat to my bedchamber that night without saying a word to anyone. Raffaele frowns at me as I leave, his eyes following my figure from across the main court, but I force a quick smile at him and hurry away. It isn’t until he catches up with me in the secret halls that I finally turn around to face him.
Raffaele seems genuinely concerned for me, an emotion that tugs at my heart. He brushes my cheek with a brief touch of his fingers. His eyes are still bold with gold powder, his lashes long and black. “You seemed frightened during the performance,” he murmurs. “Are you all right?”
I force back a smile and try to keep distance between us. The last thing I need is for him to sense how much I’m trembling. “Yes, I was,” I lie, hoping he can’t tell. “I felt too exposed in the audience tonight. Perhaps just my nerves.” I try to smile. “I’ve never seen you perform.”
Raffaele watches me carefully. I try to comfort myself with the fact that he can only feel the shift of my energy, not read my actual thoughts. If he thinks I’m acting strange, let him think it’s because of his performance, or from being out in public.
Or I could tell him what happened. I could let him know that Teren has hunted me down, confess the task he gave me. After all, Enzo saved my life. Didn’t he?
But Raffaele’s warning during my gemstone test haunts me. What if the Daggers kill me? They haven’t known me long enough to trust me. What if this is enough to convince them that I am far too risky to keep around? No. I can’t tell them. I might be dead by tomorrow if I do. And Violetta will stay in the Inquisition’s clutches.
Finally, Raffaele decides to give in. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Rest well tonight,” he says. He kisses my cheeks in reassurance, then turns to leave down the hall.
I watch him go. Whether or not he actually believes me, I have no idea.
That night, I stare sleeplessly at the ceiling. I try to picture my sister shivering in the same dark Inquisition cell I stayed in. Had she really begged for my life? Am I willing to risk myself to save her? How do I even know he has her? Do I dare doubt him?
Next week. What am I going to do? How am I even going to sneak away?
The following day, when Raffaele asks me how I’m feeling, I only say that I feel much better. He gives me a sidelong glance, but doesn’t force me to say more.
Another day passes. My initial panic settles into a steady undercurrent of unease. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, and Teren never came in the first place. This thought is so tempting that I almost let myself believe it.
“I’ll leave you here,” Raffaele says as we stop behind the silk veil leading into the main chamber. “You know the routine.”
“Are you performing tonight?” I ask.
Raffaele gives me a small smile. Then he kisses me on both cheeks. “Look for me.” Then he leaves without another word.
The instant I step past the veil and into the chamber, I make my way toward where other consorts-in-training are already lounging on the cushions near the back. As I go, several clients catch sight of me, their eyes lingering before they glide on to available consorts. One man in particular, clad from head to toe in dark, glittering velvet, his face hidden entirely behind a black mask, watches me for a long moment, only half interested in his conversation with his companions. I keep my gaze determinedly forward. It always takes me a moment before I let down my guard at these events.
The other consorts-in-training exchange eye contact with me, but none of us speak. I choose a cushion at one end, then look on as more masked clients and consorts swirl in the room, until it fills to capacity.
Finally, servants extinguish several of the lanterns lining the walls. The room dims, and the conversation hushes. Other servants light the lanterns that circle the raised platform. I straighten, wondering what Raffaele will look like. After a few minutes, the court’s madam sweeps through the crowd and stops before the platform’s edge. She is tall and regal, still beautiful in her golden years, with lines of gray in her hair. She spreads her arms wide. I’ll have to ask Raffaele next time if she’s a patron to the Daggers. She must be.
“Welcome to the Fortunata Court, my guests,” she says. Her voice is rich and warm, and everyone in the audience leans forward, drawn in. “It is a cool, calm night, a lovely time for us to gather. And I know why you all have come.” She pauses to smile. “You want to see our court’s shining jewel perform.”
A round of low applause answers her.
“I won’t delay it any longer, then,” she continues. “Abandon yourselves to an evening of desire, my guests, and dream of us tonight.”
With that, the rest of the wall’s lanterns go out, leaving only the platform illuminated. Deep drumbeats echo, one after another. They send a tremor through me, stirring my alignment to passion, and I feel my energy churn. A young consort glides through the darkness of the crowd. When he reaches the platform and steps into the light of the lanterns, I stifle a gasp.
Raffaele is dressed in pale silks that make him stand out, his chest is bared, and a glittering gold line is painted down the middle of his torso. He stops in the center of the raised platform, eyes lowered, and then kneels in a fluid gesture, his arms folded before him, wide sleeves trailing. His robes pool in a circle around him. He stays there for a moment as the drumbeats thicken, and then he rises back to his feet and walks in a slow, hypnotic circle. I have never seen a composed, delicate dance like this, paired with a song that is nothing but drums—I may never see such a thing again. I glance at the clients filling the room. They are stunned into silence. Gradually, as the tempo increases, two other consorts join Raffaele on the platform, a girl and a boy, and together they glide in circles around one another, eyes both shy and piercing, movements flowing like water. The other two consorts are beautiful, but they pale next to Raffaele. There is no question whom the audience’s eyes follow. I watch, mesmerized. Then Raffaele’s moment of deep sadness comes back to me, and the performance chills me to the bone.
Someone new sits behind me. I don’t think much of it at first—the room is crowded with patrons, at any rate, all focused on the platform. It is only when the person speaks that my heart stops.
“I won’t hurt you, Adelina. Just listen.”
The voice is very close to my ear, close enough that I can feel the speaker’s breath, soft on my skin. He’s so quiet, I barely hear him over the drums. But I do. I’ve heard this voice only once in my entire life, but I would recognize it anywhere.
Teren.
The energy in my heart spikes, and I have a sudden urge to scream in the middle of the performance. He found me. From the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s not dressed in his Inquisitor armor and robes, but in black velvet, his face hidden behind a mask just like everyone else here. He is the man I saw earlier, the one whose gaze lingered on me. How did he find me? I’ve been too careless. Did he spot me wandering around the court? Did he recognize me from the balconies? Is he alone? Are there other Inquisitors in the crowd? My heart beats frantically. Are they waiting to strike?
“You have no reason to trust me, I know,” he murmurs as the performance continues. “But I did not track you down to arrest you. I’ve come to make a deal with you. This can work out strongly in your favor, if you want it.”
I stay quiet. My hands are trembling violently in my lap, and I clutch them together harder so that no one will notice. My gaze stays fixed straight ahead at Raffaele’s performance. Does anyone else notice him? Does Raffaele? Someone help me, I think, my eye darting around the room. If I make a commotion now, Teren will be revealed—but what will stop him from dragging me back to the Inquisition Tower, or killing me on the spot? The other Daggers aren’t here to protect me, and Raffaele can’t. I’m on my own.
“Tell me,” Teren whispers. “Have the Young Elites taken you under their wing?”
Drumbeats pound in my ears. I stay frozen, unable to answer his question.
“Seeing as how you’re alive and well, I’ll assume yes.” I don’t even have to see Teren’s face to know that he’s smiling. “Are you so sure about their intentions? Do you trust your rescuers so easily?”
If I weren’t terrified, I would laugh at his words. As if I had a reason to think the Inquisitors would be any more trustworthy.
“Speak, Adelina,” Teren warns me. “I would hate to make a scene and arrest you.”
My voice startles to life. I turn my head slightly, then whisper back in a tiny, choked voice drowned out by the drums. “What do you want?” I stammer.
The beat of the drums changes. Teren whispers to me through their thundering rhythm. “I know you are new to them. You probably don’t know everything about their inner workings. But I suspect you will, and soon.” He shifts closer as the drums grow steadily more frantic. “So here’s how we can help each other out.”
Why would I want to help you? I suck in my breath in a vain attempt to calm myself, and in the dark corners of the room I can see memories of my burning day, the way Teren’s pale eyes had pulsed at me.
“Observe everything,” he whispers in my ear. “Look, listen, and remember. I know where you are now. I will check in on you from time to time. And I expect you to share what you learn with me.”
My heart keeps time with the frenzied drumbeats. I can’t breathe.
“If you do, not only will I spare your life, but I will shower you with riches. I can grant you your every desire.” He smiles. “Just think of it. You can redeem yourself, change from an abomination in the gods’ eyes to a savior.” He pauses, and his voice deepens. On the platform stage, Raffaele pulls the young female consort to him. The two twirl. He spins away from her and does the same with the male consort. “If you don’t, not only will I destroy you, but I will destroy everything you care about.”
Tides of fear and anger rise in my chest, fusing into one, filling my mind with whispers. “What do you know of what I care about?” I murmur harshly.
“Have you already forgotten your little sister? What a cold heart.”
Violetta. An icy claw grips my heart. Suddenly I’m back in my nightmare, putting my arm around my frail sister as a thunderstorm rages outside, then turning her around to find that she is not there at all.
No. He’s just trying to bait you. “What could you possibly know about my sister?” I snap.
“Plenty enough. On the morning of your burning, she came to me to beg for your life. Did you know that? Now it’s your turn to return her favor.”
He’s lying.
“You don’t have her,” I mutter.
Teren’s reply is one full of amusement. “Do you really want to play that game with me?”
My resolve quivers. She had gone to him? What if Teren is telling the truth—what if she did, and he kept her? Whispers swirl in my mind, their words incomprehensible, filling me with the buzz of terror. And I thought she had moved on, perhaps promised to marry some wealthy man. What if she’d instead been with the Inquisition for weeks?
Why would you do that for me, Violetta?
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.
Teren doesn’t answer, and for a long moment, we just listen to the drums. Just when I think he might have left altogether, he replies, “I have your sister, whether you want to believe it or not. And I will happily torture her until you can hear her screams from the Fortunata Court’s beautiful balconies.”
He is lying. He is lying. He must be. I imagine Violetta’s terrified face, tears streaking her cheeks. I imagine blood.
“Give me time,” I finally whisper. I don’t know what else to say.
“Of course,” Teren answers soothingly. “We are on the same side. You’ll soon realize you’re fighting for the right cause.” His tone turns strangely reverential. Serious and grave. “You can help me fix this world, Adelina.”
I’m caught in the middle of a tightening web.
“Next week,” he whispers. “I want to see you at the Inquisition Tower. Bring me some information that I’ll find useful.”
“How do I know you won’t simply seize me once I arrive?”
“Stupid girl,” Teren snaps. “If I wanted you arrested, I’d do it right now. Why would I seize you when you can be my little helper?” He draws very close, his breath hot against my ear. “If I like what you tell me when you arrive at the Tower, your sister gets to be pampered and fed until the next time I see you. If you don’t come to me . . .” He pauses. I can see his subtle shrug out of the corner of my vision. “Then I don’t keep up my end of the bargain.”
Then he will kill her. I have no choice. I simply nod.
No answer. The brush of his breath against my ear vanishes, and cool air prickles my skin. The drumbeats finally come to a stop. Up on the platform, Raffaele and the other two consorts bow to the crowd. The roomful of clients leap to their feet, roaring their enthusiasm, their applause thunderous. In the midst of the chaos, I look around me in a frantic attempt to find Teren’s face.
But he’s already disappeared into the sea of masked faces, as if he were never there. Only his words remain, echoing in my mind, haunting me.
I have been turned into a spy against my will.
Let it be known, so the gods help me. I am not a traitor. I am not a spy.
—Inscription etched in stone on the wall of an Estenzian prison cell, by an unnamed prisoner
Adelina Amouteru
I retreat to my bedchamber that night without saying a word to anyone. Raffaele frowns at me as I leave, his eyes following my figure from across the main court, but I force a quick smile at him and hurry away. It isn’t until he catches up with me in the secret halls that I finally turn around to face him.
Raffaele seems genuinely concerned for me, an emotion that tugs at my heart. He brushes my cheek with a brief touch of his fingers. His eyes are still bold with gold powder, his lashes long and black. “You seemed frightened during the performance,” he murmurs. “Are you all right?”
I force back a smile and try to keep distance between us. The last thing I need is for him to sense how much I’m trembling. “Yes, I was,” I lie, hoping he can’t tell. “I felt too exposed in the audience tonight. Perhaps just my nerves.” I try to smile. “I’ve never seen you perform.”
Raffaele watches me carefully. I try to comfort myself with the fact that he can only feel the shift of my energy, not read my actual thoughts. If he thinks I’m acting strange, let him think it’s because of his performance, or from being out in public.
Or I could tell him what happened. I could let him know that Teren has hunted me down, confess the task he gave me. After all, Enzo saved my life. Didn’t he?
But Raffaele’s warning during my gemstone test haunts me. What if the Daggers kill me? They haven’t known me long enough to trust me. What if this is enough to convince them that I am far too risky to keep around? No. I can’t tell them. I might be dead by tomorrow if I do. And Violetta will stay in the Inquisition’s clutches.
Finally, Raffaele decides to give in. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Rest well tonight,” he says. He kisses my cheeks in reassurance, then turns to leave down the hall.
I watch him go. Whether or not he actually believes me, I have no idea.
That night, I stare sleeplessly at the ceiling. I try to picture my sister shivering in the same dark Inquisition cell I stayed in. Had she really begged for my life? Am I willing to risk myself to save her? How do I even know he has her? Do I dare doubt him?
Next week. What am I going to do? How am I even going to sneak away?
The following day, when Raffaele asks me how I’m feeling, I only say that I feel much better. He gives me a sidelong glance, but doesn’t force me to say more.
Another day passes. My initial panic settles into a steady undercurrent of unease. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing, and Teren never came in the first place. This thought is so tempting that I almost let myself believe it.
