The Young Elites (11 page)

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

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.

By the third day, I’m able to think. In order to survive, I must play this game. And I must play it well.

Five days after the masquerade.

Raffaele and I are back in the cavern. He observes me as I study Enzo sparring with the Spider, trying to figure out how their energy works. Teren’s words linger in my mind, reminders of what he expects from me. My week is almost up. How will I ever be able to sneak off to the Inquisition Tower?

I try to focus instead. “Where did he learn to fight like that?” I ask Raffaele as we watch Enzo circling the Spider.

“He was supposed to be king,” Raffaele reminds me as he jots down notes on a sheet of paper. He pauses to dip his quill in an inkwell sitting on the floor. “He trained with the Inquisitors as a child.”

Enzo waits for his opponent to strike first. For a long minute, nothing happens. The others call out jeers and encouragement from the edges of the circle. Then, suddenly—Spider lunges at Enzo, his wooden sword slashing forward toward the prince’s left side. My weak side. The move is so fast that I see nothing more than a blur through the air—but somehow, Enzo manages to predict the strike and darts out of the way at the last second. Fire sparks from his hands, engulfing him in a tight cylinder. Spider jumps back. Even with his speed, I can tell that the heat has singed the edges of his clothes. Enzo quells the flames at the same time as he dashes toward Spider, as if materializing from behind a veil of orange and gold. He strikes three times in rapid succession. Spider deflects the blows, one after another, then lunges back. The two of them rage on in a tense battle. The force of their hits echo in the cavern.

Finally, Enzo catches the tiring Spider off guard. He kicks Spider’s sword out of his grasp, grabs the wooden hilt, and points it back at his opponent’s neck. The other Daggers let out whoops, while Spider utters a growl of frustration. Duel’s over. I let out a shaking breath as both of them lower their weapons and step away from each other.

Enzo is dripping with sweat, his hair tousled and loose, his lean muscles straining. As far as I can tell, Spider is the only one who seems capable of working the prince so thoroughly. Enzo’s white linen shirt clings wet and translucent to his back. As he adjusts his gloves, he casts me a sideways glance and notices me watching. I try to avert my gaze. In my mind, I picture what Enzo might do to me if he finds out about my encounter with Teren.
He will engulf me in flames.

Enzo gives me a polite nod without smiling, then approaches Spider to make sure he’s unharmed. Star Thief—accompanied today by two coyotes instead of an eagle—claps. The one called Architect runs gangly hands through his hair as he marvels at Enzo’s speed. Windwalker asks Enzo how he made his last move. Even Spider defers to him now as they exchange words I can’t hear.

I clear my throat and return my attention to Raffaele, who seems to be patiently finishing up his notes. “I hope you were concentrating during that duel,” he says in a casual tone.

I blush at his teasing. This is Raffaele’s way of introducing me to the concept of energy—trying to teach me how to
see
threads of energy in the air. I shake Enzo out of my head, focus on my center, and search for my alignments to darkness and ambition, curiosity and fear. I imagine myself leaving my body, rushing through the air, searching deep inside the souls of the sparring Daggers, practicing my analysis of their small, subtle movements, looking for glimpses of their energy in action, weaving my way through them to see the glittering threads of energy that make up their hearts and minds. My jaw tightens.

Nothing.

I sigh. I can’t face Teren like this. Powerless. “First you tell me that I need to master my abilities before I’m a Dagger,” I say, turning back to Raffaele. “How am I supposed to learn anything if I stay separate from everyone else?”

Behind Raffaele’s serene face, I notice a flash of something calculating. “The ambition is restless in you today. But the surest way to slow your own progress is to rush yourself into situations you’re not yet ready for.” A firm note enters his voice. “Patience.”

Careful, Adelina. You don’t want Raffaele suspecting you.
“Why can I only call on my powers when threatened?” I whisper instead. From the corner of my vision, I see Enzo leave the cavern. My shoulders hunch slightly in disappointment.

“Think of this scenario,” Raffaele says. “A hundred years ago, when the Beldish tried to invade our northern isles, a doomed army of forty Kenettran soldiers managed to fight off four hundred Beldish men, buying us time to get our reinforcements there. Sometimes, your body gives you strength that you ordinarily wouldn’t have. Right?”

I nod. The Battle for Cordonna Isle is a well-known piece of history.

“Your specific power works the same way. When
you’re
pushed to extreme fear or anger, your body magnifies your energy tenfold, sometimes a hundredfold. It isn’t like this for everyone—certainly not for me, nor for our Star Thief, whose alignment with joy means that her strength scatters when she’s frightened or angry. But you?” Raffaele leans back and regards me thoughtfully. “Now we just need to figure out how you can use that strength
without
death clawing at your throat. Enzo would rather you not risk your life every time you call on your abilities.”

I lean back against the pillar. I almost want to laugh. If my life must be threatened in order to bring out my abilities, then I should be swimming in power by now.

Raffaele watches me with a small smile on his lips that sends my heart racing. Today he’s dressed in robes of pale gold, and his smooth face is unadorned except for some shimmering powder lining his eyes. How is it possible for such small things to accent his beauty so much? There is no one immune to his charms, I’ve noticed. He makes even the sarcastic Windwalker blush with a tilt of his head, and when he teases Spider, the hulking boy coughs in embarrassment in spite of himself. Over the past few days, I’ve occasionally glimpsed Raffaele down at the court’s entrance with clients. Yesterday, he was with a beautiful young lady. The day before, a handsome nobleman. It did not matter who the client was. I watched him ensnare them with nothing more than a smile and a sweep of his eyes. Every time, the client’s face looked stricken with desire. Every time, I could believe wholeheartedly that he was in love with them.

Raffaele picks up several smooth pebbles from the floor. He places them in a line before me. “Let’s start simple,” he says. “Use the darkness inside you before seeking it out in the world around you.” He nods down at the pebbles. “These stones are light gray. I want you to convince me that they are black.”

I turn my attention to them.
Use the darkness inside you.
I tell myself to focus on my fear and hatred, dragging my darker thoughts and memories to the surface. Then I reach for the threads of energy inside me. I can feel them, but they stay just out of my grasp. Beside me, Raffaele takes some notes on his paper. Recording my progress and shifts in energy, no doubt.

I try for several minutes before I sigh and look up. Raffaele only nods at me. “Cheer up, mi Adelinetta,” he says. “You were able to conjure your energy during your first test. Take your time and keep trying.”

I concentrate on the rocks again. This time, I close my eye. In the darkness, I tune out the sounds of the others training, revisiting instead the night of my father’s death. My thoughts turn from my father to my sister. A memory emerges of our early days, the way she would tuck my hair behind my ears, how she’d fall asleep against my shoulder in the warm slant of afternoon light. The image flashes away, replaced by one of her crouched in the corner of a dark prison cell. Teren stands behind me, whispering in my ear. Trapping me. Anger stirs painfully in the pit of my stomach, and I let it fester there, gathering weight and pulling my heart down until I feel the familiar lurch in my chest.

I open my eye and reach into myself. This time, I feel strings of energy pulled taut inside me, and my mind brushes past them like hands on a harp. I pull on them. My pull is unsteady, and I struggle to control the grasp. My brows furrow with the effort of hanging on to them. Before me, the rocks still stay as gray as ever . . . but a few feet away from them, a small ribbon of darkness creeps up from the ground. I gasp at the sight.

“Raffaele,” I breathe. “Look!”

The instant I say it, my concentration breaks and the strings of energy slip out of my grasp. My illusion falls back into the ground. I let out my breath as the fear pooling in my stomach trembles. Raffaele watches me quietly. I try again. My hand brushes past the strings of energy. I grab at them.

Suddenly a blade flashes silver before me. I duck on instinct. Someone laughs over me, and I realize that it’s the Spider. He’s rushed at me from the other side of the cavern. “A little dark ribbon,” he says with disdain. “I’m terrified.”

Raffaele gives the enormous boy a warning stare. “Don’t,” he says.

“Or what, consort?” Spider sneers at me as he sheathes his dagger. “Does it scare the little lamb?”

Raffaele arches an eyebrow. “Would you like to take this up with Enzo? I would not test his temper a few weeks before the Tournament of Storms.”

The Tournament of Storms?
What do they have planned for the biggest festival of the year?

A moment of doubt flickers across Spider’s face, but he hides it immediately. “Tell Enzo whatever you like,” he growls. Then he turns his back.

Irritation floods me, a release of all my pent-up fear and anxiety. Before I can think through what I’m doing, I stand up and reach out. This time, I see the energy threads connecting me to Spider. I pull on them. A dark silhouette bursts from the ground before him, stopping him dead in his tracks. It’s thin and transparent, hardly threatening. But it’s
there.
The shapeless phantom bares its teeth at him and lets out a hiss. Spider whips his dagger out.

I can’t hang on—the illusion vanishes. I stand still, unable to believe that I just pulled it from the ground. The other Elites stop to watch what’s happening. Star Thief frowns at me in concern. “Leave her alone,” she calls out to Spider, but he just ignores her.

Spider turns back in my direction and smiles. In an instant, he has a blade pointed at the base of my neck. Cold metal presses against my skin.

“Careful you don’t take too big a step, little girl,” he mutters. “You and your silhouettes.”

“Soon I’ll know more than just silhouettes,” I murmur back. The illusion I created makes me suddenly bold, and I clench my teeth, eager for violence. “Wait and see.” His lips curl at my challenge, but I just stare back, unafraid.