The Young Elites
Page 27
Shattered glass everywhere. Screams in the night. More Inquisitors than I’ve ever seen in my entire life, swarming the streets and dragging malfettos out of their homes—still in their nightgowns—and into the square, beating them senseless, clamping chains on them. I stumble to a halt in a nearby alley. There, I finally release the last of my energy and slide down the wall into a fetal position. Violetta collapses beside me. Together, we look on in horror at the scene unfolding before us. One Inquisitor runs a sword straight through the body of a young malfetto woman with a streak of gold in her black hair. She lets out a broken shriek—her blood spills onto the cobblestones. Cries ring out across the square.
The king is dead! The king is dead!
This is all wrong. I watch as the Inquisitors kill other malfettos. I am numb. Something has gone terribly wrong.
I pull Violetta close. “Think of something else,” I whisper into her ear, feeling her trembling uncontrollably against me. I force myself to take in the terror and evil that swirls around us, letting it strengthen the darkness in me so that I can weave an illusion of calm around my sister. I block out the screams for her. I weave a blanket of darkness around her, shielding her from the sight of the crying malfettos gathered in the square. This must be happening all across Estenzia—across Kenettra, even. As Violetta weeps against my shoulder, I stare at the horrific scene in her stead.
How ironic, that I should embrace such evil in order to protect my sister from evil.
Through my fog of terror, I remember the catacombs under the city. I touch my sister’s face. “We have to go,” I say firmly. Then I take her hand and begin to lead us away—
—until we turn the corner and run straight into Dante. He stares down at me, his face swathed in shadows. “Well,” he growls. “I knew I’d find you out here.”
He could feel the storm’s energy in the breeze, as if it were
some sort of living creature, breathing life and fear into his body. —Tales of Lord Dunre, by Ephare
Adelina Amouteru
My first, feverish thought: Dante followed me.
He’d somehow seen me leave the Fortunata Court. He’d tracked me to the Inquisition Tower. And now he knows I must have visited the Inquisition. A flurry of thoughts flash through my mind in the span of a second. If he goes back to the other Daggers, he will tell them about everything. No—they cannot find out in this way. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say.
He doesn’t give me a chance. Instead, he lunges at me with an outstretched hand, trying to grab my arm. Violetta cries out—my energy roars in my ears.
I fling an illusion of invisibility desperately over us and throw myself to the ground. My powers are fading fast, and we blink in and out of sight. I scramble to my feet right as Dante lunges for me again. This time he attacks with a dagger. My illusion manages to throw off his aim, but the blade still catches the edge of my thigh, slicing through my clothes. I wince at the bite against my skin. Darkness roars inside me, feeding on Dante’s own fury. My strength grows again.
“You traitor.” He points the dagger at me. “Enzo should’ve done away with you the instant you came to us.”
How dare you. I protected you all. “I didn’t do anything,” I shout back. “I told them nothing.”
“You expect me to believe you?” Dante twirls his blade.
“Let me explain,” I say, holding my hands out. “I didn’t give anything to them. What you saw happen at the Spring Moons—”
Dante’s lips curl into a snarl. “I know what I saw. How long have you been working with Teren?”
“I wasn’t working with him! He found me—months ago, at the court—” I don’t know how to tell Dante this, without making it sound like everything is my fault. It is my fault.
“And yet, you told us none of this. Why keep it a secret?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was afraid of getting hurt. My sister—”
Dante sneers. “I knew you were no good. I should carve your mouth right off your face, because it spits out nothing but lies.”
I’m starting to have trouble breathing. My words come in gasps. “You have to believe me. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Did you tell him about the Tournament of Storms?”
“I—” I hesitate.
Dante catches my pause. He narrows his eyes. “And you betrayed Raffaele to the palace, didn’t you?”
I blink. What? Raffaele? “Raffaele hasn’t returned?”
Dante doesn’t need to speak for me to know the answer. Raffaele was absent at the last meeting, he never returned from his client visit. No, not him. The thought of Raffaele being the first to suffer—
Dante lashes out again. He knocks me to the ground and holds me down. I can’t find my energy to pull on. Violetta lets out a choked scream.
“I’m taking you back to Enzo,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at me. His hand presses down on my neck, choking me. No, you can’t. I should be the one telling him, not you. “You’ll answer to him, you pathetic little coward.”
I’ll kill you before you can ruin this deal.
My father’s words from that fateful night suddenly echo all around me, filling my ears and taking me back to the rain-soaked marketplace where he’d died. Dante’s words to Enzo run through my mind. The darkness that has risen in me ever since I left the Daggers now claws eagerly for freedom—it builds and builds, feeding off the fears and hatred of Dante, the Inquisitors, the terror of the people in the streets, the darkness all around us. Above me, I no longer see Dante . . . instead, I see my father, his lips twisted in a dark smile.
Enough. I twine the glittering threads of energy around myself—there is suddenly so much of it that I feel light-headed from the power, as if I’d left my body. Raffaele once showed me how to create illusions of touch. Can I do that now?
I bare my teeth. And I unleash my anger.
For a single, terrible moment, I can see every single one of the energy threads connecting Dante to myself. From myself to his pain senses. On instinct, I reach out and pull hard.
Dante suddenly scrambles away from me. His hand leaves my neck—I gasp desperately for air. His eyes bulge. Then he drops his weapons and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound sends a flood of excitement through me so intense that I tremble from head to toe. The illusion of touch; the illusion of pain. Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I pull harder, twisting, increasing his belief that he is in agony—that his limbs are being ripped off one by one, that someone is peeling the skin off his back. He collapses to the ground and writhes. Scream after scream.
At first, all I feel from him is rage. He glares at me with murder in his eyes. “I’m going to kill you,” he spits out amid his pain. “You’ve attacked the wrong Elite.”
I harden my expression. No, you have.
His rage changes to fear. Terror pours from him—it only makes me stronger, and I throw all the extra power back into torturing him. A part of me is horrified at what I’m doing. But the other part of me, the part that is my father’s daughter, delights in it. I’m heady with pleasure—it washes over me until I feel like I am a completely different person. I walk closer to where he writhes and look on patiently with a curious tilt of my head. I open my mouth to speak, and my father’s words spill out of me.
“Show me what you can do,” I whisper in Dante’s ear.
Somewhere in the midst of swirling darkness, I catch sight of Violetta cowering in the corner, her terrified eyes fixed on me. She has the power to stop me, I realize through my haze of exhilaration. But she’s not.
Stop? Why should I stop? This is the boy who told Enzo to kill me. He has threatened my life from the moment I joined the Daggers—he tried to kill me right now. Just like everyone else. I have every right to torture him. He deserves to die at my hands, and I will make sure he feels every last moment of it. All the rage and bitterness I’ve held in my heart for everything now reaches a peak. My father’s image replaces Dante again, his body bent backward in agony. My smile turns dark and I twist harder, harder, harder.
I will destroy you.
“Stop, please!” At first I think it’s Violetta screaming this at me, but then I realize that it’s my father. He has resorted to begging. His heartbeat increases to a violent pace.
Something inside me screams that this is going too far—I can feel the darkness taking over my senses. My father—Dante—gasps. His scream cuts off as his face freezes into a trembling picture of shock. Harder. I try in vain to shove it away, to regain control. I can’t. A real trickle of blood runs from his lips. My heart trembles at the sight. That isn’t supposed to happen. I am a conjurer of illusions. Can even the illusion of pain eventually trigger something real? Again, I reach out to stop myself. But my father’s ghost only laughs, mingling with the gleeful whispers in my head.
Keep going, Adelina, and no one will ever command you again.
I feel something snap in Dante’s heart, a breaking of strings.
He freezes. His mouth stays open in a silent scream; his lips are stained red. His fingers twitch, but his eyes are glazed. The darkness in me that took over my mind now vanishes in a rush—I collapse to my knees, suddenly unable to catch my breath, and lean against the wall in exhaustion. I feel like I’ve returned to my body. My energy shrinks away into nothingness, just like that—my father’s ghostly presence disappears, and his voice melts into the night. Violetta stays where she is, staring in stunned silence at Dante’s body. I do the same. The chaos out in the streets rings in my ears like an underwater scream.
I wanted to hurt him. To defend myself. To get revenge. To escape. But I didn’t just hurt him. I made sure that he will never again lift a finger against me.
In my fury, I killed him.
Baliras are violent when provoked. But be silent and still,
and you may yet see the frailness under their enormous size,
the way they wrap their fins around their young. —Creatures of the Underworld, by Sir Alamour Kerana
Adelina Amouteru
I’m not sure how long we stay in the alley. Maybe a minute. Maybe hours. Time loses meaning for a while. I only remember leaving that narrow street in a stupor, my hand clenched tightly around Violetta’s. There is a corpse lying on the ground behind us that I don’t dare look at again.
Somehow, we manage to stay hidden in the shadows, the chaos in the city working to our advantage. In the heart of Estenzia, the steady presence of Inquisition patrols has quickly turned into teeming numbers, more white cloaks than I’ve ever seen in my life. Broken glass litters the streets. Shops owned by malfettos are smashed, burned, and destroyed—their owners dragged from their beds, still in their shifts, and thrown into the street to be arrested. The palace is taking its revenge for what we did at the piers.
I am taking my own revenge.
We continue on. It seems like the night sky has started to lighten . . . dawn already? We must have stayed in the alley for some time, I think as we go. Sheer exhaustion suddenly hits me, and I lean into a wall to steady myself against the wave of dizziness. Something happened in that alley. What was it? Why does everything feel so out of focus? A memory comes to me clouded and half formed, as if I had witnessed it through another’s eyes. Someone had been there. A boy. He’d tried to hurt us. I can’t remember beyond that. Something happened. But what? I look at Violetta, who returns my stare with wide, frightened eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that she is frightened of me.
Perhaps I do remember. Perhaps I’m forgetting on purpose.
“Hurry, Adelina,” she whispers as she hesitantly takes my hand. I follow numbly. “Where should we go?”
Through the fog in my head, I murmur back, “The Fortunata Court. This way.” If I can just talk to Raffaele, I can explain everything. Enzo will listen to him. I shouldn’t have left them behind—this has all been a terrible mistake.
I lead us through the waning dark, past burning buildings and wailing people, the air filled with the smell of terror. I stop again when the darkness in my stomach becomes too much for me to handle.
“Wait,” I gasp out to Violetta. Before she can reply, I lean forward and heave. What little is in my stomach comes spilling out. I cough and retch until I have nothing left. Still, the darkness churns in me, relentless, bringing with it tides of both nausea and comfort. I teeter between revulsion and joy.
Through my dizziness, I feel Violetta wrapping her arm around my shoulder. She steadies me. When I look up, I meet her solemn eyes. “Who was he?” she whispers.
Her question sounds like an accusation. It confuses me. “Who?”
Violetta’s eyes turn stricken. “You mean, you don’t—”
This must be what it feels like to lose your mind. I shake off her arm and turn my attention back to the streets. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap. I wait for Violetta to say something in return, but she stays quiet, and we don’t exchange another word until we near the arches of the Fortunata Court.
By the time we arrive, the city is full of the sound of screams, and the faint dawn is broken by bursts of orange. We pause in an alley to catch our breath. All of my strength has been sapped, and I don’t even try to conjure an illusion to protect us. Violetta keeps her eyes turned away from me, her expression stricken.
“Get back,” she suddenly whispers.
We shrink into the shadows as Inquisitors come running past the main street and into a nearby shop. Moments later, they drag a malfetto woman out, throwing her down with such force that she falls onto her hands and knees. She’s sobbing. Behind her, white cloaks flutter inside her shop, and the first signs of fire flicker at the windows. We watch in silence, hearts in our throats, as the woman begs them for mercy. One of the Inquisitors prepares to strike her. Up in the windows of nearby homes, neighbors look on. Their faces are pictures of horror. But they stay silent, and do not help.
The king is dead! The king is dead!
This is all wrong. I watch as the Inquisitors kill other malfettos. I am numb. Something has gone terribly wrong.
I pull Violetta close. “Think of something else,” I whisper into her ear, feeling her trembling uncontrollably against me. I force myself to take in the terror and evil that swirls around us, letting it strengthen the darkness in me so that I can weave an illusion of calm around my sister. I block out the screams for her. I weave a blanket of darkness around her, shielding her from the sight of the crying malfettos gathered in the square. This must be happening all across Estenzia—across Kenettra, even. As Violetta weeps against my shoulder, I stare at the horrific scene in her stead.
How ironic, that I should embrace such evil in order to protect my sister from evil.
Through my fog of terror, I remember the catacombs under the city. I touch my sister’s face. “We have to go,” I say firmly. Then I take her hand and begin to lead us away—
—until we turn the corner and run straight into Dante. He stares down at me, his face swathed in shadows. “Well,” he growls. “I knew I’d find you out here.”
He could feel the storm’s energy in the breeze, as if it were
some sort of living creature, breathing life and fear into his body. —Tales of Lord Dunre, by Ephare
Adelina Amouteru
My first, feverish thought: Dante followed me.
He’d somehow seen me leave the Fortunata Court. He’d tracked me to the Inquisition Tower. And now he knows I must have visited the Inquisition. A flurry of thoughts flash through my mind in the span of a second. If he goes back to the other Daggers, he will tell them about everything. No—they cannot find out in this way. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say.
He doesn’t give me a chance. Instead, he lunges at me with an outstretched hand, trying to grab my arm. Violetta cries out—my energy roars in my ears.
I fling an illusion of invisibility desperately over us and throw myself to the ground. My powers are fading fast, and we blink in and out of sight. I scramble to my feet right as Dante lunges for me again. This time he attacks with a dagger. My illusion manages to throw off his aim, but the blade still catches the edge of my thigh, slicing through my clothes. I wince at the bite against my skin. Darkness roars inside me, feeding on Dante’s own fury. My strength grows again.
“You traitor.” He points the dagger at me. “Enzo should’ve done away with you the instant you came to us.”
How dare you. I protected you all. “I didn’t do anything,” I shout back. “I told them nothing.”
“You expect me to believe you?” Dante twirls his blade.
“Let me explain,” I say, holding my hands out. “I didn’t give anything to them. What you saw happen at the Spring Moons—”
Dante’s lips curl into a snarl. “I know what I saw. How long have you been working with Teren?”
“I wasn’t working with him! He found me—months ago, at the court—” I don’t know how to tell Dante this, without making it sound like everything is my fault. It is my fault.
“And yet, you told us none of this. Why keep it a secret?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was afraid of getting hurt. My sister—”
Dante sneers. “I knew you were no good. I should carve your mouth right off your face, because it spits out nothing but lies.”
I’m starting to have trouble breathing. My words come in gasps. “You have to believe me. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Did you tell him about the Tournament of Storms?”
“I—” I hesitate.
Dante catches my pause. He narrows his eyes. “And you betrayed Raffaele to the palace, didn’t you?”
I blink. What? Raffaele? “Raffaele hasn’t returned?”
Dante doesn’t need to speak for me to know the answer. Raffaele was absent at the last meeting, he never returned from his client visit. No, not him. The thought of Raffaele being the first to suffer—
Dante lashes out again. He knocks me to the ground and holds me down. I can’t find my energy to pull on. Violetta lets out a choked scream.
“I’m taking you back to Enzo,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at me. His hand presses down on my neck, choking me. No, you can’t. I should be the one telling him, not you. “You’ll answer to him, you pathetic little coward.”
I’ll kill you before you can ruin this deal.
My father’s words from that fateful night suddenly echo all around me, filling my ears and taking me back to the rain-soaked marketplace where he’d died. Dante’s words to Enzo run through my mind. The darkness that has risen in me ever since I left the Daggers now claws eagerly for freedom—it builds and builds, feeding off the fears and hatred of Dante, the Inquisitors, the terror of the people in the streets, the darkness all around us. Above me, I no longer see Dante . . . instead, I see my father, his lips twisted in a dark smile.
Enough. I twine the glittering threads of energy around myself—there is suddenly so much of it that I feel light-headed from the power, as if I’d left my body. Raffaele once showed me how to create illusions of touch. Can I do that now?
I bare my teeth. And I unleash my anger.
For a single, terrible moment, I can see every single one of the energy threads connecting Dante to myself. From myself to his pain senses. On instinct, I reach out and pull hard.
Dante suddenly scrambles away from me. His hand leaves my neck—I gasp desperately for air. His eyes bulge. Then he drops his weapons and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound sends a flood of excitement through me so intense that I tremble from head to toe. The illusion of touch; the illusion of pain. Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I pull harder, twisting, increasing his belief that he is in agony—that his limbs are being ripped off one by one, that someone is peeling the skin off his back. He collapses to the ground and writhes. Scream after scream.
At first, all I feel from him is rage. He glares at me with murder in his eyes. “I’m going to kill you,” he spits out amid his pain. “You’ve attacked the wrong Elite.”
I harden my expression. No, you have.
His rage changes to fear. Terror pours from him—it only makes me stronger, and I throw all the extra power back into torturing him. A part of me is horrified at what I’m doing. But the other part of me, the part that is my father’s daughter, delights in it. I’m heady with pleasure—it washes over me until I feel like I am a completely different person. I walk closer to where he writhes and look on patiently with a curious tilt of my head. I open my mouth to speak, and my father’s words spill out of me.
“Show me what you can do,” I whisper in Dante’s ear.
Somewhere in the midst of swirling darkness, I catch sight of Violetta cowering in the corner, her terrified eyes fixed on me. She has the power to stop me, I realize through my haze of exhilaration. But she’s not.
Stop? Why should I stop? This is the boy who told Enzo to kill me. He has threatened my life from the moment I joined the Daggers—he tried to kill me right now. Just like everyone else. I have every right to torture him. He deserves to die at my hands, and I will make sure he feels every last moment of it. All the rage and bitterness I’ve held in my heart for everything now reaches a peak. My father’s image replaces Dante again, his body bent backward in agony. My smile turns dark and I twist harder, harder, harder.
I will destroy you.
“Stop, please!” At first I think it’s Violetta screaming this at me, but then I realize that it’s my father. He has resorted to begging. His heartbeat increases to a violent pace.
Something inside me screams that this is going too far—I can feel the darkness taking over my senses. My father—Dante—gasps. His scream cuts off as his face freezes into a trembling picture of shock. Harder. I try in vain to shove it away, to regain control. I can’t. A real trickle of blood runs from his lips. My heart trembles at the sight. That isn’t supposed to happen. I am a conjurer of illusions. Can even the illusion of pain eventually trigger something real? Again, I reach out to stop myself. But my father’s ghost only laughs, mingling with the gleeful whispers in my head.
Keep going, Adelina, and no one will ever command you again.
I feel something snap in Dante’s heart, a breaking of strings.
He freezes. His mouth stays open in a silent scream; his lips are stained red. His fingers twitch, but his eyes are glazed. The darkness in me that took over my mind now vanishes in a rush—I collapse to my knees, suddenly unable to catch my breath, and lean against the wall in exhaustion. I feel like I’ve returned to my body. My energy shrinks away into nothingness, just like that—my father’s ghostly presence disappears, and his voice melts into the night. Violetta stays where she is, staring in stunned silence at Dante’s body. I do the same. The chaos out in the streets rings in my ears like an underwater scream.
I wanted to hurt him. To defend myself. To get revenge. To escape. But I didn’t just hurt him. I made sure that he will never again lift a finger against me.
In my fury, I killed him.
Baliras are violent when provoked. But be silent and still,
and you may yet see the frailness under their enormous size,
the way they wrap their fins around their young. —Creatures of the Underworld, by Sir Alamour Kerana
Adelina Amouteru
I’m not sure how long we stay in the alley. Maybe a minute. Maybe hours. Time loses meaning for a while. I only remember leaving that narrow street in a stupor, my hand clenched tightly around Violetta’s. There is a corpse lying on the ground behind us that I don’t dare look at again.
Somehow, we manage to stay hidden in the shadows, the chaos in the city working to our advantage. In the heart of Estenzia, the steady presence of Inquisition patrols has quickly turned into teeming numbers, more white cloaks than I’ve ever seen in my life. Broken glass litters the streets. Shops owned by malfettos are smashed, burned, and destroyed—their owners dragged from their beds, still in their shifts, and thrown into the street to be arrested. The palace is taking its revenge for what we did at the piers.
I am taking my own revenge.
We continue on. It seems like the night sky has started to lighten . . . dawn already? We must have stayed in the alley for some time, I think as we go. Sheer exhaustion suddenly hits me, and I lean into a wall to steady myself against the wave of dizziness. Something happened in that alley. What was it? Why does everything feel so out of focus? A memory comes to me clouded and half formed, as if I had witnessed it through another’s eyes. Someone had been there. A boy. He’d tried to hurt us. I can’t remember beyond that. Something happened. But what? I look at Violetta, who returns my stare with wide, frightened eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that she is frightened of me.
Perhaps I do remember. Perhaps I’m forgetting on purpose.
“Hurry, Adelina,” she whispers as she hesitantly takes my hand. I follow numbly. “Where should we go?”
Through the fog in my head, I murmur back, “The Fortunata Court. This way.” If I can just talk to Raffaele, I can explain everything. Enzo will listen to him. I shouldn’t have left them behind—this has all been a terrible mistake.
I lead us through the waning dark, past burning buildings and wailing people, the air filled with the smell of terror. I stop again when the darkness in my stomach becomes too much for me to handle.
“Wait,” I gasp out to Violetta. Before she can reply, I lean forward and heave. What little is in my stomach comes spilling out. I cough and retch until I have nothing left. Still, the darkness churns in me, relentless, bringing with it tides of both nausea and comfort. I teeter between revulsion and joy.
Through my dizziness, I feel Violetta wrapping her arm around my shoulder. She steadies me. When I look up, I meet her solemn eyes. “Who was he?” she whispers.
Her question sounds like an accusation. It confuses me. “Who?”
Violetta’s eyes turn stricken. “You mean, you don’t—”
This must be what it feels like to lose your mind. I shake off her arm and turn my attention back to the streets. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap. I wait for Violetta to say something in return, but she stays quiet, and we don’t exchange another word until we near the arches of the Fortunata Court.
By the time we arrive, the city is full of the sound of screams, and the faint dawn is broken by bursts of orange. We pause in an alley to catch our breath. All of my strength has been sapped, and I don’t even try to conjure an illusion to protect us. Violetta keeps her eyes turned away from me, her expression stricken.
“Get back,” she suddenly whispers.
We shrink into the shadows as Inquisitors come running past the main street and into a nearby shop. Moments later, they drag a malfetto woman out, throwing her down with such force that she falls onto her hands and knees. She’s sobbing. Behind her, white cloaks flutter inside her shop, and the first signs of fire flicker at the windows. We watch in silence, hearts in our throats, as the woman begs them for mercy. One of the Inquisitors prepares to strike her. Up in the windows of nearby homes, neighbors look on. Their faces are pictures of horror. But they stay silent, and do not help.
