The Young Elites (14 page)

Then, out of nowhere—an arrow comes flying from the sky and hits an Inquisitor in the chest. It hits him so hard that it knocks him off his horse.

The people near him shriek, scattering in all directions. Another arrow comes flying, and then another. The Inquisitors turn their attention to their invisible attackers—and as they do, the people finally break past the blocked paths and free themselves from the square. My heart hammers in my chest at the sight of blood.

The Daggers.

I stumble out of the square, then retrace my steps as I rush along with others. Behind me, I hear Inquisitors shouting for order—the sounds of scuffles tell me that they’re making arrests as they go. I rush on. Energy courses through me in relentless waves, feeding me even as I try to ignore the flood of power in my veins. In spite of everything, I feel a strange sense of glee.

All this chaos is of my own creation.

By the time I reach the court, I’m soaked in sweat. My breaths come hard. I round a corner to the side wall of the court facing a narrow street, then climb on the ivy and hoist myself over the low ledge. I collapse inside the courtyard. Then I pick myself up, dust off my hands, and pull open a side gate that leads to the inner chambers. Finally, I reach the secret wall. I push on it, step through, and rush toward my room.
There. I’ve made it back before the others. I’ll head to my room and—

But someone’s already waiting for me in the hall. It’s Enzo.

The sudden sight of him catches me by surprise. Any hope of being spared his wrath is dashed when I see the expression on his face. His eyes are alight, the scarlet in them brighter than usual.

“You were to stay here,” he says. His voice is deadly quiet. “Why did you leave?”

Panic rises in my throat.
He knows.

Something stirs behind him. I glance over his shoulder to see Windwalker, her mask off. Spider lurks farther down the hall, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He looks smug, eager to see me punished. “Huh,” he says. “Little lamb’s in trouble.”

I keep my focus on Enzo and try to think of some clever comeback. Anything to protect myself.

“I—” I start to say. “I wanted to help—”

“You caused a riot out there,” Spider interrupts me. “Ever stop to think of what might happen if you lost control of your powers?”

“I stepped in for Gemma,” I reply, suddenly angry. “I wasn’t about to wait around and see her killed.”

Spider’s lips curl up. “Maybe it’s time you keep your words locked inside that pretty little mouth, where they belong.”

My voice flattens. “Careful. Lest I hurt you.” I don’t even know where the words come from until they’ve already left me.

Enzo hushes us both with a shake of his head. “Dante,” he says, without bothering to glance over his shoulder. It takes me a second to realize that Enzo has revealed the Spider’s real name to me. “You’re dismissed.”

The boy’s rage changes to disbelief—at the use of his name in front of me, or at his dismissal, maybe both. “You’ll let this girl have her way?” he spits out. “She could have gotten one of us killed. She could have ruined the entire mission—”

“The
Inquisition
ruined the mission,” Enzo interrupts. His eyes stay on me, and I feel the familiar shudder pulse through my heart. “You’re dismissed. Do not make me say it again.”

Dante hesitates for a moment. Then he pushes away from the wall. “Watch your back, little lamb,” he snaps at me before stalking off down the hall. Windwalker watches him go, shrugs, and regards me with a suspicious look.

“Now what, Reaper?” she says. “A whole new plan for the Tournament of Storms?”

“No need.”

She snorts. “But they’ve disqualified Gemma,” she says. “She can’t get close to the royals if she won’t be able to race.”

Enzo studies me with a gaze so intense that it leaves my cheeks red. “Not if someone disguises her,” he replies.

I blink, my mind spinning with the new information they’re feeding me. First, Spider’s real name. Now, this. Is he . . .
pleased
with me? Permitting me to participate in the Daggers’ plans?
I could learn to disguise Gemma. I could disguise any one of them to ride in the race.

Enzo steps closer until he’s now barely a foot away from me. The heat emanating from him burns my skin through the fabric of my clothes. He reaches out one hand and touches the clasp that pins my cloak at my neck. The metal turns white hot. When I look down, I see threads fraying on the cloak’s cloth, their ends blackened and singed. My fear rises up into my throat.

“You want to train faster,” he says.

I keep my chin up, refusing to let him see my anxiety. “Yes.”

He’s silent. A second later, he removes his hand from my cloak’s clasp, and the heat is sucked out of the melting metal as if it were never there. I’m shocked it didn’t burn straight through to my skin. When I look back up at Enzo, I notice a tiny spark of something else behind his rage. Something in his eyes that sends a different kind of warmth tingling through me.

“So be it,” he replies.

My heart jumps.

“But I warn you, Adelina. Dante is right. There is one line you do not cross with me.” His eyes narrow as he folds his hands behind his back. “You do not recklessly endanger my Elites.”

His words sting, labeling me as someone separate from them.
I
am
separate from them. I am a spy and a traitor.
Besides, what if things had gone horribly wrong when I used my powers? If I hadn’t been there, the other Daggers would surely have made a move to protect her, and they are certainly more skilled than I am. What if Gemma had instead been harmed during my antics, because I didn’t know what I was doing? What if the Inquisition had chosen to blame her for the false Elites on the roofs?

What if Teren had seen me out there?

“I’m sorry,” I murmur at the ground, hoping he doesn’t hear in my voice all the reasons why.

Enzo makes no indication that he has accepted my apology. His stare feels like it can burn straight through my skin. “This will be the last time you disobey me.” He says it without a single hesitation, and I realize, with a horrible shudder, that he means exactly what he says.
If he finds out about Teren, he really will kill me.

“Tomorrow.” His voice is hard as diamond. “Be at the cavern by dawn. Let’s see how fast you can learn.” Then he breaks the stare, steps away from me, and leaves down the hall.

Windwalker lingers for a moment. She gives me a small nudge and a grudging smile, then extends a hand. “I’m Lucent,” she says.

I take her hand, unsure what to say in return. Another barrier between me and the Daggers breaks down. I don’t know whether to feel joy or guilt.

“That’s his way of showing thanks for your help, by the way,” she says before she turns away. “Congratulations. He’s going to train you himself.”

D
o you have any idea who Lady Gemma is?”

Teren stays bowed before the king. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do you realize that Baron Salvatore is her father?”

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

“You’re a damn fool of a Lead Inquisitor. I cannot afford to anger a nobleman like Baron Salvatore. And he is
furious.
You do not allow your Inquisitors to threaten his daughter in public and make an embarrassment of me. Even if she is a
malfetto.
Do you understand?”

“But your decree, Your Majesty—”

The king makes a disgusted sound. “Carry out my decree
discreetly.
” He leans back in his chair. “And the Young Elites attacked the qualifying races. You still haven’t caught a single one.”

Teren clamps down on his rising frustration. “No, Your Majesty.”

“I should throw
you
in a dungeon cell.”

Teren keeps his eyes cast down at the throne room’s marble floor. His teeth are clenched. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says, but furious thoughts swarm in his mind. What a
fool
of a king.
He wants the Elites captured, but he’s too cowardly to jeopardize his political relations. He’s too cowardly to wage real war on
malfettos. Teren doesn’t mention aloud that his Inquisitors threatened Lady Gemma on purpose. That it had been the queen’s idea. That the game they play is tightening.
Turn the king’s nobles against the king, and he weakens.

And as soon as Adelina delivers her information . . .

Beside the king, Queen Giulietta leans over to whisper something in her husband’s ear. The king just waves her off in annoyance. Teren’s temper flares. Giulietta glances briefly at him.

Patience, my Teren,
her eyes seem to say.
Everything will fall together.

“The next time you embarrass me,” the king goes on, “I will have your head.”

Teren bows lower. “There won’t be a next time, Your Majesty,” he answers loudly.

The king looks smug and satisfied. He has not understood the double meaning in Teren’s words.

I hereby pledge to serve the Dagger Society, to strike fear into
the hearts of those who rule Kenettra, to take by death
what belongs to us, and to make the power of our Elites known
to every man, woman, and child. Should I break my vow,
let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.

—
The Dagger Society Initiation Pledge
,
by Enzo Valenciano

T
he next morning, when I go to meet Enzo in the cavern, the sky churns with black clouds, and giant raindrops splatter on me as I hurry through the main courtyard toward the secret entrance. I head down the stairs alone, trying not to think about the last time I’d seen a storm like this.

No disguise on me today. My hair has taken on a dark blue-gray sheen under the stormy sky, the strands pulled tightly away from my face, and my lashes are a dull shade. I’ve even left my porcelain mask behind. My clothing is simple Kenettran garb instead of Tamouran silks, deep blue vest over white linen, dark trousers, dark boots lined with silver trim. I shake water from my hair as I go.

By the time I get to the cavern, Enzo’s already waiting for me. The rest of the space is empty.

He’s dressed in a dark doublet, and his Dagger hood is down, revealing his scarlet red hair. The anger that burned in his eyes last night is now replaced with cold sternness. I’m not entirely sure what he expects me to do, so I stop several feet in front of him and bow my head once. Here, alone, I suddenly feel small—I hadn’t realized how much taller he is than I am.

“Good morning,” I say. “You asked for me, Your Highness, so here I am.”

Enzo watches me. I wonder if he’ll comment on how I’d controlled my illusions yesterday. The memory makes me puff up a bit with pride.
Surely
he must be proud of that, regardless of the way I did it.

“You want a challenge,” he replies after a pause. His voice reverberates in the empty space.

I lift my chin. “Yes.” I make sure my answer sounds firm.

A faint spark of red shines in his eyes. “Does it excite you, feeling fear?”

I don’t answer. But the words remind me of the chaos that had surrounded me at the races yesterday, and I can’t help the rush of power the memory brings.

“What do you want to learn so badly, Adelina?” Enzo asks.

I give him a level stare. “Everything,” I reply, surprised by my calmness.

He holds out his gloved hands. Tendrils of smoke rise from both of his palms. “I am not Raffaele,” he warns. “Brace yourself.”

Suddenly, two columns of fire explode to either side of me—they roar to the ceiling and rush out in two long lines, imprisoning me in a corridor of fire. I stumble backward a step, then try to focus on Enzo.
You did this yesterday; you can do it again now.
I pull on the strings of energy I see. A hulking beast of a silhouette begins to rise from the ground.

But I haven’t concentrated for two seconds when Enzo rushes at me. Metal shines in both hands—his daggers are drawn. He lunges for me. My concentration breaks—my illusion vanishes. I throw myself to the ground and roll out of his way. The edges of my boots hit the wall of fire. I wince at the heat, then scramble frantically away.

Enzo’s on me again before I can blink. Metal flashes before my eye. I throw up a hand to protect myself, and the blade slashes a thin, shallow line into my palm. Pain blooms from the wound.

He’s wasting no mercy on me. This is not just an accelerated training session, it’s a lesson.

“Wait—” I call out.

“Get up, little wolf,” he snaps. The heat of the fire reflects off his crimson hair.

I struggle to my feet. My hand leaves a bloody imprint on the ground. The pain and terror in me fuses, giving me the fuel I crave so badly. I pull on my energy, and this time I call forth a wolf of black mist, its eyes gold and its mouth pulled back in a snarl. It charges at Enzo.

Enzo rushes right through it, dispelling it and my concentration in a puff of dark smoke. The threads slip out of my hands and back into the world. I make a grab for them again—the puff of dark smoke starts to shift into the shape of a hooded demon. Enzo makes a slashing motion at me with his hand. Fire erupts before my face. I lose my footing and fall, hitting my back hard on the ground. My lungs struggle for air.

Enzo’s dark robes stop beside me. I look up to see his cold, ruthless expression. “Again,” he commands.

Dante’s words come back to me, but his voice sounds like my father’s.
You’ll never master your abilities.
Is a mess of black silhouettes and shapes resembling creatures all I can conjure? My anger and fear flood through me again. I drag myself to my feet. I’m past all pretense now—blindly I reach out for the darkness, then raise my hands over my head.

Enzo attacks me again before I can focus my powers. His daggers reflect the firelight. Another cut, this time a small nick on my arm. The sting of it blossoms against my flesh and sends stars bursting across my vision. I duck down and scramble indignantly out of his path. Fear clouds my mind—the threads of energy are all there, glistening strings hovering inside me and all around me—but I can’t focus long enough to grab on to them.

I try again. Silhouettes appear in the air. Again, my concentration breaks. Enzo’s assault is relentless—a blur of motion, knocking me down every single time I struggle to get back up. My hair falls out of its neat bun and strands of it stick against my face.

“Again,” Enzo orders each time I fall.

Again.

Again.

Again.

I try, I really do. But each time, I fail.

Finally, I cry out and dart away from his blades, then turn around and run down the corridor of fire. My mind scatters. I give up trying to call my energy. Ahead of me, I see the cavern entrance, the doors shut tight. Before I can reach them, though, a wall of fire goes up in front of me. I trip, then collapse to the ground. I’m now blocked off on three sides by flames. I whirl around to see Enzo striding toward me, his robes billowing out behind him, his face a portrait of mercilessness. The heat around me burns the edges of my sleeves, blackening them. This time I curl up in a ball, shaking and bewildered. I can’t focus enough to do anything. He stops me every time. How am I supposed to learn if I don’t get a chance to concentrate?

But of course he’s teaching me a lesson.
This isn’t a game. This is reality.
And when I’m in the middle of a fight, this is what it’ll be like. I whimper, shut my eye, curl up tighter, and try to shrink away from the columns of fire that roar around me. Tears run unbidden down my face.

I sense a figure nearby. When I open my eye, I see Enzo on one knee before me, studying my tear-streaked face with a look of bitter disappointment. It is this look, more than anything, that pains me.

“Broken so easily,” he says with disdain. “You’re not ready after all.” The columns of fire vanish. He gets up and walks past me, his robes brushing over me.

I’m left alone on the cavern floor, crumpled in a heap, unable to control my tears. Strands of my hair fall across my face.
No. I’m not broken easily. I will never break.
I am going to find a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into—I
will
find a way to untangle myself from the Inquisition’s grasp and finally be free. I look up at his retreating figure through a veil of teary anger. The anger fills me, seeping its blackness into my chest until I can feel it spilling out of every fiber of my body, every energy string pulled so tight, they might break. My strength begins to build. From the corner of my vision, I see my hair shift to a bright silver. I tremble; my hands flatten against the ground, then dig against it like claws. Pain shoots up my one crooked finger.

Vicious black lines start to crawl along the cavern floor. They turn into dozens, then hundreds, then millions of lines, until they fill the entire floor and snake up the walls. Between the dark lines drips blood, mimicking the red streaks on my injured palm. An enormous shadow blankets me. I don’t need to look up to know what I created—black wings, ones so large that they seem to fill the entire length of the cavern, growing out from my back like a pair of phantoms. A low hiss fills the cavern, echoing off the walls.

Enzo stops and turns to look at me, his eyes still hard. I smile at him. My giant wings shatter into a million pieces—each piece morphs into a shard of dark glass. I send them hurtling at Enzo. They pass straight through him, hit the wall, and break into an explosion of glitter.

Enzo doesn’t flinch, but he
does
blink. The shards had looked real enough to make him react. He folds his hands behind him, then regards me. “Better.” He walks toward me again. Wherever he steps, the black lines on the ground creep upward, turn into skeletal hands, and try to grab at his legs. I drink in the exhilaration of it all, the millions of threads glistening before me, ready for my command.

“Weave the threads together,” Enzo commands as he draws closer. Flames appear behind him. I pull myself to my feet and step away from him until my back touches the cavern wall. “Go ahead. Make something for me that is more than a dark silhouette. Make something with
color.
”

Still drowning in my fury and fear, I take the threads I see and cross them, painting what appears in my mind. And just like that—slowly, painfully—a new creation emerges before me. Enzo has almost reached me. Between us, I paint something red, so crimson red that the color of it blinds me. The red changes into petals, each one layered on top of the other, covered in dark dewdrops. Beneath it spiral green stems covered in thorns. Enzo stops before the hovering illusion. He observes it for a moment, then reaches out to touch it. I pull on strings in the air. Blood blooms on his gloves, dripping from his palms to the ground, mimicking my own real blood on my injured palm. Reminding me of the day when I’d closed my hand around the rose thorns in my father’s garden.

I
am
learning imitation from reality.

Enzo steps forward. He passes through the rose illusion, then stops a foot away from me. The blood disappears from his gloves. I glare at him defiantly. I keep my heart wide open, relishing the flood of dark emotions that fill me to the brim. The heat of his fire turns my cheeks red.

Enzo nods once. “Very good,” he murmurs. For the first time, he looks impressed.

“I
am
ready,” I reply angrily. To my dismay, my tears are still wet on my face. “I’m not afraid of you. And if you give me a chance, I can show you what I’m capable of.”

Enzo simply watches me. I search his eyes, seeing once again the odd expression lurking behind his cold features, something that goes beyond his desire to exploit my power. Something that almost looks like . . . familiarity. We gaze at each other for a long moment. Finally, he reaches up and gently wipes away one of my tears.

“Don’t cry,” he says, his voice firm. “You are stronger than that.”