The Rose Society (32 page)

“I am not a Dagger,” I reply. My own voice sounds even colder than I remember. I take a step toward him, forcing my head to stay high. “And it sounds to me like you can’t seem to remove their thorn from your side.”

Teren’s smile deepens so that I can see his canine teeth. It is a furious smile. He pauses, then lunges at me with his sword.

“Violetta!” I shout.

Teren stops mid-attack. He lets out a terrible gasp, then stumbles backward and clutches his chest. It takes him an instant to catch his breath. He lets out a weak laugh, then points his sword at me again. In the shadows, I see a glimpse of Violetta moving. “I knew your sister must be here somewhere,” he says. “She seems to have grown bolder since last we met. Fine, let’s play. I could slit your throat even without my strength.”

He lunges at me again. Old lessons from Enzo flash through my mind—I sidestep, then lash out at him with an illusion of pain. The threads wrap tightly around his arm. I pull, and he shrieks as he thinks his arm is being ripped clean of his body. But almost immediately, he recovers and slashes his sword at me.

“Stop,” I call out. “I’ve come to talk with you.”

“All an illusion with you,” he shouts through gritted teeth. I can feel him pushing back against my power. If he doesn’t believe me, I can’t hurt him.

I concentrate, throwing all my strength into my pain illusion. This time, the threads slice deep into his belly—when I pull, I conjure the illusion that I am ripping apart his organs, that I am cutting him from the inside out. Teren screams. Still, he comes at me. His sword catches my skin this time. It slashes a scarlet mark on my upper arm.

Something flickers in the darkness—and an instant later, Magiano appears before me, drawn out by the sight of my blood. His pupils become slits as he looks at Teren. “Keep your filthy blades off her,” he snaps. “It’s rude.”

Teren’s eyes widen again, surprised by Magiano’s sudden appearance—but then he strikes at Magiano with his blade, cutting deep across his chest. Instinctively, I reach out to protect him.

Magiano stumbles backward. Before our eyes, the bloody cut on his chest heals almost immediately, stitched together by invisible threads. He laughs at Teren. “I believe she told you to
stop
, so that we can all talk,” he says, crossing his arms. “Don’t you like talking? You seemed to be doing a great deal of it a moment ago.”

Teren can only stare at Magiano’s healed chest in disbelief.

“Don’t fight me,” I shout as the Inquisitor whirls, his blade aimed at me again. I barely avoid it in time. “I know what you’re really up against.”

Teren laughs. “Brave little wolf,” he taunts. “The queen wants your head, and I shall give it to her.”

“Raffaele has taken your place at the palace,” I say, toying with Teren’s temper. “And he has also cast me out of the
Daggers.” I nod at Magiano. “Not that it has stopped me from finding allies.”

“You’ve been busy,” Teren says with an icy smile. His pale eyes cut me to the bone, then shift to Magiano, who gives him a winning grin.

“Do you really believe Queen Giulietta deserves the throne, now that she has thrown you away?” I ask. “Now that she is willing to have other Elites in her army?”

Teren watches me carefully. I can feel his darkness rising again. “What do you want, mi Adelinetta?” he says.

Suddenly, I stop where I am. I weave an illusion over my entire face … transforming myself into Giulietta. Same rosy cheeks, same heart-shaped face and tiny, puckered lips, same deep, dark eyes so reminiscent of Enzo’s.

Teren stops so quickly that he loses his grip on his sword. The weapon clatters to the ground. Even though he must know that it’s just an illusion, he cannot seem to control his reaction. “Your Majesty,” he whispers, staring at my face in wonder.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I murmur, stepping closer to him.

Teren stares at me. This time, he falls completely for the illusion—he has forgotten about me. Instead, he takes a step forward and holds my face in his hands. He is surprisingly gentle.

“Giulietta,” he whispers. “Oh, my love. It’s you.” He kisses each of my cheeks. “How could you send me away?”

Then, his hands tighten on my cheeks, grabbing at the
flesh. “You sent me away,” he says again, harder this time. A spark of fear jumps in me. Something in his voice reminds me of my father, that hard-hearted fury. “I did everything for you, and you
sent me away
.”

I decide to play along. “I am the Queen of Kenettra,” I say. “Pure of blood. If I want, I’ll send you away. If I wish, I’ll kill you. Shouldn’t I?”

“But you are taking counsel from a Dagger,” Teren spits out. His grip hardens against my face until it hurts. “You are letting a
malfetto
tell you it’s not worth it to cleanse this country.”

I force down my fear. “I have no interest in destroying
malfettos
. I never have. Why should I? It’s useless.”

Teren brings his face so close to mine that his lips brush mine. Nearby, I can hear Magiano’s sharp intake of breath. “I
loved
you,” he hisses. His voice shakes with rage, and I drink it in, terrified at the power behind it, yet hungry for more. My illusions strengthen. “And now, you love
them
?” His lips brush mine again, in something that can only be called a kiss. But there is nothing but hatred in it, something deep and hard and revolting that makes me want to shrink away. His fingers are like claws against my face. “Tell me, My Queen—how can I love a
traitor
to the gods?”

I unravel my illusion again, until Teren is holding
my
face in his hands, staring into my broken features. He stares at me a moment longer. Gradually, his energy calms as he recognizes me. He bares his teeth, releases me in disgust, and turns away. I’m shaking from how close I was to his rage. He
wanted to crush me in his hands. Enzo had said that Teren was madly in love with the queen … but this … this is not love. This is obsession.

“You once said that I belong with you,” I call out. “Instead of with the Daggers.”

Teren pauses to turn his head slightly in my direction. In the waning light, all I can see of his features is an outline of his profile. It reminds me of how I saw him in the very beginning, his profile framed by light on the day of my burning, how he came over to me and threw a burning torch at my feet.

“The only way to get what you want in this world,” I say, “is to do it yourself. No one else will help you in this. The only way is if
you
are on the Kenettran throne.”

Teren laughs a little. “And why, my dear Adelina, would
you
want that?” He ignores Magiano and steps toward me. “I almost killed you. I killed your
lover
.”

An image of Enzo dying on the ground, of me crying over his body, flashes at me.
I hate you, Teren,
I think as I stare at him.
I hate you, and someday I will kill you. But first, I will use you.

“Because,” I say, tilting my head up, “the Daggers also wanted me dead. Because they would have killed me.” I step closer. “How can I love a traitor?” I say, echoing Teren’s words. He raises one eyebrow in surprise. I have unsettled even him. “I would sooner
die
than see them take the throne.” I raise my hands then, and call the threads around us. The darkness in Teren’s heart feeds my power, giving me the fuel I need.

Flames erupt all around us. They explode from my body, rush along the ground, roar up the walls and the statues of the gods, up to the ceiling, eating up the dim blues and replacing them with searing gold and orange and white, leaving no space untouched except the spots where each of us stand. The entire temple is ablaze. The illusion of heat burns the edges of Teren’s clothes and threatens to peel away his skin.

“The Beldish queen has already sent for her navy,” I call out above the roar of fire. “There will be war. She has been working with the Daggers this entire time.” I nod at Teren. “You were right to suspect Raffaele.”

“How do you know this?” Teren snaps.

“I overheard the Daggers.” I narrow my eye. “And I would like nothing more than to see their plans turn to ash.” Around us, the insides of the temple turn black and charred.

Teren smiles at me. He takes a step closer. “Ah, mi Adelinetta,” he says. His eyes soften in a way that surprises me. “I have missed you. You, more than any other abomination, understand what we truly are.” He shakes his head. “Had I known you when I was a young boy …” He lets that sentence die, leaving me curious.

My hatred for him rises like bile and I grit my teeth, letting my illusion of fire die out, and we’re left to stand in the charred remains of the temple. Then that, too, disappears, returning our surroundings to normal.

Teren’s eyes glow with an unstable light, and I know that I have reached his tipping point, that any doubt he might
have for helping me will be overshadowed by his desire to strike back against the Daggers. “What are you planning, little wolf?” he says. “The Daggers have already wedged their way to the queen’s side. She has already sent for them for tomorrow morning.”

My hands tremble at my sides, but I press them harder against my legs. “Then lead us into the palace, Master Santoro. Tomorrow morning.” I look beside me, where Magiano watches with slitted eyes. “And we will destroy the Daggers for you.”

Maeve Jacqueline Kelly Corrigan

The lookout in the crow’s nest is the first to give the signal. He rushes down from the mast to kneel in front of his queen. “Your Majesty,” he says breathlessly before Maeve. “I saw the signal far out at sea. Your ships. They’re here.”

Maeve gathers her furs around her neck and puts a hand on the hilt of her sword. She walks to the edge of the deck. The ocean looks like an expanse of black nothingness from here. But if her lookout is to be believed, he saw two bright flashes out in the midst of that darkness. Her navy has arrived.

She looks to her side. Aside from her brothers, the Daggers are also up on deck. Lucent bows her head, while Raffaele folds his hands into his sleeves. “Messenger,” Maeve calls to him. “You say Giulietta has asked for your audience tomorrow morning?”

Raffaele nods. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replies.

“And Master Santoro?”

“He should already have left the city, Your Majesty.” Raffaele gives her as level a look as he always has, but underneath it, Maeve senses his distance. He has not forgiven her for what she did to Enzo.

“Good.” The wind whips Maeve’s high braid over her shoulder. Her tiger utters a low growl at her side, and she pats his head absently. “It’s time for us to strike.” She hands Raffaele a tiny vial. At first glance, the vial seems to contain nothing but clear water and a tiny, insignificant pearl. The Daggers draw near for a better look. Maeve gives the bottle a light tap.

The pearl transforms in an instant, shifting from its round shape into a writhing, dozen-legged monster hardly an inch long. Maeve can see its needle-like claws raking against the glass, and the way it swims through the water in a jagged, furious motion. The Daggers back away. Gemma puts a hand over her mouth, while Michel looks sickly pale.

Raffaele meets Maeve’s gaze. His lips tighten into a tense line.

“It can burrow underneath the skin,” Maeve explains. “It does so with such speed and precision that the victim will not even realize it until it is too late.” She hands Raffaele the vial carefully. “Giulietta will be dead within the hour.”

Raffaele stares at the wriggling creature, then places it carefully in a pocket of his robes. “I will find a way tomorrow morning,” he says.

Maeve nods. “If we time this correctly, Giulietta will die as my navy invades her harbor. The throne will be ours before Master Santoro can turn tail fast enough back to the capital, and before the Inquisition can push back.”

“And what of Adelina?” Raffaele says. “What of Enzo?”

Maeve’s attention shifts. She reaches for her belt, pulls out a parchment, and unfurls it. It is a map of Estenzia and its surroundings. She points toward a spot in the forests near the city’s outskirts. Beside her, Augustine toys with the hilt of his sword, while her brother Kester’s eyes glow bright. “We are going to fetch him tonight.”

“Turn it one way,” said the merchant to the girl, “and you will see where you want to go. But if you turn it the other way, you will see where you are needed the most.”

—
The Other Side of the Mirror
, by Tristan Chirsley

Adelina Amouteru

The rains come tonight.

Lightning forks across the sky, and thunder shakes the windowpanes. I watch Sergio’s downpour from the court’s old entrance. The haunting cries of baliras fill the black sky overhead. The shores near Estenzia are churning furiously, and the chaos must have stirred the enormous creatures into the skies. Violetta tosses in a fitful sleep in the next room, the thunder working its way into her nightmares. Enzo sits out in the hall and sharpens his blade. He doesn’t interact with anyone else here. I know what he’s waiting for—I can almost feel it through our bond. He is looking forward to reuniting with the Daggers. I dwell on it with a sinking heart. Sooner or later, he is going to find out what really happened, and that my story to him is not the whole story at all.

From downstairs come low voices and the shuffle of
boots. My mercenaries. They are restless, now that we will storm the palace tomorrow. Earlier, I’d walked among them to count how many of the Night King’s former men had decided to follow me. There are forty of them. A small number, to be sure, but they are deadly, each the equivalent of ten soldiers. Sergio tells me there are more, scattered across the land and waiting for our strike. “They won’t show themselves until you look like a sure bet,” he’d said earlier. “Then they’ll come out of the woodwork to help you finish the job.”

A light tap comes from the door. When I look over, I see Magiano walking toward me. He comes to stand beside me and watch the baliras haunting the wet skies.