The Young Elites
Page 17

The Inquisitors glance up at the roofs. The sword falls away from Gemma.
“The Elites!” several in the crowd shriek, pointing up at my illusion. “They’re here!”
The crowd bursts into screams. The horses startle. Gemma hops to her feet, her eyes wide, and seizes the moment to scamper back into the crowd. The rush of darkness through me is intoxicating and irresistible, and I find myself embracing it, letting it cover my insides like ink. Such power over these little masses. I love it.
I’m not strong enough to hold the illusion in place. The silhouettes scatter into nothingness as soon as I pull them back below the roofline. I shove my way frantically out of the square with the others. My sudden burst of bravado is replaced with anger at myself. Now Enzo will know for certain that I was here—they might find out why I was really in the streets. They might find out about my meeting with Teren, and what I told him. Nausea churns in me. I have to leave here.
All around me, people try to flood out of the square. Some Inquisitors are blocking the exits, but there are too many of us and not enough of them. I’m careful to stay close to the walls of the buildings as people shove past me. All around me is a blur of chaos and colors, masked faces and the sensation of others’ fear. Threads of energy glitter in the air.
Then, out of nowhere—an arrow comes flying from the sky and hits an Inquisitor in the chest. It hits him so hard that it knocks him off his horse.
The people near him shriek, scattering in all directions. Another arrow comes flying, and then another. The Inquisitors turn their attention to their invisible attackers—and as they do, the people finally break past the blocked paths and free themselves from the square. My heart hammers in my chest at the sight of blood.
The Daggers.
I stumble out of the square, then retrace my steps as I rush along with others. Behind me, I hear Inquisitors shouting for order—the sounds of scuffles tell me that they’re making arrests as they go. I rush on. Energy courses through me in relentless waves, feeding me even as I try to ignore the flood of power in my veins. In spite of everything, I feel a strange sense of glee.
All this chaos is of my own creation.
By the time I reach the court, I’m soaked in sweat. My breaths come hard. I round a corner to the side wall of the court facing a narrow street, then climb on the ivy and hoist myself over the low ledge. I collapse inside the courtyard. Then I pick myself up, dust off my hands, and pull open a side gate that leads to the inner chambers. Finally, I reach the secret wall. I push on it, step through, and rush toward my room. There. I’ve made it back before the others. I’ll head to my room and—
But someone’s already waiting for me in the hall. It’s Enzo.
The sudden sight of him catches me by surprise. Any hope of being spared his wrath is dashed when I see the expression on his face. His eyes are alight, the scarlet in them brighter than usual.
“You were to stay here,” he says. His voice is deadly quiet. “Why did you leave?”
Panic rises in my throat. He knows.
Something stirs behind him. I glance over his shoulder to see Windwalker, her mask off. Spider lurks farther down the hall, his arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He looks smug, eager to see me punished. “Huh,” he says. “Little lamb’s in trouble.”
I keep my focus on Enzo and try to think of some clever comeback. Anything to protect myself.
“I—” I start to say. “I wanted to help—”
“You caused a riot out there,” Spider interrupts me. “Ever stop to think of what might happen if you lost control of your powers?”
“I stepped in for Gemma,” I reply, suddenly angry. “I wasn’t about to wait around and see her killed.”
Spider’s lips curl up. “Maybe it’s time you keep your words locked inside that pretty little mouth, where they belong.”
My voice flattens. “Careful. Lest I hurt you.” I don’t even know where the words come from until they’ve already left me.
Enzo hushes us both with a shake of his head. “Dante,” he says, without bothering to glance over his shoulder. It takes me a second to realize that Enzo has revealed the Spider’s real name to me. “You’re dismissed.”
The boy’s rage changes to disbelief—at the use of his name in front of me, or at his dismissal, maybe both. “You’ll let this girl have her way?” he spits out. “She could have gotten one of us killed. She could have ruined the entire mission—”
“The Inquisition ruined the mission,” Enzo interrupts. His eyes stay on me, and I feel the familiar shudder pulse through my heart. “You’re dismissed. Do not make me say it again.”
Dante hesitates for a moment. Then he pushes away from the wall. “Watch your back, little lamb,” he snaps at me before stalking off down the hall. Windwalker watches him go, shrugs, and regards me with a suspicious look.
“Now what, Reaper?” she says. “A whole new plan for the Tournament of Storms?”
“No need.”
She snorts. “But they’ve disqualified Gemma,” she says. “She can’t get close to the royals if she won’t be able to race.”
Enzo studies me with a gaze so intense that it leaves my cheeks red. “Not if someone disguises her,” he replies.
I blink, my mind spinning with the new information they’re feeding me. First, Spider’s real name. Now, this. Is he . . . pleased with me? Permitting me to participate in the Daggers’ plans? I could learn to disguise Gemma. I could disguise any one of them to ride in the race.
Enzo steps closer until he’s now barely a foot away from me. The heat emanating from him burns my skin through the fabric of my clothes. He reaches out one hand and touches the clasp that pins my cloak at my neck. The metal turns white hot. When I look down, I see threads fraying on the cloak’s cloth, their ends blackened and singed. My fear rises up into my throat.
“You want to train faster,” he says.
I keep my chin up, refusing to let him see my anxiety. “Yes.”
He’s silent. A second later, he removes his hand from my cloak’s clasp, and the heat is sucked out of the melting metal as if it were never there. I’m shocked it didn’t burn straight through to my skin. When I look back up at Enzo, I notice a tiny spark of something else behind his rage. Something in his eyes that sends a different kind of warmth tingling through me.
“So be it,” he replies.
My heart jumps.
“But I warn you, Adelina. Dante is right. There is one line you do not cross with me.” His eyes narrow as he folds his hands behind his back. “You do not recklessly endanger my Elites.”
His words sting, labeling me as someone separate from them. I am separate from them. I am a spy and a traitor. Besides, what if things had gone horribly wrong when I used my powers? If I hadn’t been there, the other Daggers would surely have made a move to protect her, and they are certainly more skilled than I am. What if Gemma had instead been harmed during my antics, because I didn’t know what I was doing? What if the Inquisition had chosen to blame her for the false Elites on the roofs?
What if Teren had seen me out there?
“I’m sorry,” I murmur at the ground, hoping he doesn’t hear in my voice all the reasons why.
Enzo makes no indication that he has accepted my apology. His stare feels like it can burn straight through my skin. “This will be the last time you disobey me.” He says it without a single hesitation, and I realize, with a horrible shudder, that he means exactly what he says. If he finds out about Teren, he really will kill me.
“Tomorrow.” His voice is hard as diamond. “Be at the cavern by dawn. Let’s see how fast you can learn.” Then he breaks the stare, steps away from me, and leaves down the hall.
Windwalker lingers for a moment. She gives me a small nudge and a grudging smile, then extends a hand. “I’m Lucent,” she says.
I take her hand, unsure what to say in return. Another barrier between me and the Daggers breaks down. I don’t know whether to feel joy or guilt.
“That’s his way of showing thanks for your help, by the way,” she says before she turns away. “Congratulations. He’s going to train you himself.”
Teren Santoro
Do you have any idea who Lady Gemma is?”
Teren stays bowed before the king. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Do you realize that Baron Salvatore is her father?”
“I apologize, Your Majesty.”
“You’re a damn fool of a Lead Inquisitor. I cannot afford to anger a nobleman like Baron Salvatore. And he is furious. You do not allow your Inquisitors to threaten his daughter in public and make an embarrassment of me. Even if she is a malfetto. Do you understand?”
“But your decree, Your Majesty—”
The king makes a disgusted sound. “Carry out my decree discreetly.” He leans back in his chair. “And the Young Elites attacked the qualifying races. You still haven’t caught a single one.”
Teren clamps down on his rising frustration. “No, Your Majesty.”
“I should throw you in a dungeon cell.”
Teren keeps his eyes cast down at the throne room’s marble floor. His teeth are clenched. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says, but furious thoughts swarm in his mind. What a fool of a king. He wants the Elites captured, but he’s too cowardly to jeopardize his political relations. He’s too cowardly to wage real war on malfettos. Teren doesn’t mention aloud that his Inquisitors threatened Lady Gemma on purpose. That it had been the queen’s idea. That the game they play is tightening. Turn the king’s nobles against the king, and he weakens.
And as soon as Adelina delivers her information . . .
Beside the king, Queen Giulietta leans over to whisper something in her husband’s ear. The king just waves her off in annoyance. Teren’s temper flares. Giulietta glances briefly at him.
Patience, my Teren, her eyes seem to say. Everything will fall together.
“The next time you embarrass me,” the king goes on, “I will have your head.”
Teren bows lower. “There won’t be a next time, Your Majesty,” he answers loudly.
The king looks smug and satisfied. He has not understood the double meaning in Teren’s words.
I hereby pledge to serve the Dagger Society, to strike fear into
the hearts of those who rule Kenettra, to take by death
what belongs to us, and to make the power of our Elites known
to every man, woman, and child. Should I break my vow,
let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger. —The Dagger Society Initiation Pledge, by Enzo Valenciano
Adelina Amouteru
The next morning, when I go to meet Enzo in the cavern, the sky churns with black clouds, and giant raindrops splatter on me as I hurry through the main courtyard toward the secret entrance. I head down the stairs alone, trying not to think about the last time I’d seen a storm like this.
No disguise on me today. My hair has taken on a dark blue-gray sheen under the stormy sky, the strands pulled tightly away from my face, and my lashes are a dull shade. I’ve even left my porcelain mask behind. My clothing is simple Kenettran garb instead of Tamouran silks, deep blue vest over white linen, dark trousers, dark boots lined with silver trim. I shake water from my hair as I go.
By the time I get to the cavern, Enzo’s already waiting for me. The rest of the space is empty.
He’s dressed in a dark doublet, and his Dagger hood is down, revealing his scarlet red hair. The anger that burned in his eyes last night is now replaced with cold sternness. I’m not entirely sure what he expects me to do, so I stop several feet in front of him and bow my head once. Here, alone, I suddenly feel small—I hadn’t realized how much taller he is than I am.
“Good morning,” I say. “You asked for me, Your Highness, so here I am.”
Enzo watches me. I wonder if he’ll comment on how I’d controlled my illusions yesterday. The memory makes me puff up a bit with pride. Surely he must be proud of that, regardless of the way I did it.
“You want a challenge,” he replies after a pause. His voice reverberates in the empty space.
I lift my chin. “Yes.” I make sure my answer sounds firm.
A faint spark of red shines in his eyes. “Does it excite you, feeling fear?”
I don’t answer. But the words remind me of the chaos that had surrounded me at the races yesterday, and I can’t help the rush of power the memory brings.
“What do you want to learn so badly, Adelina?” Enzo asks.
I give him a level stare. “Everything,” I reply, surprised by my calmness.
He holds out his gloved hands. Tendrils of smoke rise from both of his palms. “I am not Raffaele,” he warns. “Brace yourself.”
Suddenly, two columns of fire explode to either side of me—they roar to the ceiling and rush out in two long lines, imprisoning me in a corridor of fire. I stumble backward a step, then try to focus on Enzo. You did this yesterday; you can do it again now. I pull on the strings of energy I see. A hulking beast of a silhouette begins to rise from the ground.
But I haven’t concentrated for two seconds when Enzo rushes at me. Metal shines in both hands—his daggers are drawn. He lunges for me. My concentration breaks—my illusion vanishes. I throw myself to the ground and roll out of his way. The edges of my boots hit the wall of fire. I wince at the heat, then scramble frantically away.
Enzo’s on me again before I can blink. Metal flashes before my eye. I throw up a hand to protect myself, and the blade slashes a thin, shallow line into my palm. Pain blooms from the wound.