And the most pressing thought: If Violetta is here in Tamoura, why did he not use her ability against me? Why haven’t they taken away my powers?
But what really stops me from attacking again is a shadowy figure standing several feet away from Raffaele, his eyes trained on me and his hands resting on the dagger hilts at his waist. When I meet Enzo’s stare, the tether between us pulls so hard, I gasp. I have never felt our connection so strong, so vicious. He seems to feel it too—even from here, I can sense the tightening of his jaw, the shift of his muscles.
Enzo’s eyes are as dark as I’ve ever seen them. They do not glitter with the sheen of life that eyes are meant to have. They are dull and deep, devoid of the scarlet fire that once used to fill them, hard with emptiness. He stares as if he hardly knows me. He doesn’t say a word. I wince again as our tether pulls tighter, goes slack, and pulls again. Just like during our battle in the skies, he is trying to overwhelm my power. But I feel the pain in the tether too, intertwined with my own energy. Enzo was injured in battle, and I can tell.
I tense in anger. How dare you try to control me.
Slowly, I release my illusions on the soldiers and bring my energy close inside my chest, protecting it against Enzo’s. Several of the soldiers collapse to their knees, still trembling from phantom pain. Then I carefully stretch out both of my hands, so that Raffaele can see. If he is studying the shift of my energy right now, he will know that I’m not about to attack.
But I will not bow to a foreign power. My glare shifts to one of the kings, and I’m satisfied when he returns my stare. I’m tempted to look around at the rest of the chamber again, to meet the eyes of the other two kings, but that would require me turning around on the floor like a beggar. I will do no such thing here. “My fleet,” I say instead, lifting my chin at the king. “My Roses.”
“Choursdaem,” Raffaele says to the king. “Rosaem.”
The king says something to Raffaele in reply. Most of it is completely lost on me, but I do pick out the taunting lilt he adds to my name.
Raffaele bows his head to the king, then turns back to me. “The war rages even as we speak, Queen Adelina,” he translates. “Our armies are sitting at a tenuous stalemate, because your forces know that you are in our captivity. Another of your Roses is also in our hands. Unharmed . . . for now.”
Another captive. It must be Magiano. He was the only one riding with me, after all, and I’d heard his voice earlier. My energy flares again, and Raffaele shoots me a warning look. With great difficulty, I swallow and rein myself in. Magiano’s life depends on how I act.
“It seems you were betrayed by one of your Inquisitors,” Raffaele says.
One of my own. The fact that Raffaele had seen this happen right before his eyes makes me blind with fury. “You planted a rebel in my midst,” I snap. “Did you not?”
“I didn’t need to,” Raffaele replies. “You would have lost this battle.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Raffaele’s expression stays calm. “One of your men, attacking you. Is this uncommon?”
No. It is not uncommon. Previous attempts come blinking back into my memory, even as I try in vain to keep them away. The rebels are everywhere. I grit my teeth. I will have that traitor skinned alive.
The king speaks again as Raffaele translates. “What would you do, in our place?” The ghost of a smile appears on the Tamouran king’s lips. “You would have us beheaded, I’m sure, and hold it up for our armies to see. I’ve heard that’s what you do in other conquered cities. Perhaps we should do the same, dangling your body from the masts of our ships. That should end this war quickly enough.”
My heartbeat quickens, but I refuse to let him see my fear. My mind spins. How will I break free from here? I look at Raffaele again. What deal have the Daggers struck with Tamoura?
And Violetta.
“Where is my sister?” I demand, anger shaking my voice.
Raffaele takes a step toward me. “She’s resting.”
He means she is not doing well. I scowl. “You’re lying. I saw her riding with you in battle.”
“She was in no shape to fight you,” Raffaele answers. “I brought her with me solely so that you could see her.”
Is the reason why Violetta has not yet taken my powers away because . . . she is too weak to do so? “You’ve lied so often, Messenger,” I say with deliberate calm. “Why should you stop now?”
“For the gods’ sakes, she doesn’t deserve this,” Michel mutters from the shadows. He looks different from what I remember—thinner, his cheeks hollow—and his eyes are fixed on me with a burning hatred. “Behead her and send it back to Kenettra. Toss the rest of her in the ocean for the fish. She’s always belonged to the Underworld. Perhaps that will fix everything.”
I frown, taken aback by such harsh words and that they come from the same boy who had once praised my illusion of a rose. He had been so fond of Gemma; any friendship he might have had with me ended the day I sent her falling from the skies. The girl I used to be stirs inside me, pushing past the dark queen to dwell on other memories. I realize I cannot recall the sound of Michel’s laugh.
Raffaele doesn’t take his eyes off me. To my surprise, the three rulers seem to be waiting for him to speak. After another brief moment of silence, he steps forward. “There are a thousand things we could do, with you here in our custody,” he says. “But what we will do is let you go.”
I blink once at him. “Let me go?” I echo, frowning in confusion. he most pressing thought: If Violetta is here in Tamoura, why did he not use her ability against me? Why haven’t they taken away my powers?
But what really stops me from attacking again is a shadowy figure standing several feet away from Raffaele, his eyes trained on me and his hands resting on the dagger hilts at his waist. When I meet Enzo’s stare, the tether between us pulls so hard, I gasp. I have never felt our connection so strong, so vicious. He seems to feel it too—even from here, I can sense the tightening of his jaw, the shift of his muscles.
Enzo’s eyes are as dark as I’ve ever seen them. They do not glitter with the sheen of life that eyes are meant to have. They are dull and deep, devoid of the scarlet fire that once used to fill them, hard with emptiness. He stares as if he hardly knows me. He doesn’t say a word. I wince again as our tether pulls tighter, goes slack, and pulls again. Just like during our battle in the skies, he is trying to overwhelm my power. But I feel the pain in the tether too, intertwined with my own energy. Enzo was injured in battle, and I can tell.
I tense in anger. How dare you try to control me.
Slowly, I release my illusions on the soldiers and bring my energy close inside my chest, protecting it against Enzo’s. Several of the soldiers collapse to their knees, still trembling from phantom pain. Then I carefully stretch out both of my hands, so that Raffaele can see. If he is studying the shift of my energy right now, he will know that I’m not about to attack.
But I will not bow to a foreign power. My glare shifts to one of the kings, and I’m satisfied when he returns my stare. I’m tempted to look around at the rest of the chamber again, to meet the eyes of the other two kings, but that would require me turning around on the floor like a beggar. I will do no such thing here. “My fleet,” I say instead, lifting my chin at the king. “My Roses.”
“Choursdaem,” Raffaele says to the king. “Rosaem.”
The king says something to Raffaele in reply. Most of it is completely lost on me, but I do pick out the taunting lilt he adds to my name.
Raffaele bows his head to the king, then turns back to me. “The war rages even as we speak, Queen Adelina,” he translates. “Our armies are sitting at a tenuous stalemate, because your forces know that you are in our captivity. Another of your Roses is also in our hands. Unharmed . . . for now.”
Another captive. It must be Magiano. He was the only one riding with me, after all, and I’d heard his voice earlier. My energy flares again, and Raffaele shoots me a warning look. With great difficulty, I swallow and rein myself in. Magiano’s life depends on how I act.
“It seems you were betrayed by one of your Inquisitors,” Raffaele says.
One of my own. The fact that Raffaele had seen this happen right before his eyes makes me blind with fury. “You planted a rebel in my midst,” I snap. “Did you not?”
“I didn’t need to,” Raffaele replies. “You would have lost this battle.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Raffaele’s expression stays calm. “One of your men, attacking you. Is this uncommon?”
No. It is not uncommon. Previous attempts come blinking back into my memory, even as I try in vain to keep them away. The rebels are everywhere. I grit my teeth. I will have that traitor skinned alive.
The king speaks again as Raffaele translates. “What would you do, in our place?” The ghost of a smile appears on the Tamouran king’s lips. “You would have us beheaded, I’m sure, and hold it up for our armies to see. I’ve heard that’s what you do in other conquered cities. Perhaps we should do the same, dangling your body from the masts of our ships. That should end this war quickly enough.”
My heartbeat quickens, but I refuse to let him see my fear. My mind spins. How will I break free from here? I look at Raffaele again. What deal have the Daggers struck with Tamoura?
And Violetta.
“Where is my sister?” I demand, anger shaking my voice.
Raffaele takes a step toward me. “She’s resting.”
He means she is not doing well. I scowl. “You’re lying. I saw her riding with you in battle.”
“She was in no shape to fight you,” Raffaele answers. “I brought her with me solely so that you could see her.”
Is the reason why Violetta has not yet taken my powers away because . . . she is too weak to do so? “You’ve lied so often, Messenger,” I say with deliberate calm. “Why should you stop now?”
“For the gods’ sakes, she doesn’t deserve this,” Michel mutters from the shadows. He looks different from what I remember—thinner, his cheeks hollow—and his eyes are fixed on me with a burning hatred. “Behead her and send it back to Kenettra. Toss the rest of her in the ocean for the fish. She’s always belonged to the Underworld. Perhaps that will fix everything.”
I frown, taken aback by such harsh words and that they come from the same boy who had once praised my illusion of a rose. He had been so fond of Gemma; any friendship he might have had with me ended the day I sent her falling from the skies. The girl I used to be stirs inside me, pushing past the dark queen to dwell on other memories. I realize I cannot recall the sound of Michel’s laugh.
Raffaele doesn’t take his eyes off me. To my surprise, the three rulers seem to be waiting for him to speak. After another brief moment of silence, he steps forward. “There are a thousand things we could do, with you here in our custody,” he says. “But what we will do is let you go.”
I blink once at him. “Let me go?” I echo, frowning in confusion.