The Midnight Star

  Then we fall. I hit the deck hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Teren finally releases my arm, and I abruptly feel lighter without his iron grip on me. Inquisitors crowd around us. Magiano, still clutching his wounded side, shouts for blankets. In their midst, I see Violetta’s face. Warm arms wrap around my cold neck, and I’m pulled forward, startled, into an embrace. Her hair drapes across my shoulder.

  “I thought we lost you,” she says, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her in return before I even realize what I am doing.

  Beside me, Inquisitors surround Teren, forcing his arms behind his back again. He stares at me with the side of his face pressed against the ground. His lips are still twisted up into a crooked smile. His eyes pulse with something unstable. I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he’s done. He saved Magiano from falling overboard. He saved me. He is taking this mission seriously, however much he loathes us.

  “Maybe next time,” he says to me with that smile, “you won’t be so lucky.”

  Laetes had not even a single coin to his name—but it did not matter. Such charm did he exude, such joy did he bring to every passerby he met that they invited him into their homes, fed him their bread and stew, and protected him from thieves and vagabonds, so that he passed through the border between Amadera and Beldain without harm.

  —The Fall and Rise of Laetes, by Étienne of Ariata

  Adelina Amouteru

  The traitor Inquisitor turned out to be a new recruit from Dumor. After a tip from Teren and a brief hunt on board the ship, Magiano dragged every single member of our crew before me on the top deck, where they quivered and groveled at my feet. Magiano rarely has such a look of cold anger on his face—but he did then, the pupils of his eyes slitted so sharply that they looked like needles.

  I could kill this crew, if I wanted. I could have their blood coating the deck of this ship by nightfall.

  But I can’t afford to do such a thing. There would not be enough people to guide the ship, nor protect us, if I rid myself of them all. So instead, I showed them the corpse of the would-be assassin. Then I ordered it tossed unceremoniously overboard.

  “Let that be a reminder to those of you who still want to challenge me,” I said, my head high. “Anyone else?”

  Only silence greeted me, followed by the whispers in my head. They seemed amused.

  It is only a matter of time, isn’t it, Adelina, before they get you.

  It is strange to see the ocean so calm tonight, when only hours earlier, our ships had nearly been devoured by the waves.

  I sit huddled in a chair, blankets wrapped around me even after I’d taken as warm of a bath as I could, shivering with a mug of bitter tea. To my annoyance, my mind lingers on Violetta. After her sudden emotional display on the deck, she returned to her usual tense silence in my presence, although she did give me a concerned look before retiring to her quarters. I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m too tired tonight to dwell on the thought. Now only Magiano lounges by the porthole nearby, while Teren crouches in his chair, quietly eating his supper.

  He still has a set of chains between his wrists, along with two Inquisitors at his sides—but the chains don’t do much to restrict his movements, allowing him instead to eat freely. His wrists are also bandaged with clean cloth and there’s a blanket wrapped around him. He seems unharmed, for the most part, by our ordeal in the ocean. I suppose his powers have not yet abandoned him.

  “Why did you save me?” I ask Teren, my voice breaking through the silence.

  “Probably the same reason why that Dagger saved both of our lives. The Windwalker, was it?” Teren doesn’t bother looking up from his plate as he speaks. It is his first proper, hot meal in a long time, and he seems to be savoring it.

  “And what reason is that?”

  “As you said, I am here only to carry out the gods’ wishes. And I’ll be damned if your foolish actions make this voyage pointless.”

  Let him keep you safe. My whispers are surprisingly calm tonight, perhaps subdued by the herbs Magiano mixed into my tea. I nod at Teren. “Remove his chains,” I say to the Inquisitors standing beside him.

  “Your Majesty?” one of them responds, blinking.

  “Do I need to repeat myself?” I growl. The Inquisitor turns pale at my tone, then hurries to do my bidding. Teren eyes me as his chains fall away, landing with a heavy clang on the floor. Then he lets out a small laugh. The sound of it is familiar, and it scrapes against my memory.

  “Trusting me,” Teren murmurs, “is a dangerous game, mi Adelinetta.”

  “I’m doing more than that,” I reply. “For the rest of this journey, you will be my personal guard.”

  At that, Teren’s eyes flare with surprise and anger. “I’m not your lackey, Your Majesty.”

  “And I’m not Giulietta,” I fire back. “You could have killed me on board the ship, when you first freed yourself. You could have drowned me in the ocean. But you didn’t—and that makes you more trustworthy to me than even my own crew. It’s clear I can’t rely on all of my men, and for once, we have the same goals. So, for the rest of this journey, you will be my personal guard. It is in both of our personal interests.”

  The mention of Giulietta, as always, seems to hit Teren hard. He winces, then turns back to his food. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” he replies. “I suppose we’ll see how well we do together.”

  I take a deep breath. “This will all be over soon,” I say. “And your duty to the gods will be complete.”

  Teren puts his plate down. We exchange a long stare.

  Finally, he rises from his seat and faces one of the Inquisitors. The man swallows hard as Teren seizes the sheath of his sword and pulls it off the belt. Teren glances at Magiano, then at me. “I’ll need a weapon,” he mutters, hoisting the sword in the air before he steps out of the cabin.

  I do not realize how tense his unchained presence made me until he is out of the room; I relax my shoulders in his absence.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Magiano says, walking over and offering his hand for support as I rise. “One heroic act doesn’t make a man trustworthy. What if he decides to turn his blade on you?”

  I follow Magiano out of the main cabin and turn down the corridor to our quarters. “You can’t watch me all the time,” I say wearily. “Teren will be better than leaving me at the mercy of any other rebels who might be on board.”

  Magiano tightens his lips, but doesn’t argue. His eyes search my face, pausing for a heartbeat on my scars. His braids are tied up in a thick mess, ruffled from exhaustion, and light from the corridor’s lanterns highlights the gold glint in his eyes. “You aren’t well tonight,” he says softly.

  Before I can respond, the whispers hiss again, fighting against the herbal tea, and I rub my temples in an attempt to soothe my headache.

  Magiano takes my hand and leads me inside my quarters. “Come,” he says. I follow him to the bed, where I gingerly sit down, while he goes to the writing desk, lights a candle, and prepares me another mug of tea. Outside my porthole, a strange wailing echoes across the ocean. I sit still in bed for a while and listen to it. It is a low, lingering sound, like a ghost’s whisper on the wind, and as I continue to listen, I feel it coming from right beneath the waves. My energy trembles at the call, even as something about it sounds familiar, even beckoning, to my ears. This is a sound from the Underworld.

  The shadows in the corners of my quarters seem to bend and shift, even as Magiano stands barely a few feet away. I must be hallucinating again, my illusions twisting out of my control. The shadows change into shapes with claws and teeth, tiny empty sockets for eyes, and as I look on, the shapes sharpen until their faces take on the characteristics of people long gone. They struggle to crawl out of the shadows and into the moonlight that paints the floors. I sink deeper into bed, try to ignore the sound outside, and pull my blankets up to my chin
. I have to find a way to regain control over the threads of my energy. I practice taking deep breaths—in and out.

  The wail outside fades, then strengthens, then fades again. After a while, I can barely hear it anymore. The shadows against the walls lose their threatening shapes, settling into flat darkness.

  “Adelina.” Magiano’s whisper. I hadn’t even noticed him approach and sit on the corner of my bed. He holds a mug out to me.

  I take it in relief. “Did you hear the wailing?” I ask.

  He leans over and carefully peers out of the porthole, his hand supporting his marked side. If the moons were new tonight, the ocean would be a black mass, reflecting nothing but a sky full of stars. But tonight the storm clouds have cleared and the water is brightly lit, and as we look on, I can see the rolls of water pushed up by a pod of baliras swimming by.

  “I’ve never heard them wail like that before,” I say as they pass.

  “I heard them several nights ago,” Magiano replies. “Raffaele told me he heard it, too, when he came on board our ship. It is the sound of a dying balira, poisoned by this water.”

  His words tug at my heart. I look out the porthole again to catch a sight of the last ones swimming by, until nothing but triangles of ripples drift in their wake. Let them die, the whispers say. When it is all done, you can turn your back on them. On everyone. Escape with your powers. You can’t give them up.

  Yes, I could do this. I’ll wait until we’ve reached the border of Amadera and Beldain, and begin the trek northward. Then Magiano and I can return to Kenettra. I shake my head, frowning, and sip more of the herbal drink. Would Violetta return with me? Could I leave without her? Will I abandon the others? I stay very still, focusing my thoughts on following through with this plan. I imagine sailing back to my country and returning to my throne. I force myself to be happy about it.

  I picture Raffaele and Lucent, who saved my life, and then Teren, who has turned against every belief he holds in order to do what he thinks is right.

  Magiano looks at me. His side is pressed against mine, his skin warm and full of life.

  “I’m afraid,” I finally whisper to him. “Every day, I wake up wondering whether or not this will be the last day I get to live in reality.” I look at him. “Last night, my nightmare returned. It went on for longer than it ever has. Even now, when you were standing so close by, I could see the shadows in the corner reaching their claws toward me. Even at this very moment, my illusions are growing stronger, evolving completely out of my reach.” I pause as the whispers scold me for speaking against them.

  This boy will betray you, just like all the others. He is here for the pouch of gold you give him. He’ll disappear the instant you reach land, gone to search for better companions.

  “Good thing we’re going to find a way to fix this, then,” Magiano replies, his eyes turned down at me. His words sound like they should be teasing, but his voice is grave, his face serious. “It won’t be like this forever.”

  No response comes to my lips. After a while, I rest my hand upon his. “You’re still in pain.”

  “Just my old wound acting up again, ” he replies quickly. “But I’m declining slower than you are, my love. I can endure this.”

  “Let me see,” I murmur gently. “Maybe you need to wrap it.”

  Magiano pulls away at first, but when I give him a pointed look, he sighs and relents. He shifts a little so that his back is turned to me, and then he reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his torso. My gaze goes straight to the massive mark on his side. It stretches from the small of his back to the side of his upper chest. I bite my lip. Tonight, it looks swollen, red and angry from the mast’s strike.

  “Perhaps Raffaele can have a look at it tomorrow,” I say, frowning at the sight. My thoughts turn to the priests from Magiano’s childhood, the ones who made this wound by trying to cut off the marking on his skin. The image makes my temper boil.

  “I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

  I meet his gaze. He looks vulnerable and gentle, his pupils round and dark. “Magiano, I . . . ,” I start to say, then pause, unsure. Even after our moments of shared kisses, our encounter in the bathhouse, I’ve never confessed my feelings to him. Don’t, foolish girl. He’ll only use it against you. But I decide to push on. “We might not return from this voyage. None of us. We might all lay down our lives when we reach the end, and not ever know whether our sacrifice changed anything for the better.”

  “It will be for the better,” Magiano replies. “We cannot just die, not without trying. Not without fighting.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I ask. “Why are we doing this, anyway? To preserve my own life, and yours—but what has the world ever done for us in order to deserve our sacrifice?”

  Magiano’s brows furrow for a moment, then he leans in closer. “We exist because this world exists. It’s a responsibility of ours, whether or not anyone will remember it.” He nods at me. “And they will. Because we will return and make sure of it.”

  He is close enough now that I can feel his breath against my lips. “You are so full of light,” I say after a moment. “You align with joy, and I with fear and fury. If you could see into my thoughts, you would surely turn away. So why would you stay with me, even if we return to Kenettra and resume our lives?”

  “You paint me as a saint,” he murmurs. “But I aligned with greed solely to prevent that.”

  Even now, he can make my lips twitch with a smile. “I’m serious, Magiano.”

  “As am I. None of us are saints. I have seen your darkness, yes, and know your struggle. I won’t deny it.” He touches my chin with one hand. At this gesture, the whispers seem to settle, pushed away where I can’t hear them. “But you are also passionate and ambitious and loyal. You are a thousand things, mi Adelinetta, not just one. Do not reduce yourself to that.”

  I look down, unsure how to feel.

  “None of us are saints,” Magiano repeats. “We can all do better.”

  We can all do better. I lean toward him. Every bone in my body yearns to keep this boy safe, always. “Magiano . . . ,” I start to say. “I don’t want to leave this world having never been with you.”

  Magiano blinks once. He searches my face, as if trying to understand the true meaning of my words. “I’m with you right now,” he whispers.

  “No,” I say quietly, bringing my lips up to his. “Not yet.”

  Magiano smiles. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans forward and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips to mine. The light in his energy floods my insides, chasing away the dark shadows and replacing them with warmth. I can hardly breathe. I gasp as he touches my back and pulls me more tightly to him. His movement makes me lose my balance, and I topple backward into bed, bringing him with me. Magiano tumbles forward on top of me. His kisses continue, trailing the hollow of my throat. His fingers tug at the strings on my bodice and they loosen. He pulls it up over my head and tosses it to the foot of the bed. My skin is bare against his, and I realize that I’m trembling.

  Magiano pauses for a moment to look at me, searching for a sign of my emotions. I study his face in the darkness. “Stay with me,” I whisper. “Tonight. Please.” The words said aloud suddenly frighten me, and I pull away, wondering whether I should have opened myself up to him like this. But the thought of sleeping alone, surrounded by my illusions, is too much to bear.

  He touches my hair with one hand, brushes the strands away, stares at the left side of my face. He kisses the scar gently. His lips touch my forehead, then my mouth. And then, as if he understands me better than anyone in the world, he whispers, “It will make this night a little less dark.”

  That night, he dreamt of a place full of pillars, silver-white, reaching up to the sky. And that morning, his enemy’s soldiers broke through the inner gates.

  —Excerpt from The Requiem of Gods
, Vol. XVII, translated by Chevalle

  Adelina Amouteru

  Afterward, no whispers lurk in my mind. My energy is very quiet. I have no nightmares. Stirring when the pale light of dawn creeps into my quarters through the porthole, I half expect last night to be nothing more than an illusion . . . but Magiano is still here, his soft brown skin pressed against mine, his breathing gentle and rhythmic in sleep.

  I stretch against him, a genuine smile on my lips. The air is chilly, and I wish I could stay nestled forever under these thick blankets. Memories from last night still linger, Magiano’s hot breath against my neck, his whispers of my name, his sharp inhale. When I first met him that evening in Merroutas, he seemed like a mysterious, invincible figure, a wild boy with a mess of hair and a quicksilver smile. Now, he seems quiet. Vulnerable. His fingers stay entwined with mine, hanging on firmly even in sleep. I study his long lashes. For a moment, I wonder what he had seen in the memories Raffaele unearthed during his test.

  Every day, we head farther north. Every day, the air turns colder. Soon, I have to put on a heavier cloak and sturdier boots each time I go above deck. Magiano seems uncomfortable here, in this colder climate. His blood is thinner than mine, and his Sunland heritage shows in his deep scowl.

  This morning, as we see the first hints of land on the horizon, he joins me on the deck with two cloaks fastened tightly around his neck. His arm brushes against mine.

  “Why can’t the origin of the Elites be in a tropical paradise?” he complains.

  Even now, looking out at this bleak, dark ocean, I have to smile at his words. He has shared my quarters every night since our first together, and as a result, the whispers have become quieter over the past few weeks. But now that we draw closer to the Skylands, the voices have returned with a vengeance. “We shall reach Beldain today, at least. I’ll be happy to be on solid land again.”