The Rose Society
Page 80
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“I will help you,” Teren whispers in my ear. “And when we are done, I will kill you.”
The dagger digs into my flesh. My skin breaks. Blood comes out. I force myself free from Teren’s grasp, clutching the bleeding mark, and run across the courtyard through the rain. Behind me, Teren rises from his crouch and starts to walk forward. Where did Enzo go? I stagger into the court’s corridors, calling for Magiano. For Sergio. For Violetta.
No one answers. I squeeze my eye shut and tell myself to snap out of my illusion. But when I open my eye again and look behind me, Teren is rushing toward me, his blade drawn, his lips pulled back in a demonic smile.
And then it is not Teren anymore, but my father, and I am running through the halls of my old home, trying to escape my father and his knife.
I start to cry. I reach a set of stairs and stumble down them. I trip on one, nearly twist my ankle, and fall a few steps to the lowest level. Up at the top of the stairs, my father’s silhouette appears in the darkness, blood staining the ribs of his ruined chest. His knife flashes in the night. I am ten years old, and he is drunk with wine, out to cut the skin from my body. He calls my name, but I keep running.
“Violetta!” I sob. My voice breaks. “Violetta!” And then I remember that on the night this happened, my sister hid under a staircase and did not make a sound. I see her crouched there, huddled with her knees tucked up to her chin, her eyes glittering in the darkness. She waves me over, but there isn’t enough space for me to hide with her. We exchange a helpless look. I glance desperately up at the stairs. My father lurches down them toward me. I have no choice. I have to run.
“Adelina!” Violetta screams for me, reaching her arms out. “Hide! He will catch you!” She starts to scramble out of the hiding place in order to give it to me, but I whirl around and bare my teeth at her.
“Stay where you are,” I cry.
Break the illusion, Adelina. You have to. None of this is real.
I tell myself this, but I don’t know how to escape my mind.
I stagger out of my father’s house and into the rain. Silverware glistens on the wet ground all around me. I am sixteen, and I am trying to run away. Behind me, my father emerges from our home’s entrance with a bloodstained knife clutched in his hand. His eyes meet mine. I whirl, looking wildly around for my horse, but there is none. I stagger forward, then trip over the silver candelabras and dishes cluttering the ground. I fall, making a thunderous clatter. I start to crawl on my hands and knees. My father gets closer. My breaths come in ragged sobs.
I just want to get away. I just want to escape. I just want to be safe. Somebody help me.
A rough hand grabs my ankle. I kick frantically, but it’s no use. Another hand grabs my soaked shirt and yanks me up, then slams me against the wall. My arms fly up in defense. My father’s snarling face appears before me, rain carving rivers down his cheeks and chin, water making his teeth slick. He grabs my hair tightly in one fist. There is fire around us, distant shouts.
“No—” I cry out. Break out of the illusion break out of the illusion it’s not real tell me it’s not real.
My father’s knife presses against my chest. He stabs down, hard. I can feel the knife slice into my flesh. It hits deep. My eye widens—my mouth opens in horror. I try to stop him, but my arms are weak and useless. The blade hits my lungs.
I take a deep breath and scream.
“Adelina! Adelina!”
Hands are trying to pull my arms down. I scream and scream, unable to stop. Stop saying my name.
And then, everything leaves me in a rush. I crumple in sudden exhaustion.
It takes me a long moment to realize that the person calling my name is Magiano, and it is his arms wrapped around me. Beside him stands Violetta. She has taken my power away. Our old home, my father, the silverware littering the ground, the knife, Teren—they’ve all vanished, leaving me huddled at the entrance of the Fortunata Court, drenched in rain. I cling desperately to Magiano. How had my illusions felt so real this time? How can I be sure that Magiano and Violetta are not an illusion? What if they aren’t here at all?
“It’s okay,” Magiano whispers into my hair as I cry. He kisses my face. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”
I try to say that I’m grateful he’s here, that I hope he’s real, but my words are lost in my sobs. Violetta watches me helplessly, then turns away and looks at Magiano.
“What happened?” she calls out over the rain.
“A group of attackers,” Magiano replies. “They ambushed us.”
Violetta gasps. “Inquisition?”
“No. These were foreign soldiers, with foreign accents.” One of his arms loops under my legs, while the other presses against my back. He lifts me effortlessly. I huddle against his warmth, balling his shirt into my fist. “I don’t know where Enzo’s gone. Some of the other mercenaries have given chase.” He raises his voice. “Hey! A little help here!” A couple of our men run toward us.
I realize, slowly, that the fires and shouting around us are real. Someone had attacked us. The tether between Enzo and me is pulled tight, stretched thin. I reach out through it, but he is too far away for me to control him. The distance sends a sharp pain through me, and I wince, trying to choke that pain down. He’s gone. I blink through the rain, fighting to see the difference between illusion and reality. Am I truly here?
“Get a warm cloth,” Magiano is saying over me. We head inside and up the stairs, where he places me gingerly on the bed. The rain dripping from my hair soaks the sheets. From here, I can see out the window toward the black sea.
The dagger digs into my flesh. My skin breaks. Blood comes out. I force myself free from Teren’s grasp, clutching the bleeding mark, and run across the courtyard through the rain. Behind me, Teren rises from his crouch and starts to walk forward. Where did Enzo go? I stagger into the court’s corridors, calling for Magiano. For Sergio. For Violetta.
No one answers. I squeeze my eye shut and tell myself to snap out of my illusion. But when I open my eye again and look behind me, Teren is rushing toward me, his blade drawn, his lips pulled back in a demonic smile.
And then it is not Teren anymore, but my father, and I am running through the halls of my old home, trying to escape my father and his knife.
I start to cry. I reach a set of stairs and stumble down them. I trip on one, nearly twist my ankle, and fall a few steps to the lowest level. Up at the top of the stairs, my father’s silhouette appears in the darkness, blood staining the ribs of his ruined chest. His knife flashes in the night. I am ten years old, and he is drunk with wine, out to cut the skin from my body. He calls my name, but I keep running.
“Violetta!” I sob. My voice breaks. “Violetta!” And then I remember that on the night this happened, my sister hid under a staircase and did not make a sound. I see her crouched there, huddled with her knees tucked up to her chin, her eyes glittering in the darkness. She waves me over, but there isn’t enough space for me to hide with her. We exchange a helpless look. I glance desperately up at the stairs. My father lurches down them toward me. I have no choice. I have to run.
“Adelina!” Violetta screams for me, reaching her arms out. “Hide! He will catch you!” She starts to scramble out of the hiding place in order to give it to me, but I whirl around and bare my teeth at her.
“Stay where you are,” I cry.
Break the illusion, Adelina. You have to. None of this is real.
I tell myself this, but I don’t know how to escape my mind.
I stagger out of my father’s house and into the rain. Silverware glistens on the wet ground all around me. I am sixteen, and I am trying to run away. Behind me, my father emerges from our home’s entrance with a bloodstained knife clutched in his hand. His eyes meet mine. I whirl, looking wildly around for my horse, but there is none. I stagger forward, then trip over the silver candelabras and dishes cluttering the ground. I fall, making a thunderous clatter. I start to crawl on my hands and knees. My father gets closer. My breaths come in ragged sobs.
I just want to get away. I just want to escape. I just want to be safe. Somebody help me.
A rough hand grabs my ankle. I kick frantically, but it’s no use. Another hand grabs my soaked shirt and yanks me up, then slams me against the wall. My arms fly up in defense. My father’s snarling face appears before me, rain carving rivers down his cheeks and chin, water making his teeth slick. He grabs my hair tightly in one fist. There is fire around us, distant shouts.
“No—” I cry out. Break out of the illusion break out of the illusion it’s not real tell me it’s not real.
My father’s knife presses against my chest. He stabs down, hard. I can feel the knife slice into my flesh. It hits deep. My eye widens—my mouth opens in horror. I try to stop him, but my arms are weak and useless. The blade hits my lungs.
I take a deep breath and scream.
“Adelina! Adelina!”
Hands are trying to pull my arms down. I scream and scream, unable to stop. Stop saying my name.
And then, everything leaves me in a rush. I crumple in sudden exhaustion.
It takes me a long moment to realize that the person calling my name is Magiano, and it is his arms wrapped around me. Beside him stands Violetta. She has taken my power away. Our old home, my father, the silverware littering the ground, the knife, Teren—they’ve all vanished, leaving me huddled at the entrance of the Fortunata Court, drenched in rain. I cling desperately to Magiano. How had my illusions felt so real this time? How can I be sure that Magiano and Violetta are not an illusion? What if they aren’t here at all?
“It’s okay,” Magiano whispers into my hair as I cry. He kisses my face. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”
I try to say that I’m grateful he’s here, that I hope he’s real, but my words are lost in my sobs. Violetta watches me helplessly, then turns away and looks at Magiano.
“What happened?” she calls out over the rain.
“A group of attackers,” Magiano replies. “They ambushed us.”
Violetta gasps. “Inquisition?”
“No. These were foreign soldiers, with foreign accents.” One of his arms loops under my legs, while the other presses against my back. He lifts me effortlessly. I huddle against his warmth, balling his shirt into my fist. “I don’t know where Enzo’s gone. Some of the other mercenaries have given chase.” He raises his voice. “Hey! A little help here!” A couple of our men run toward us.
I realize, slowly, that the fires and shouting around us are real. Someone had attacked us. The tether between Enzo and me is pulled tight, stretched thin. I reach out through it, but he is too far away for me to control him. The distance sends a sharp pain through me, and I wince, trying to choke that pain down. He’s gone. I blink through the rain, fighting to see the difference between illusion and reality. Am I truly here?
“Get a warm cloth,” Magiano is saying over me. We head inside and up the stairs, where he places me gingerly on the bed. The rain dripping from my hair soaks the sheets. From here, I can see out the window toward the black sea.
