The Midnight Star (The Young Elites #3)(25)

“I’m fine,” I finally say, nodding against his shoulder.

He pulls away far enough to give me a skeptical look. “You weren’t fine just a few moments ago.”

I take a shuddering breath and wipe my hand across my face. “Why did you come up here, anyway? Did you hear me calling for you? Was it because of what happened outside?”

Magiano blinks. “You were calling for me?” he says, and then shakes his head. His mouth tightens into a thin line. “I’d hoped you would come looking for me.” I search his face, wondering if he is still mocking me, but he seems serious now. For the first time, I realize that there are Inquisitors behind him. There is an entire patrol with him, looking for me.

All of a sudden, I feel tired to my bones. Magiano sees me sag, and he ropes an arm behind me as I do, lifting me effortlessly. I let him. He mutters something to the Inquisitors, and they start to file out. I close my eye after that, content to let Magiano carry me back to my chambers.





Stock—

2 days’ worth black bread

2 days’ worth dried meat

6 days’ worth water

Waste—

12 days’ worth bread, infested

12 days’ worth water, unfit to drink

—From the journal of an unknown soldier during the Battle for Cordonna Isle





Adelina Amouteru




It is for the best that we set sail for Tamoura the next day, under a brilliant blue sky.

The weeks at sea will force me to concentrate on our new mission, to forget about my loss of control over my illusions in the hallway last night. Magiano doesn’t mention it again, either. We go about our business on the ship acting like all is fine; we have strategy meetings with Sergio as if no one remembers my incident. But I know that word of it has spread among my Inquisitors. Now and then, I see them murmuring in the shadows, eyeing me with wariness.

Our queen is going mad, they must be saying.

Sometimes I can’t tell if my madness is what’s conjuring these images, twisting my confidence. So I try to ignore them, as always. What does it matter if I’m mad? I have a hundred ships. Twenty thousand soldiers. My Roses at my side. I am queen.

My new flag is silver and white, of course. In its center is a black, stylized symbol of a wolf, surrounded by flames. I am a creature who was meant to die in fire—but I didn’t, and I want to be reminded of that every time I look at this image. With each passing day at sea, the silver-white flags seem to stand out more and more against the deep, strange gray of the ocean, like a flock of birds heading toward new nesting grounds. One week blends into the next, and then into a third, with stale winds slowing us down and the Falls of Laetes to maneuver around.

At the end of the third week, I stand on the deck of my ship and look back at the sea of ships behind us. Every single one of them flies my pennants. I smile at the sight. The nightmare within nightmares had visited me again last night, this time shifting so that I would wake over and over in my bed on board my ship. It is a relief that my army distracts me from the memory.

“We are nearing Tamouran shores,” Sergio says as he comes to stand beside me. He is dressed in full armor this morning, with knives strapped to his chest and daggers crossed on his back, hilts poking out from the tops of both his boots. His hair is slicked back out of the way, and he looks restless, eager for action. “Do you want me to give the order to change pennants?”

I nod. “Do it.” I, too, am dressed for war. My robes have been replaced with armor, and my hair is tied back in a tight series of braids, a Kenettran hairstyle. I’ve left my Tamouran head wraps behind. It was a tempting thought, flying over Alamour looking like a Tamouran girl—but I want them to know what nation is coming for them.

“As you say, Your Majesty,” Sergio replies.

I glance at him. A deep crease has formed between his brows. Is he thinking about Violetta too? “This time, we will succeed,” I say. At conquering Tamoura. At finding my sister.

“We will,” he echoes. He offers me a terse nod, his face expressionless.

The sky above us, startlingly blue when we first left Kenettra, is now a threatening gray. Black clouds streak the horizon in front of us. Sergio gathers his cloak more tightly about him, his eyes trained in concentration on the approaching storm. He has been working on this tempest ever since we set sail, and now it is strong enough that I can sense the sparks in the air, the prickle along my arms.

“Black seas,” Sergio mutters, gesturing down at the dark waters. “A bad omen.”

“Your Majesty!” Magiano’s voice shouts at us from the crow’s nest. We both look skyward. “We’ve sighted land!” His arm emerges from the side of the nest to point toward the horizon, and when I follow it, I see a sliver of gray land emerging underneath a dark sky. Even from this distance, the vague silhouette of a high wall can be seen, fortified by one side that is nothing more than a steep cliff.

An instant later, Magiano drops down next to us. I didn’t even notice him making his way down the main masthead. “That is Alamour, my love,” he says, gesturing toward the cliff and wall.

The last time my forces set our sights on Tamoura, it was to conquer their northwestern territories. Now I am going to set foot in their capital. Thunder rolls across the ocean, and flashes of lightning make the clouds glow. I wrap my arms around myself and shudder. My mother told me stories of this place, from where my ancestors came, and how many times armies had failed to penetrate its walls.