The Young Elites (19 page)

The shouts and laughter fly fast and thick. Gemma attempts to steal everyone’s necklaces for herself, only to have Lucent toss them up into the air and knock Gemma onto a divan with a playful gust of wind. The aristocrats clap, applauding their powers and murmuring about how they will show them off during the Tournament. Several consorts loop their necklaces over Michel’s neck, making his grin as wide as his face. Even Dante, with his permanent scowl, lets a consort give him a necklace and wraps his arm around her waist.

Gemma offers me her necklace, as does one of the other male consorts. I blush, laughing along. Enzo watches us all with a calm expression. He twines his gold necklace around his fingers, deep in thought.

“Come, Your Highness,” Michel calls out at him, twirling his trio of necklaces around his hand. He grins. “Unless you’re most fond of
yourself.
”

More carefree laughter. Enzo gives him a small smile, then tosses his necklace up in the air. “For you, then,” he replies. Michel gestures at the necklace, and it vanishes in midair and reappears wrapped around his hand. He throws it around his neck with a triumphant grin. Enzo waves off the consorts attempting to give him a necklace and looks on as the others fight over the prizes, each one more enthusiastic than the last.

None of them know what’s going through my mind. None of them know that even as they celebrate, I am thinking about what to do with Teren, how to get to the Inquisition Tower to save my sister. How I will betray everyone in here.

I sway in my seat. The others don’t notice, but Enzo does—he turns to look at me. I put down my glass of wine and take a deep breath, but it’s no use. Darkness pools in the pit of my stomach, feeding ravenously on my fear. I can’t stay here.

It takes me a moment to realize that Enzo has risen to his feet. He strides over to me, offers me his gloved hand, and helps me up. I lean unsteadily against him. The others pause for a moment to look over at us, and some of the laughter fades.

“Are you all right, Adelina?” Gemma calls out.

I start to say something, but it’s hard to focus. Enzo wraps an arm around me and guides me away from the circle. “Carry on,” he tells the others. “I’ll return shortly.” Then he lowers his voice to me and leads me back inside the court. “You look like you need to rest,” he murmurs.

I don’t argue. As the noise of the others fades away, leaving only the echo of our footsteps up the stone path to the surface, I slowly come back to life. The darkness fades a little, replaced with the pulse of Enzo’s heart. His hand is hot against my side. My legs feel weak, but he keeps me steady. My head reaches to his shoulder and I’m reminded again of how tall he is, how small I am.

“I don’t think I’ve quite gotten over last night,” I murmur as we walk, trying to think of a good excuse.

“Don’t apologize,” Enzo replies. “Teren is not an Inquisitor to take lightly.”

I look at him. My curiosity rises. “Your fire didn’t hurt him,” I decide to say. “Have you . . . always known?”

Enzo hesitates. “I knew him when we were children.” There’s something strange about the way he says this, as if he feels a certain sympathy for Teren. “He’s the only Elite that Raffaele cannot sense.”

Raffaele.
“Where is he tonight?”

“The madam informed me that Raffaele was called to a client’s home,” Enzo says after a moment. “I’m sure all is well.” But something about his tone tells me that Raffaele should have returned by now. I look back down, trying not to think the worst.

We reach the wall that opens to the courtyard fountains. A light drizzle has started, chilling the night air. By now, I’m able to walk on my own again, and I pause here for a moment to savor the quiet dance of rain on my skin. Enzo waits patiently. I tilt my face up and close my eye. The drizzle is cold, clearing my senses. The damp grass soaks the hem of my robes. “I feel better now,” I say. Partly true, at least.

He gazes out at the courtyard too, as if taking in the shine that the rain gives to the night scene. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. Finally, he turns back to me. He looks like he wants to ask what’s troubling me, as if he knows it extends deeper than what I’d claimed, but he doesn’t.
Can I tell you? Would you turn on me?

Enzo watches me silently. The lanterns on the courtyard wall outline his face in a halo of damp, golden light, and the beads of water in his hair glitter in the darkness. He is such a startlingly different beauty from Raffaele—dark, intense, wary, perhaps even menacing—but I see a softness in him, a stirring desire. Something mysterious flickers in his eyes.

The spiced wine from earlier now gives me a sudden rush of courage. On impulse, I take my gold necklace off, then lift my arms and drape it over his neck. My hands brush past his crimson hair, the skin of his neck. I half expect Enzo to push me away. But he doesn’t stop me. His eyes are liquid dark and beautiful, slashed with scarlet, ringed with long lashes, full of an emotion deep and wanting. I swallow, suddenly aware of the attention I’ve stirred. Then I lean up on my toes, gently tug the necklace toward me, and bring his lips to mine.

I hover there for a second, heady with the rush of courage. He doesn’t move a muscle. To my surprise and dismay, warmth doesn’t surge through me at the connection between us. Not the way it had when he’d kissed me at the Spring Moons.
There’s fear in his heart. He’s holding back his energy.
This thought brings me back to reality, and suddenly I feel stupid. Our last kiss had been one of necessity, part of blending into the festivities. That was all. I pull away. Rain dances cold against my face.
Stupid.
I’m in no state to act appropriately right now—there are too many thoughts racing through my mind, and I am so exhausted from them. I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, so I just start to step away.

He places a gloved hand against the small of my back and stops me. I stand still for a moment, trembling in his grasp. Rain shines on his lashes. His other hand tilts my chin up. I only have time to glance once at his face before he brings his lips down to mine. Then he’s kissing me,
really
kissing, reaching deep down for more.

Heat explodes inside me, flooding every vein in my body, a fire so intense that I can’t catch my breath. My mouth opens, gasping for air until he seizes my kiss back. The hand he uses to lift my chin now runs along the naked line of my jaw, careful and caressing, but even as he restrains his deadly abilities, I can sense the raw power churning under the surface. He pins me to the damp wall so that his body is pressed solidly against mine. In this moment, I can’t seem to remember anything. I push myself up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel the contour of his chest through his doublet and linen, the body hidden beneath the Reaper that makes him human.

His kiss goes on and on—I have trouble keeping my thoughts straight now. My hand slides from the back of his neck to the part of his throat exposed by his shirt. I push the linen farther aside, revealing bare skin, then the smooth line of his collarbone, then the curve of his brown shoulder. My fingers run across a scar there. He takes my hand, pulls it away from his skin, and pins it firmly to the wall over my head. His kisses wander down to my neck. Heat ripples in rings across my skin each time his lips make contact. My toes curl. I’m going to fall, I’m sure of it—but he holds me steady. The edges of my skirts are sliding higher, leaving wet streaks on my legs. His gloved hands. Soft leather against my skin. Then another wave of liquid fire bubbles through my body, and I can think of nothing else. The tiny raindrops landing on my lips and skin are pinpricks of ice against the heat coursing through me. I delight in the contrast. When I squint into the drizzle, I see the steam of my breath curling up into the night sky. A strange tingle runs through my toes.
I cannot think—I’m losing control over my powers.
Threads of my energy start to snake out of my chest, searching for Enzo’s heart, wrapping its strings around his own, clouding them with darkness.

This is dangerous. A small light of warning flashes inside me, and with all my strength, I force my illusions back under control. “Stop,” I whisper, pushing away.

He pulls back immediately, taking the heat of his energy with him. My body cools. He looks confused, as if he can’t quite remember what’s just happened. His eyes search my face. The moment ends, and all of my dark thoughts return in a rush, leaving me weak and nauseous. My skin tingles. What had my energy been trying to do? I can still feel the remnants of its dark threads, still eager to seek out Enzo, to overwhelm him.

“I’m not seventeen yet,” I decide to say. “I cannot give myself away.”

Enzo nods. “Of course.” He suddenly seems to recognize me again, the familiarity returning to his eyes, and the expression puzzles me. He gives me a small smile that seems tinged with apology. “Let’s not anger the gods, then.”

He guides us out of the courtyard and back into the hall. We walk in silence, my heartbeat keeping time with our footsteps. Finally, we reach my chamber door. Enzo doesn’t linger. Instead, he gives me a courteous bow and bids me good night. I watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears. Then I enter my chamber.

The room is dark, the reflections of rain on the windows painting moving shadows against the walls. I stand against the door for a while, replaying our kiss in my mind. My cheeks stay hot. Long minutes drag by, until I have no idea how long I’ve been here like this. Had I run my hand along the naked skin of his throat, the line of his collarbone, his exposed shoulder? Had my energy surged out of control, seeking to wrap itself around him?

I have to tell him.

I’m an official Elite now; I should be able to tell the Daggers everything. Enzo had confided in me that he had some sort of history with Teren—if I should tell anyone about what Teren whispered to me, I should be able to tell
him.
Suddenly, I find myself moving toward the door again. I step out, then follow the corridor the way I’d come. I will never have another chance like this.

The sky is completely dark by the time I make my way back down the corridor, the candles lining the hall are already lit, and the sound of rain beats steadily against the roofs. I head down to the cavern. Laughter and conversation drift from the space. Everyone must still be down here, and by the sound of it, the wine’s still flowing freely. My hands tremble as I walk.

I reach the hall leading into the cavern, then pause behind the final pillar that overlooks the room. Here and there, I catch a glimpse of Enzo’s crimson hair. The sight of him sends my heart pounding.
I’m one of them now. They are my friends and allies. They deserve to know.
I start to step out.

Then I stop.

Dante has pulled Enzo aside. They exchange a few words, and then Dante nods toward my hallway. They walk in my direction, seeking out the corridor for a private chat. I tense. They’ll discover me here. For some reason, fear or curiosity or suspicion, I shrink back into the shadows and conjure a curtain of invisibility around myself. I paint the illusion of an empty hall over me, blending myself in with the shadows of the wall and pillar. Then I hold my breath.

What are they talking about? Beside me, my father’s ghost appears without warning, his shattered chest heaving, his mouth twisted into a dark smile. He places a skeletal hand on my shoulder and points at their approaching figures.
Do you see that?
he whispers in my ear, turning my insides to ice.
Let’s listen to what your enemy has to say to your love.

I want to ignore his voice, but when Enzo and Dante finally reach the hall and come to a stop barely a dozen feet away from me, I catch their conversation. They’re talking about me.

And Moritas rose out of the Underworld with such fury in her eyes that all who saw her fell to their knees, and all wept,
begging her forgiveness. But Moritas had no desire to forgive.
She called on the earth, the earth trembled, and the mountains
buried the village in ash and stone.

—An account of the destruction of Teaza Island,
by Captain Ikazara Terune

M
y heart hammers loudly against my ribs. I pray to the gods that they can’t hear it.

“—but the point is, she was recognized,” Dante says. The mere sound of his voice sends a tremor of anger through me, bringing back with it the memory of his threats during my training. “And not only was she recognized, I saw them
talking
to each other.” He scowls. “Has she told you what words she exchanged with him?”

“He had her pinned against a wall. She tried to attack him.”

Dante grits his teeth. “They talked for longer than that. Where is she now?”

“She’s resting,” Enzo replies.

Dante waits for him to say more. When Enzo doesn’t, he continues in a growl. “You’ve killed your own before, when they’ve endangered the safety of our entire group.”

Enzo stays quiet, as if reminded of something he would rather forget. My hands clench together.

“Her presence here now endangers us all,” Dante goes on. “We still have some days to go before the Tournament of Storms, and Adelina can’t be recognized again.”

“She may be the only way for us to get close enough to the king and queen.”

“She may be the one
sabotaging
us. Is it strange that the Inquisition banned
malfettos
from entering the Tournament on the same day Adelina left to watch the qualifying races against your wishes?”

“If she wanted to turn us in, there would be Inquisitors swarming all over us right now.” Enzo folds his arms behind his back. “It would have happened already.”

Dante looks at him sideways. “Is that all, Your Highness?”

Enzo narrows his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I saw you escorting her away. All the other Elites suspect it. I’ve known you for years—I can see the truth on your face.”

“There’s nothing to see.”

“She reminds you of Daphne, doesn’t she? That little Tamouran face?”

A cloud of numbness sweeps over me.
Daphne. Who is Daphne?

Through the fog that envelops me, I sense an overwhelming tide of anger rising in Enzo’s heart, pushing and straining to lash out. The energy makes me gasp—I clamp a hand over my mouth to silence it. My heart pounds a frantic warning.

“You’re on dangerous ground,” Enzo says to him in a quiet voice.

Dante hesitates, wavering for a moment, but then scowls and plunges on. His voice takes on a surprising switch, a transition from his arrogant, bullying condescension to something with genuine concern in it. “Listen. We all liked Daphne. Best non-
malfetto
I ever knew. She nursed me back to health—I’d have died if it wasn’t for her. You think I didn’t notice all the times you abandoned your estates or the Fortunata Court in order to go find her? Think we didn’t know you wanted to marry her?”

To marry her.

Dante’s voice stills. “You think I didn’t mourn her too? That I didn’t want to murder every Inquisitor in the city for her?”

Enzo listens in silence, his face a portrait of stone. There are walls around his energy now, barring me from his emotions. I fight to concentrate on my illusion of invisibility.
Why aren’t you calling him a liar, Enzo?
Because it’s all the truth, of course. No wonder Enzo sometimes looks at me as if I were someone else. It’s because he
is
seeing someone else. Another girl who once lived, whom he once loved, whom he loves still.

Dante leans over. The anger in him swells. “Adelina
is not her.
She’s got the fire, I’ll give her that, and—markings aside—the face. But they are completely different people, Reaper. And I can tell you that while everyone trusted Daphne,
nobody
trusts your new girl. We all tolerate her, at best.” Dante pauses to hold up two fingers. “She’s gone against your orders, and she’s been spotted talking to the enemy. You’ve killed for less than that. You’ve given her advantages that you don’t give others. You’ve softened to her.
I
don’t like taking orders—but I still take them from
you.
I haven’t taken them for years just to see you fall all over yourself for a girl who reminds you of a dead sweetheart.”

The look that Enzo now gives Dante is enough to make the latter take a careful step back. “I’m quite aware of who Adelina is,” the prince says in a low voice. “And who she’s not.”

“Not if you think you’re in love with her, Your Highness.”

“My affairs are not your business.”

“They are if she’s a distraction from our goals.”

Enzo narrows his eyes. “She is
nothing
to me,” he snaps with a careless gesture of one hand. “Nothing more than a Dagger recruit. Just part of our plans.” The ice in his voice hits me hard.
Nothing more.
A rip appears on my heart.

Dante snorts at his words. “If that’s the truth, then you should have no trouble taking some advice from another one of your Daggers.” He gestures at himself.

“And you’re suggesting?” Enzo says.

“On my honor, I will tolerate her so long as
you
tolerate her. Use her as you will. But after you’re on the throne and finished with your fun, you should get rid of her. She won’t stay loyal to you long.”

I tremble at the darkness awakening in Enzo’s heart, a fury that blacks out all the excitement drifting over from the other Daggers and patrons, a rage that envelops the cavern.

“I appreciate your concern,” he says after a moment, emphasizing the words in slow, ominous notes. “But our conversation here is done.”

“Suit yourself, Your Highness,” Dante says in disgust. “You may have sentenced us all.” He turns away to head back to the group. Enzo stays where he is, his expression guarded, his eyes trained on the Spider’s back, thinking. It occurs to me, with all the agony of a twisting knife, that he might be
considering
Dante’s words.

Finally, Enzo also returns to the others. I don’t. I stay where I am, crouched in a shuddering heap at the entrance of the chamber, shrouded in invisibility, alone as the gathering continues. The words I prepared to say to the Daggers have withered on my tongue. The memory of the kiss I shared with Enzo so recently now leaves me cold and shivering.

I feel no anger. No jealousy. Just . . . emptiness. A bone-deep sense of loss. Somehow, the echoes of Gemma’s wisecracks and the patrons’ laughter sound menacing to me now.
Gemma has treated you well. Raffaele took you under his wing.
I hang on to these thoughts in desperation, searching for comfort, trying to convince myself that Dante’s lying. I can’t.

They are only good to me because they need me. Just like Enzo.
Kindness with strings attached.
Would they have befriended me if I were worthless?

Finally, I rise to my feet and head back to my chamber. My illusion ripples around me. If someone were here in the hall, they would see a current of movement in the air, a strange shadow gliding along the corridor.

I reach my chamber, lock my door, release the illusion, and crouch against the foot of my bed. Here, I finally unleash my emotions. Tears run down my face. So much for thinking that I can tell them everything. Time passes. Minutes, an hour. Who knows? The moonlight shifts its slant through my windows. I am back again in my childhood bedchamber, running away from my father. I am back against the railings of my old home’s stairway, listening to my father sell me to his guest. Or maybe I’m listening to Dante denouncing me before Enzo. They’re talking about me.
They are always talking about me.
I have made a full circle and I have not escaped my fate at all.

My father’s ghost appears through the wall beside me. He kneels before me and cups my face in his hands. I can almost feel the whisper of his touch, the cold shiver of death. He smiles.
Don’t you see, Adelina?
he says gently.
Don’t you see how I have always looked out for you? Everything I’ve ever taught you is true. Who will ever love a
malfetto
like you?

I clutch my head and squeeze my eye shut.
Enzo is not like them. He believed in me. He took me in and stood up for me.
I recall the way he had danced with me at the Spring Moons, the way he protected me from Teren. All our days training together, the gentleness in his kiss, his affectionate laugh. I repeat this to myself until the words blur together into something unrecognizable.

But did he really do those things for
you
?
my father whispers.
Or for himself?

I have no idea how late the night has turned. For all I know, dawn could be arriving soon. Or perhaps only a few minutes have passed. All I know is that, as the time drags on, the true part of me is slowly but surely giving way to something bitter. What was once sadness is making way for anger. The darkness creeps in. Exhausted, I welcome it.

I rise from my crouch. My feet move toward the door. I head out into the hallway again, but this time I don’t go in the direction of the others. My feet point instead toward the opposite path, the one that leads me out of the court, into the streets, and down to the canals.

Toward the Inquisition Tower.