The Young Elites
Page 20
Then his moment of vulnerability fades, and he resumes the aloofness that I’m so familiar with. “We will see about your missions,” he says, as if nothing has happened. Maybe nothing has—perhaps our little moment has been nothing more than an illusion I accidentally conjured, like everything else that popped up around us. Like my father’s ghost.
My shoulders sag at the close call. I say nothing in return. Perhaps I’ve narrowly avoided certain death.
Enzo gives me a courteous nod, then turns his back and exits the cavern, leaving me alone with my pounding heart. When I look to my side, I notice that the wall where he had rested his hand is now blackened and charred with his handprint.
Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Any changes in opinion about her?” Enzo asks in a low voice.
Raffaele turns away from the prince. Today they both stand at the entrance of the caverns, looking on as several of the Daggers train. Both of their gazes are focused on the same thing: Adelina, who sits in a corner with Michel and practices weaving threads of her energy into small, familiar objects. A golden ring. A knife. A piece of lace. With each gesture, Raffaele feels her energy shift. Watching her learn to create illusions reminds him of the energy he feels when he watches Michel at work. Trying to imitate life. As she goes, Michel critiques her work with a string of halfhearted insults, but Raffaele can tell that the young painter is impressed with her. Nearby, Lucent stops training now and then to shout out challenges for Adelina. Make a gold talent! Make a bird! Make a statue! Adelina obliges, her illusions growing in complexity. Lucent nods in admiration.
“Adelina was right,” Raffaele finally replies, noting the growing friendships. Perhaps he had misjudged her in the beginning. “I was training her too slowly for her to work with her powers.”
Enzo nods once in agreement. “She’s learning at a pace I’ve never seen.”
The words make Raffaele uneasy. He thinks back to the way she reacted to the amber and nightstone, how he warned Enzo that night to get rid of her. He thinks of the alarming shifts in her darkness lately, how the new speed of her training is affecting her energy, how frequently she seems anxious, scared, and alone. The emotions seep from her. Something about Adelina . . . there is a frailty underneath the dark shell she has started to build around herself, a small remaining light. A light that wavers precariously from day to day.
“There is a reason I trained her too slowly, you know,” Raffaele says after a moment.
Enzo looks at him. “You were holding her back on purpose.”
“I was holding her back to protect us.” Raffaele chooses his next words carefully. “It’s true, she may become the most powerful of us all. She can already create illusions that trick the eyes and ears. Eventually, she’ll realize that she can also trick one’s taste, smell, and touch.” He casts Enzo a sideways glance. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“She will be able to fool a thirsty man into drinking liquid metal. She will be able to make someone feel pain that isn’t there.”
Raffaele shivers at the possibilities. “Make sure the control she learns doesn’t eclipse her loyalties to you. Adelina may have aligned the strongest with fear and hatred, but she also aligned with passion and ambition. The combination drives her to recklessness, makes her unreliable and hungry for power.”
Enzo looks on as Adelina slowly conjures a detailed illusion of a wolf, so realistic that it looks as if the animal were really standing there on the cavern floor. Michel claps his hands in approval. “She will be magnificent,” he replies.
This time, Raffaele feels Enzo’s energy shift at the mention of Adelina, flickers of an emotion not usually associated with the Reaper. Not for years. Something happened between them, he realizes. Something dangerous.
“She’s not Daphne,” Raffaele reminds him gently.
Enzo looks at him, and in that moment, Raffaele feels a pang of deep sympathy for the young prince. A memory comes back to him of the afternoon when he’d accompanied Enzo to the apothecary to see the shop’s young assistant. When he’d witnessed Enzo’s proposal. Even though quiet rain fell outside the shop, the sun still shone through, painting the world in a glittering haze of light. Daphne had laughed at the affection in Enzo’s eyes, teased the gentleness in his voice, and he’d laughed with her. Raffaele had glimpsed her touching Enzo’s cheek and pulling him close.
Marry me, Enzo had said to her. She’d kissed him in reply.
After she died, Raffaele never again sensed that emotion in Enzo’s heart.
Until now.
Finally, Enzo nods a brief farewell and turns to leave. “Prepare her,” he tells Raffaele before he goes. “She’s coming with us to the Spring Moons.”
I joined the Spring Moons festivities for the first time,
and it was as if I had come into a strange land. The people have transformed into visions of faeries and ghouls. I cannot decide
if I want to stay or leave. —Letter from Amendar of Orange to his sister,
on his second voyage to Estenzia
Adelina Amouteru
There was a time during my childhood, a brief time, when my father was kind to me. I dream of it tonight.
I am thirteen. My father wakes up in a cheery mood, then comes to my bedchambers and pulls my curtains open to let the light in. I watch him warily, uncertain what has brought about this sudden change. Did Violetta say something to him?
“Get dressed, Adelina,” he says, smiling at me. “Today I am taking you to the port with me.” Then he leaves, humming to himself.
My heart lurches in excitement. Can this be happening? Father always takes Violetta to the ports, to watch the ships and buy her presents. I have always stayed home. I sit in bed for a moment longer, still unsure, and then I hop to the floor and rush to my dresser. I choose my favorite outfit, a blue-and-cream Tamouran silk dress, and tie two long strips of blue cloth around my hair, securing it high behind my head. Maybe Violetta is coming with us, I thought. I skip out of my room to hers, expecting her to be ready too.
Violetta is still in bed. When I tell her where we’re going, she looks surprised, then worried. “Be careful,” she says.
But I’m so happy that I just sneer at her. She seems kind here, but that is only because she’s jealous that she isn’t coming. I turn away. Violetta’s warning fades from my thoughts.
The day is wonderful, full of bright colors. My father takes me on a canal ride. He helps me out of the gondola. The port is bustling with people, merchants calling for their wares to be shipped to the appropriate addresses, shopkeepers standing behind their stands, calling out at curious passersby, children chasing after dogs. My father holds my hand. I hurry alongside him, laughing at his jokes, smiling when I know I should smile. Deep inside, I am frightened. This is not normal. My father buys us each a bowl of sweet ice flavored with milk and honey, and together we sit to watch the woodmen and caulkers work on a new ship. He chats animatedly, telling me how strict Estenzia is about the quality of her ships, how every rope and sail and bobbin is tagged with labels and colors identifying the craftsman responsible. I don’t understand everything he says, but I don’t dare interrupt him. I wait for him to turn violent. But today my father looks so carefree that I can’t help but fall under the spell, letting myself believe entirely that he is finally happy with me.
Maybe things will be different from now on. Maybe I had just been making mistakes up until now.
Finally, when the sun begins making its way down the sky, we return to the gondolas and head for home. “Adelina,” he says as we sit together, swaying and creaking with the current. He takes my face in his hands. “I know who you really are. You needn’t be afraid.”
My smile stays on, even though my heart wavers. What does he mean?
“Show me what you can do, Adelina. I know there must be something inside of you.”
I stare back in confused silence, my foolish smile still planted on my lips. When I don’t answer, my father’s gentle expression starts to fade.
“Go on,” he coaxes. “You needn’t be afraid, child.” His voice lowers. “Show me that you are no ordinary malfetto. Go on.”
Slowly, I start to realize that he has been using kindness to coax my power out of me. Perhaps he’s even made a wager with somebody already, somebody who would pay my father for me if I could demonstrate some strange ability. My smile trembles along with my heart. He has tried violence and failed to provoke a power in me. Now he wants to try affection. Be careful, Violetta had told me. Do you see what a fool I am?
Still, I try. I want so badly to please him.
The next day, we repeat the same routine. My father is curiously gentle and attentive, treating me as if he saw Violetta before him instead of me. Violetta says nothing more, and I’m relieved. I know what he wants from me. And I am so hungry to accept this false kindness that I try every day, as hard as I can, to conjure something to please my father.
It never happens.
Finally, weeks later, my father’s good humor wanes. He takes my face into his hands one last time on that carriage ride home. He asks me to show him what I can do. And again, I fail. The carriage lurches along in an awkward, uncomfortable silence.
After a while, my father’s hands leave my face. He edges away from me, sighs, and looks out the window at the moving landscape.
“Worthless,” he mutters, his voice so quiet that I barely hear him.
The next morning, I lie in bed and anticipate my father coming in again with a smile on his face. Today is the day, I tell myself. This time, I am determined to please him, and his kindness will be able to coax something useful out of me. But he doesn’t come. When I finally get out of bed and find him, he ignores me. He has given up his quest to find me useful. Violetta sees me in the hallway. The distance between us feels overwhelming. Her eyes are large and dark, pitying. Her face, as usual, is perfect. I look away from her in silence.
My two weeks have come and gone.
Throughout it all, I haven’t found a single chance to visit Teren at the Inquisition Tower. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it on purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that my time is now up, and he will be expecting me. I know what will happen if I don’t show my face soon.
And tonight is my first official mission with the Daggers.
Their plan for tonight, as far as I understand, goes something like this:
The Spring Moons, Kenettra’s annual celebration of the season, is made up of three nights of festivals and parties, one night in honor of each of our three moons. Each night, a huge masquerade ball will take place at the water’s edge in Estenzia’s largest harbor. At midnight, six ships laden with fireworks will put on a dazzling display of lights over the water.
But the Daggers are going to set fire to the ships before that can even happen, destroying the fleet in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. It will be a display of power, defiance against the king, to show his weakness. And I’m going to help them do it.
“The city is quickly turning into a powder keg,” Raffaele explains to me as we head out from his chambers. Tonight he’s a vision in green and gold robes, part of his face hidden behind an intricate gold half mask, his cheekbones and brows dusted with glitter. “If the king wants to burn us at the stake, then the Daggers are going to respond.” He smiles at me. It is an expert expression—secretive, shy, trained. “The people are tired of a weak king. When Enzo seizes the throne, they will be ready for the change.”
I listen, distracted by my own thoughts. For a moment, I fantasize about myself in such a position—instead of being trapped by the whims of others, what would it be like to have others bowing to me, obeying my every command? What must it feel like to have that kind of power?
It’s the first time I’ve stepped out into Estenzia at night. Soon, gondolas arrive on the canal that the court’s street lines, and the court’s consorts split into groups as we step into our individual boats. I join Raffaele and two others in the same boat, the seats creaking as I gently lower myself in. My movement sends ripples across the water. We pull away, gliding off to the harbor. I gape at the city.
No nights are as lovely as the nights of the Spring Moons, and no city is as breathtaking as Estenzia, which has transformed into a wonderland of light.
Lanterns hang along all the bridges, their glow bouncing off the water’s surface in waves of orange and gold. Gondolas drift through the waterways, and music and laughter ripple through the masked crowds that have gathered out in the warm evening air. Overhead, the three moons hang large and luminous in a near-perfect triangle. Baliras glide past them, their glittering, translucent wings illuminated by moonlight. This close view of them is still a startling contrast to the faraway figures I’d seen before I’d arrived in Estenzia, and the sight of their long, ray-like bodies passing before the moons takes my breath away.
Farther out at the harbor, the silhouettes of six ships with their fireworks sit on the water.
Inquisitors, some on horseback and some on foot, patrol the bridges. They are the only ones not adorned with bright, glittering colors and sparkling masks, and their white and gold figures look harsh against the festivities. They are everywhere tonight, adding to a uniform tension in the air. I turn my face carefully away from them. The city is a powder keg, Raffaele had said, and we are going to light it tonight.
By the time we arrive at the main harbor, the celebrations are in full swing. The statues of the angels and gods that line the square are all covered from head to toe in flowers. A few masked revelers, already drunk this early in the night, have climbed on top of the statues to wave at the cheering crowds. I inhale deeply, catching the scents of ocean, sweet and savory pastries, roasting pig and fish.
My shoulders sag at the close call. I say nothing in return. Perhaps I’ve narrowly avoided certain death.
Enzo gives me a courteous nod, then turns his back and exits the cavern, leaving me alone with my pounding heart. When I look to my side, I notice that the wall where he had rested his hand is now blackened and charred with his handprint.
Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Any changes in opinion about her?” Enzo asks in a low voice.
Raffaele turns away from the prince. Today they both stand at the entrance of the caverns, looking on as several of the Daggers train. Both of their gazes are focused on the same thing: Adelina, who sits in a corner with Michel and practices weaving threads of her energy into small, familiar objects. A golden ring. A knife. A piece of lace. With each gesture, Raffaele feels her energy shift. Watching her learn to create illusions reminds him of the energy he feels when he watches Michel at work. Trying to imitate life. As she goes, Michel critiques her work with a string of halfhearted insults, but Raffaele can tell that the young painter is impressed with her. Nearby, Lucent stops training now and then to shout out challenges for Adelina. Make a gold talent! Make a bird! Make a statue! Adelina obliges, her illusions growing in complexity. Lucent nods in admiration.
“Adelina was right,” Raffaele finally replies, noting the growing friendships. Perhaps he had misjudged her in the beginning. “I was training her too slowly for her to work with her powers.”
Enzo nods once in agreement. “She’s learning at a pace I’ve never seen.”
The words make Raffaele uneasy. He thinks back to the way she reacted to the amber and nightstone, how he warned Enzo that night to get rid of her. He thinks of the alarming shifts in her darkness lately, how the new speed of her training is affecting her energy, how frequently she seems anxious, scared, and alone. The emotions seep from her. Something about Adelina . . . there is a frailty underneath the dark shell she has started to build around herself, a small remaining light. A light that wavers precariously from day to day.
“There is a reason I trained her too slowly, you know,” Raffaele says after a moment.
Enzo looks at him. “You were holding her back on purpose.”
“I was holding her back to protect us.” Raffaele chooses his next words carefully. “It’s true, she may become the most powerful of us all. She can already create illusions that trick the eyes and ears. Eventually, she’ll realize that she can also trick one’s taste, smell, and touch.” He casts Enzo a sideways glance. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“She will be able to fool a thirsty man into drinking liquid metal. She will be able to make someone feel pain that isn’t there.”
Raffaele shivers at the possibilities. “Make sure the control she learns doesn’t eclipse her loyalties to you. Adelina may have aligned the strongest with fear and hatred, but she also aligned with passion and ambition. The combination drives her to recklessness, makes her unreliable and hungry for power.”
Enzo looks on as Adelina slowly conjures a detailed illusion of a wolf, so realistic that it looks as if the animal were really standing there on the cavern floor. Michel claps his hands in approval. “She will be magnificent,” he replies.
This time, Raffaele feels Enzo’s energy shift at the mention of Adelina, flickers of an emotion not usually associated with the Reaper. Not for years. Something happened between them, he realizes. Something dangerous.
“She’s not Daphne,” Raffaele reminds him gently.
Enzo looks at him, and in that moment, Raffaele feels a pang of deep sympathy for the young prince. A memory comes back to him of the afternoon when he’d accompanied Enzo to the apothecary to see the shop’s young assistant. When he’d witnessed Enzo’s proposal. Even though quiet rain fell outside the shop, the sun still shone through, painting the world in a glittering haze of light. Daphne had laughed at the affection in Enzo’s eyes, teased the gentleness in his voice, and he’d laughed with her. Raffaele had glimpsed her touching Enzo’s cheek and pulling him close.
Marry me, Enzo had said to her. She’d kissed him in reply.
After she died, Raffaele never again sensed that emotion in Enzo’s heart.
Until now.
Finally, Enzo nods a brief farewell and turns to leave. “Prepare her,” he tells Raffaele before he goes. “She’s coming with us to the Spring Moons.”
I joined the Spring Moons festivities for the first time,
and it was as if I had come into a strange land. The people have transformed into visions of faeries and ghouls. I cannot decide
if I want to stay or leave. —Letter from Amendar of Orange to his sister,
on his second voyage to Estenzia
Adelina Amouteru
There was a time during my childhood, a brief time, when my father was kind to me. I dream of it tonight.
I am thirteen. My father wakes up in a cheery mood, then comes to my bedchambers and pulls my curtains open to let the light in. I watch him warily, uncertain what has brought about this sudden change. Did Violetta say something to him?
“Get dressed, Adelina,” he says, smiling at me. “Today I am taking you to the port with me.” Then he leaves, humming to himself.
My heart lurches in excitement. Can this be happening? Father always takes Violetta to the ports, to watch the ships and buy her presents. I have always stayed home. I sit in bed for a moment longer, still unsure, and then I hop to the floor and rush to my dresser. I choose my favorite outfit, a blue-and-cream Tamouran silk dress, and tie two long strips of blue cloth around my hair, securing it high behind my head. Maybe Violetta is coming with us, I thought. I skip out of my room to hers, expecting her to be ready too.
Violetta is still in bed. When I tell her where we’re going, she looks surprised, then worried. “Be careful,” she says.
But I’m so happy that I just sneer at her. She seems kind here, but that is only because she’s jealous that she isn’t coming. I turn away. Violetta’s warning fades from my thoughts.
The day is wonderful, full of bright colors. My father takes me on a canal ride. He helps me out of the gondola. The port is bustling with people, merchants calling for their wares to be shipped to the appropriate addresses, shopkeepers standing behind their stands, calling out at curious passersby, children chasing after dogs. My father holds my hand. I hurry alongside him, laughing at his jokes, smiling when I know I should smile. Deep inside, I am frightened. This is not normal. My father buys us each a bowl of sweet ice flavored with milk and honey, and together we sit to watch the woodmen and caulkers work on a new ship. He chats animatedly, telling me how strict Estenzia is about the quality of her ships, how every rope and sail and bobbin is tagged with labels and colors identifying the craftsman responsible. I don’t understand everything he says, but I don’t dare interrupt him. I wait for him to turn violent. But today my father looks so carefree that I can’t help but fall under the spell, letting myself believe entirely that he is finally happy with me.
Maybe things will be different from now on. Maybe I had just been making mistakes up until now.
Finally, when the sun begins making its way down the sky, we return to the gondolas and head for home. “Adelina,” he says as we sit together, swaying and creaking with the current. He takes my face in his hands. “I know who you really are. You needn’t be afraid.”
My smile stays on, even though my heart wavers. What does he mean?
“Show me what you can do, Adelina. I know there must be something inside of you.”
I stare back in confused silence, my foolish smile still planted on my lips. When I don’t answer, my father’s gentle expression starts to fade.
“Go on,” he coaxes. “You needn’t be afraid, child.” His voice lowers. “Show me that you are no ordinary malfetto. Go on.”
Slowly, I start to realize that he has been using kindness to coax my power out of me. Perhaps he’s even made a wager with somebody already, somebody who would pay my father for me if I could demonstrate some strange ability. My smile trembles along with my heart. He has tried violence and failed to provoke a power in me. Now he wants to try affection. Be careful, Violetta had told me. Do you see what a fool I am?
Still, I try. I want so badly to please him.
The next day, we repeat the same routine. My father is curiously gentle and attentive, treating me as if he saw Violetta before him instead of me. Violetta says nothing more, and I’m relieved. I know what he wants from me. And I am so hungry to accept this false kindness that I try every day, as hard as I can, to conjure something to please my father.
It never happens.
Finally, weeks later, my father’s good humor wanes. He takes my face into his hands one last time on that carriage ride home. He asks me to show him what I can do. And again, I fail. The carriage lurches along in an awkward, uncomfortable silence.
After a while, my father’s hands leave my face. He edges away from me, sighs, and looks out the window at the moving landscape.
“Worthless,” he mutters, his voice so quiet that I barely hear him.
The next morning, I lie in bed and anticipate my father coming in again with a smile on his face. Today is the day, I tell myself. This time, I am determined to please him, and his kindness will be able to coax something useful out of me. But he doesn’t come. When I finally get out of bed and find him, he ignores me. He has given up his quest to find me useful. Violetta sees me in the hallway. The distance between us feels overwhelming. Her eyes are large and dark, pitying. Her face, as usual, is perfect. I look away from her in silence.
My two weeks have come and gone.
Throughout it all, I haven’t found a single chance to visit Teren at the Inquisition Tower. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it on purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that my time is now up, and he will be expecting me. I know what will happen if I don’t show my face soon.
And tonight is my first official mission with the Daggers.
Their plan for tonight, as far as I understand, goes something like this:
The Spring Moons, Kenettra’s annual celebration of the season, is made up of three nights of festivals and parties, one night in honor of each of our three moons. Each night, a huge masquerade ball will take place at the water’s edge in Estenzia’s largest harbor. At midnight, six ships laden with fireworks will put on a dazzling display of lights over the water.
But the Daggers are going to set fire to the ships before that can even happen, destroying the fleet in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. It will be a display of power, defiance against the king, to show his weakness. And I’m going to help them do it.
“The city is quickly turning into a powder keg,” Raffaele explains to me as we head out from his chambers. Tonight he’s a vision in green and gold robes, part of his face hidden behind an intricate gold half mask, his cheekbones and brows dusted with glitter. “If the king wants to burn us at the stake, then the Daggers are going to respond.” He smiles at me. It is an expert expression—secretive, shy, trained. “The people are tired of a weak king. When Enzo seizes the throne, they will be ready for the change.”
I listen, distracted by my own thoughts. For a moment, I fantasize about myself in such a position—instead of being trapped by the whims of others, what would it be like to have others bowing to me, obeying my every command? What must it feel like to have that kind of power?
It’s the first time I’ve stepped out into Estenzia at night. Soon, gondolas arrive on the canal that the court’s street lines, and the court’s consorts split into groups as we step into our individual boats. I join Raffaele and two others in the same boat, the seats creaking as I gently lower myself in. My movement sends ripples across the water. We pull away, gliding off to the harbor. I gape at the city.
No nights are as lovely as the nights of the Spring Moons, and no city is as breathtaking as Estenzia, which has transformed into a wonderland of light.
Lanterns hang along all the bridges, their glow bouncing off the water’s surface in waves of orange and gold. Gondolas drift through the waterways, and music and laughter ripple through the masked crowds that have gathered out in the warm evening air. Overhead, the three moons hang large and luminous in a near-perfect triangle. Baliras glide past them, their glittering, translucent wings illuminated by moonlight. This close view of them is still a startling contrast to the faraway figures I’d seen before I’d arrived in Estenzia, and the sight of their long, ray-like bodies passing before the moons takes my breath away.
Farther out at the harbor, the silhouettes of six ships with their fireworks sit on the water.
Inquisitors, some on horseback and some on foot, patrol the bridges. They are the only ones not adorned with bright, glittering colors and sparkling masks, and their white and gold figures look harsh against the festivities. They are everywhere tonight, adding to a uniform tension in the air. I turn my face carefully away from them. The city is a powder keg, Raffaele had said, and we are going to light it tonight.
By the time we arrive at the main harbor, the celebrations are in full swing. The statues of the angels and gods that line the square are all covered from head to toe in flowers. A few masked revelers, already drunk this early in the night, have climbed on top of the statues to wave at the cheering crowds. I inhale deeply, catching the scents of ocean, sweet and savory pastries, roasting pig and fish.
