The Midnight Star (The Young Elites #3)(23)

“And how do we do that?” I ask, folding my arms. “Baliras can’t fly that far inland, not in a Sunland desert. They’ll suffocate in the dry air.”

The instant I say it, I know the answer. I glance at Sergio, who gives me a sly smile as he pours himself a cup of water instead of wine. “I think I know someone who can bring us a good storm,” he replies.

I give him a smile back. “It should work,” I say, leaning forward in my seat to peer more closely at Sergio’s calculations. I’m impressed with the way he has split up the rest of our men. “We’ll surprise the Tamourans in their own home.”

Sergio’s eyes sweep once over the festivities, out of habit. I follow his gaze. Off in the corner, a path is being cut through the crowd, causing cheers and taunts to go up. The entertainment has arrived. “We’ll do more than surprise them,” Sergio replies. “We’ll defeat them so soundly that their Golden Triad will soon be mopping your marble floors.”

Our conversation pauses as the procession makes its way to the main clearing. It’s led by two young Inquisitors who now gleefully shove forward several people with bound arms. They stumble and fall, then crouch into some resemblance of a bow in my direction. All around them, the crowd cheers. Wine spills out of goblets.

“Your Majesty!” one of the Inquisitors calls up to me. His hair shines in the light, revealing a glimmer of scarlet red against the black. “Found these four in the streets and brought them in for you. I overheard one using the word malfetto. Another was trying to pass as one of us with false markings.”

At that, the crowd—all of whom are marked—starts to shout curses at the people tied up on the ground. I peer at them to get a closer look. One is an old man, while another is an aging woman. The third is a boy, barely out of childhood, while the fourth is a girl newly wedded, still wearing double bands around one of her fingers. I can tell the girl is the one who was trying to wear false markings—the color in her hair and against her skin looks disturbed, where an Inquisitor must have smeared his hand across it.

“Burn them all!” someone yells, and this is met with a thunderous cheer.

“Let’s have some fun!” another shouts.

Over by the archway, Magiano’s eyes meet my own. He isn’t smiling anymore. Their fear and hatred fill this place. The whispers chitter again, fully awake now, and the terror wafting off the four prisoners fills my senses, feeding me. I take them in and feel little pity. After all, not much time has passed since they once stood by and watched as the marked were dragged through the streets and set ablaze, saw our families stoned to death by crowds of enthusiastic onlookers. We used to be the ones to sneak powders and potions from apothecaries, desperate to hide our markings. How quickly our former enemies have tried to adopt our appearance—how eagerly they smear colors on themselves in an attempt to be more like us.

Why shouldn’t we cheer their punishment now?

Beside me, Sergio has gone silent too. I look on as an Inquisitor lights a torch from one of the lanterns, then glances expectantly at me. So does everyone else. The noise fades as they wait for my command.

I am their queen. The malfettos, the malformed, the marked. I give them what they want, and they give me their loyalty. It is what I want too. My gaze turns to the trembling prisoners on the ground. I stop on the youngest, the boy. He stares back at me with vacant eyes. Beside him, the old man lifts his tear-stained face long enough for me to see the blinding hatred in them. Demon queen, I know he’s thinking.

The whispers in my head build to a dull rumble. I bow my head and close my eye, trying in vain to shut them out. On another night, I would be more ruthless—in the past year I’ve ordered prisoners executed before me, so this would be nothing new. But tonight, my heart feels heavy with the weight of Raffaele’s message. Visions of Violetta continue to crowd my thoughts.

One glance in Magiano’s direction is enough. He gives me the subtlest shake of his head, and his words return to my mind, as if whispered in my ear. Perhaps he is drawing on my power. Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta.

“Release them,” I hear myself saying as I rub my temples. “And get on with the celebrations.”

The crowd’s raucous cheers fade away as they gradually understand what I’ve said. The prisoners stare at me in stunned silence, as do my Inquisitors.

“Was I not clear?” I call out, my voice ringing in the chamber. The corners of the space turn dark, and a haunting wail whips through the air. The crowd lets loose a round of frightened gasps as they edge away from the encroaching blackness. My soldiers jump to action now, untying the ropes that bind the prisoners’ arms and forcing them to their knees so that they can thank me. They sway, blinking away confusion, and I look on, wondering how my sister has the power to influence my decisions even when she’s not here.

“Get out of my sight,” I snap to the kneeling prisoners. “Before I change my mind.”

They need no second bidding. The girl scrambles to her feet first, then rushes over to the old man and pulls him to his feet. The old woman follows. The boy lingers the longest, puzzling over my expression before he, too, hurries after the others. The crowd’s eyes turn from me to them, and as the musicians try to strike up the songs again, scattered singing begins to puncture the awkward silence.

My focus shifts back up to the archway, but Magiano is no longer there.