The Rose Society
Page 49
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Enzo can take his place properly on the Kenettran throne—at your side. You can rule together.
Violetta speaks up. “Malfettos in this country are still dying every day,” she adds quietly. “We can save them.”
In the silence that follows, Sergio leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what you experienced when you were with the Daggers,” he says. He hesitates, as if not sure whether to share this with us, but then he scowls and goes on. “But I considered them my friends, until they weren’t.”
Until they weren’t. “How are we different?” I say, meeting Sergio’s eyes. “You are a mercenary.” My gaze shifts to Magiano. “What happens to our alliance if we fail to get the throne?”
Sergio gives me a bitter smile. “You think too far ahead,” he says. “This is nothing personal. But at least we’re not pretending with you. You and I both know what we’re doing, and why. I gather mercenaries for you, and you put us to good use. You reward us as you have promised. I have no reason to betray you.” He shrugs. “And I have no desire to work with the Daggers. It gives me great pleasure to know that we will take their prince from them.”
“And where will your mercenaries be, when we need them?”
Sergio gives me a sidelong look and takes a swig of water. “They will be waiting for us in Estenzia. You’ll see when we get there.”
I lower my head and close my eye. Why shouldn’t I have as much of a right to rule Kenettra—as much as Giulietta, or Enzo, or Maeve and the nation of Beldain? Raffaele is a gentle soul, but he has his darkness too. He can be a traitor, just like me, and untrustworthy. Should he be the one controlling Enzo? My old affection for Raffaele starts to bend, fueled by Sergio’s story and my own memories, curving until it turns into bitterness. Into ambition. Into passion.
I think of Enzo back in the world of the living, of what it will be like to see him again. To rule, side by side. The thought of such a future makes my heart ache with longing. This is right, the two of us. I can feel it.
I pull myself upright and lean forward from my pillows. My stare lingers first on Violetta, then Magiano and Sergio. “The Daggers failed because I didn’t trust them,” I say. “But I have to trust you. We have to trust one another.”
Sergio nods. There is a brief silence. “Then perhaps we need something to solidify our plans. We are a force as much as the Daggers are.”
“A name, then,” Magiano adds. “Names give weight, reality, to an idea. Sergio, my friend, what did the Daggers call you when you stayed with them?”
Sergio frowns a little, reluctant to remember, but still decides to answer Magiano’s question. “They called me the Rainmaker.”
“Ah, the Rainmaker.” Magiano plucks a note in reply. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any.”
The Rainmaker. A beautiful name, actually, one that makes me smile. Magiano is right. Knowing Sergio’s Elite name somehow makes him feel like a true Elite, a force to be reckoned with. My Elite. “A good name,” I agree. “And what about you, Magiano?”
He shrugs, plucking a few final notes before putting his lute down. His eyes meet mine, and there, again, is that mixture in his gaze of admiration and wariness. “Magiano is already my Elite name,” he says after a while. “I don’t think any of us doubt the effect it has on people.” Then he gives us his savage smile, and doesn’t add anything more about it. He may think he knows little of my past, but I know even less of his. I want to ask him more, about where he came from, and what his real name is, but he looks away, and I let it drop again.
“What about you?” Sergio says to Violetta. She blushes a little at his expression. “No one has ever given you an Elite name.”
“I … I was never trained in anything,” Violetta replies. She turns her eyes down in a way that only I recognize, a look that can melt hearts.
“You are a puppet master,” I say to her. “For taking life, and then gifting it back.” For knowing how to use and gain the affections of others.
“Puppet Master,” Magiano repeats, laughing. “I like it, our sweet mistress of strings.” His smile fades as his expression turns serious. “And our little wolf, who will lead us all to glory. Tell us, Adelina, how we should take an oath of loyalty. You’re right. We must trust one another. So, let us do that here. Now.”
I blink at him. Of all of us, I’d least expected Magiano to be the first to pledge his loyalty to my cause. Why he’s followed us this long already, I’m not sure. He must see something in me—in all of this. When he notices my expression, he leans forward and brushes my chin with his fingers, tilting it up. “Why so surprised, White Wolf?” he murmurs, smiling a little. There is something in the way he says my Elite name, a secret sweetness.
Why so surprised that you are worthy?
I lift one hand and hold my palm out. A black stem gradually weaves into existence, sprouting dark thorns and spiked leaves. The stem grows until it blossoms into a dark red rose. It hovers in the center of us, not quite a solid object, still shimmering from the newness of its own creation.
“A pledge,” I say, looking at each of them in turn. My stare settles on Violetta. She stares silently at me, looking straight through the rose and into my heart, as if seeing something that no one else can see. My voice hardens. “A pledge,” I say again. “To drive fear into those who will confront us.”
Violetta speaks up. “Malfettos in this country are still dying every day,” she adds quietly. “We can save them.”
In the silence that follows, Sergio leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what you experienced when you were with the Daggers,” he says. He hesitates, as if not sure whether to share this with us, but then he scowls and goes on. “But I considered them my friends, until they weren’t.”
Until they weren’t. “How are we different?” I say, meeting Sergio’s eyes. “You are a mercenary.” My gaze shifts to Magiano. “What happens to our alliance if we fail to get the throne?”
Sergio gives me a bitter smile. “You think too far ahead,” he says. “This is nothing personal. But at least we’re not pretending with you. You and I both know what we’re doing, and why. I gather mercenaries for you, and you put us to good use. You reward us as you have promised. I have no reason to betray you.” He shrugs. “And I have no desire to work with the Daggers. It gives me great pleasure to know that we will take their prince from them.”
“And where will your mercenaries be, when we need them?”
Sergio gives me a sidelong look and takes a swig of water. “They will be waiting for us in Estenzia. You’ll see when we get there.”
I lower my head and close my eye. Why shouldn’t I have as much of a right to rule Kenettra—as much as Giulietta, or Enzo, or Maeve and the nation of Beldain? Raffaele is a gentle soul, but he has his darkness too. He can be a traitor, just like me, and untrustworthy. Should he be the one controlling Enzo? My old affection for Raffaele starts to bend, fueled by Sergio’s story and my own memories, curving until it turns into bitterness. Into ambition. Into passion.
I think of Enzo back in the world of the living, of what it will be like to see him again. To rule, side by side. The thought of such a future makes my heart ache with longing. This is right, the two of us. I can feel it.
I pull myself upright and lean forward from my pillows. My stare lingers first on Violetta, then Magiano and Sergio. “The Daggers failed because I didn’t trust them,” I say. “But I have to trust you. We have to trust one another.”
Sergio nods. There is a brief silence. “Then perhaps we need something to solidify our plans. We are a force as much as the Daggers are.”
“A name, then,” Magiano adds. “Names give weight, reality, to an idea. Sergio, my friend, what did the Daggers call you when you stayed with them?”
Sergio frowns a little, reluctant to remember, but still decides to answer Magiano’s question. “They called me the Rainmaker.”
“Ah, the Rainmaker.” Magiano plucks a note in reply. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any.”
The Rainmaker. A beautiful name, actually, one that makes me smile. Magiano is right. Knowing Sergio’s Elite name somehow makes him feel like a true Elite, a force to be reckoned with. My Elite. “A good name,” I agree. “And what about you, Magiano?”
He shrugs, plucking a few final notes before putting his lute down. His eyes meet mine, and there, again, is that mixture in his gaze of admiration and wariness. “Magiano is already my Elite name,” he says after a while. “I don’t think any of us doubt the effect it has on people.” Then he gives us his savage smile, and doesn’t add anything more about it. He may think he knows little of my past, but I know even less of his. I want to ask him more, about where he came from, and what his real name is, but he looks away, and I let it drop again.
“What about you?” Sergio says to Violetta. She blushes a little at his expression. “No one has ever given you an Elite name.”
“I … I was never trained in anything,” Violetta replies. She turns her eyes down in a way that only I recognize, a look that can melt hearts.
“You are a puppet master,” I say to her. “For taking life, and then gifting it back.” For knowing how to use and gain the affections of others.
“Puppet Master,” Magiano repeats, laughing. “I like it, our sweet mistress of strings.” His smile fades as his expression turns serious. “And our little wolf, who will lead us all to glory. Tell us, Adelina, how we should take an oath of loyalty. You’re right. We must trust one another. So, let us do that here. Now.”
I blink at him. Of all of us, I’d least expected Magiano to be the first to pledge his loyalty to my cause. Why he’s followed us this long already, I’m not sure. He must see something in me—in all of this. When he notices my expression, he leans forward and brushes my chin with his fingers, tilting it up. “Why so surprised, White Wolf?” he murmurs, smiling a little. There is something in the way he says my Elite name, a secret sweetness.
Why so surprised that you are worthy?
I lift one hand and hold my palm out. A black stem gradually weaves into existence, sprouting dark thorns and spiked leaves. The stem grows until it blossoms into a dark red rose. It hovers in the center of us, not quite a solid object, still shimmering from the newness of its own creation.
“A pledge,” I say, looking at each of them in turn. My stare settles on Violetta. She stares silently at me, looking straight through the rose and into my heart, as if seeing something that no one else can see. My voice hardens. “A pledge,” I say again. “To drive fear into those who will confront us.”
