Adelina Amouteru
I sense what’s happened in the malfetto camps before we even arrive there. An aura of terror and pain hovers over the entire area, blanketing the land as surely as the smoke fills the air. I shiver at the feeling.
Violetta rides with me. Behind us, Enzo flanks our left, his face masked behind a cloth veil in case Teren sees us, and Sergio flanks our right, one hand on his horse’s reins and the other on the hilt of his sword. Somewhere nearby, Magiano watches us. I imagine his eyes narrowed, focused on me as we go.
By the time we reach the edge of the camps, the smoke is thick. Screams fill the air. The longhouses used to house the malfettos are on fire, the flames licking at the roofs, crackling and roaring, red splinters floating through the air. Malfettos are trapped inside. Their terror feeds my darkness so much that I can barely see. I lean over in my saddle, struggling to keep my own fear at bay. The screams coming from the longhouses are familiar to me. They remind me of my own. Where are the Inquisitors? The paths are empty, the soldiers having long since passed through and moved on to the other camps in the area.
The fires closest to us flicker—as if a great wind had just whipped past—and then they vanish into curls of black smoke. I glance to my side, where Enzo gallops. He gives me a single nod, his eyes the only part of his face that are exposed, and then urges his horse onward. He raises another hand. Other fires along the path flicker out. Each time he uses his energy, the tether between us vibrates, sending shudders through my chest. Tendrils of his power seep into me, the threads scalding my insides. I try to keep it under control.
Screams continue from inside the longhouses. The whispers in me jump, excited by their overwhelming fear. I grit my teeth as we reach the first of the houses. I jump down from my saddle and rush to the closest door. Even though fire has eaten away at it, and the wood is charred black, I can’t seem to pull the wood apart. I yank at the metal lock. The sudden rush of helplessness angers me. I am the White Wolf, capable of creating the most powerful illusions in the world—but they are just that. Illusions. I cannot even break a lock with my own hands.
Enzo appears beside me. His gloved hand closes on my frantic ones. “Allow me.” He wraps his fist around the lock. The metal turns bright red, then white, and the wood around it chars. It bursts apart in a shower of splinters. The lock comes free.
We pull the door open, and a plume of smoke rushes out.
I don’t wait to see how many survivors are inside. Instead, as Violetta and Sergio call for people to get out of the house, I move on to the next door. One by one, we break open each locked house.
A few Inquisitors run straight into us right as we turn a corner. They startle at the sight of us—and Enzo is on them before they can even react. He whips out a blade and stabs the first, then puts his hands around the collar of the second. The soldier’s eyes bulge as they burn from within. He falls without a sound, his mouth still open, smoke pouring out. Enzo steps over him in one stride, then lunges at the third. Flames alight beneath his feet with each step that he takes. He throws him roughly to the ground before the Inquisitor can even properly draw a weapon, then pins him down. I blink at the sight. Enzo had attacked all three in a blur of motion. I have not even seen the full extent of his new power, but I can feel it burning under his skin and through our tether.
The Inquisitor on the ground whimpers beneath Enzo’s grip. “Teren Santoro,” Enzo says, tightening his hand around the man’s neck. “Where is he?”
The Inquisitor waves one arm frantically against the ground, pointing in the direction of his head. My stare travels down the burning camps, then settles on one of the temples lining Estenzia’s outer walls.
In the short time that I knew Teren, I learned several things about him. He is in love with the queen because she is pure of blood and wants the malfettos destroyed as well. But one thing he honors more than the queen: his duty to the gods. If Teren has lost her love, then he may have turned to the gods for comfort.
Farther down the path behind us, Sergio throws knives into the throats of two other Inquisitors who happen upon us. They fall from their steeds, gurgling. Sergio swings down from his horse and joins us, while Violetta rides up behind him. He notices my line of sight. He nods, then mounts his horse again and taps the creature’s hindquarters with his heels. Enzo has already returned to his own steed. He holds a hand down to me, and I take it, swinging up behind him.
Behind us, a few malfettos take up a cry.
The Young Elites!
They’re here!
We dismount when we reach the temple. A horse is already outside, nervously stamping at the ground. Enormous statues stand on either side of the entrance—Laetes, the angel of Joy, and Compasia, the angel of Empathy. I exchange a look with Violetta. “I will go in first,” I whisper to Enzo. “If Teren is here, then I need him to see me alone.”
“Go ahead,” Violetta tells me. She tightens her riding gloves. “I’ll be waiting in the shadows. I won’t let him use his strength against you.”
Enzo turns his horse around and looks toward the horizon, where other malfetto camps have started to burn. Sergio rides up beside him. “My other men are ready to move, should we give the signal,” he says to Enzo.
“No need,” Enzo replies, his eyes still fixed on the rising smoke. “I’ve seen you fight—I trained you myself.” It is the first time he has acknowledged their past. He hoists a blade in one hand, and it gleams in the light. “This will be quick, and quiet.”
Sergio nods in agreement.
Enzo glances at him before he moves. “The Rainmaker,” he says.
Sergio narrows his eyes. “I’ve not forgotten, you know,” he replies. He kicks his horse in its hindquarters. “But we have more important things to settle first.”
Enzo’s eyes flick back to me. He does not ask if I will be okay. His silent approval makes me stand taller. Then he turns away and rides with Sergio toward the smoke in the distance. I turn to Violetta, and together, we head up the steps.
The sun has almost completely set. There are no Inquisitors near the temple, as there is nothing to guard, really, no valuables or jewels—only daily flowers laid at the marble feet of the gods. For once, I have no illusion of invisibility over myself. I walk in plain sight.
The temple is nearly empty. Shafts of evening light penetrate the space from the high windows, painting the air with blue and purple stripes. At the very front of the temple, with his back turned to me, is Teren, crouched low before a statue of Sapientus, the god of Wisdom. I stop at the door, then carefully remove my boots. My bare feet make no sound against the floor.
Teren doesn’t seem to notice my presence. As I draw closer, I can tell that he’s muttering something under his breath. Louder than muttering, actually. He is talking in earnest, his voice angry and rushed. My tether to Enzo hums. I can still feel him nearby. The others must be too. Magiano must be somewhere in the shadows. But if Teren were to move against me right now, would Magiano save me in time? I’m close enough to see the silver lines engraved on his armor. He’s not wearing his Lead Inquisitor cloak.
The last time I saw him, Enzo lay dead at my feet. You don’t belong with them, Teren had said. You belong with me. Perhaps he’s right.
I’m close enough now to hear what he’s saying.
“This is not my mission,” Teren insists. He shakes his head and looks up at the statue. His thin blond tail trails down his upper back, the gold bands on it shining in the light. “You put me in this world for a purpose—I know that purpose, have always known it. But the queen—” Teren pauses. “The Daggers have poisoned her against me. Raffaele—he’s working his demonic magic on her.”
An image appears in my mind of Raffaele seducing the queen. Even Giulietta is no match for his charms.
“I can’t leave her like this,” Teren snaps. His voice echoes through the temple, and I freeze. “She is my superior in every way. I have
pledged my entire life to obeying her. But now she wants to send me away, Lord Sapientus. How can I leave her with them?”
He sounds confused now, like he is arguing with himself. His voice changes from grief to confusion, then back to anger. “She’s listening to him. She used to listen to me. She used to hate the malfettos—but now he’s talking her out of our goal. Would she really give up our entire mission of cleansing this country, just to have those abominations fight for her? They are liars and whores, thieves and murderers. They are tricking her, and she is allowing it. Do you know what she said to me when I tried to defend her?” Anger again. “She said I am an abomination, like them.” His voice takes on a frightening tone now, somewhere between the borders of fury and madness. “I am not like them. I know my place.”
Suddenly he stiffens. I hold my breath. The temple is so silent now that I can hear the rustle of my sleeves brushing against the sides of my robes. For an instant, I think he might not have heard me.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Teren whirls from his crouched position, draws his sword, and points it straight at me. His eyes are chilling, his black pupils floating within them like drops of ink on glass. His cheeks are wet, to my surprise.
His eyes widen a little at the sight of me, then narrow again. “You,” he murmurs. Gradually, his grief fades away, hidden behind a shield, until all I can see is the cold, calculating smile I remember, his eyes still dancing with the light of madness. “Adelina,” he says, his voice turning silky smooth. “What’s this?” He takes a step toward me, his sword still pointed at my neck. “Has the White Wolf finally decided to stop hiding? Did the Daggers send you?”
“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 ov
er 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.