The Midnight Star (The Young Elites #3)(51)

No response comes to my lips. After a while, I rest my hand upon his. “You’re still in pain.”

“Just my old wound acting up again, ” he replies quickly. “But I’m declining slower than you are, my love. I can endure this.”

“Let me see,” I murmur gently. “Maybe you need to wrap it.”

Magiano pulls away at first, but when I give him a pointed look, he sighs and relents. He shifts a little so that his back is turned to me, and then he reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his torso. My gaze goes straight to the massive mark on his side. It stretches from the small of his back to the side of his upper chest. I bite my lip. Tonight, it looks swollen, red and angry from the mast’s strike.

“Perhaps Raffaele can have a look at it tomorrow,” I say, frowning at the sight. My thoughts turn to the priests from Magiano’s childhood, the ones who made this wound by trying to cut off the marking on his skin. The image makes my temper boil.

“I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

I meet his gaze. He looks vulnerable and gentle, his pupils round and dark. “Magiano, I . . . ,” I start to say, then pause, unsure. Even after our moments of shared kisses, our encounter in the bathhouse, I’ve never confessed my feelings to him. Don’t, foolish girl. He’ll only use it against you. But I decide to push on. “We might not return from this voyage. None of us. We might all lay down our lives when we reach the end, and not ever know whether our sacrifice changed anything for the better.”

“It will be for the better,” Magiano replies. “We cannot just die, not without trying. Not without fighting.”

“Do you really believe that?” I ask. “Why are we doing this, anyway? To preserve my own life, and yours—but what has the world ever done for us in order to deserve our sacrifice?”

Magiano’s brows furrow for a moment, then he leans in closer. “We exist because this world exists. It’s a responsibility of ours, whether or not anyone will remember it.” He nods at me. “And they will. Because we will return and make sure of it.”

He is close enough now that I can feel his breath against my lips. “You are so full of light,” I say after a moment. “You align with joy, and I with fear and fury. If you could see into my thoughts, you would surely turn away. So why would you stay with me, even if we return to Kenettra and resume our lives?”

“You paint me as a saint,” he murmurs. “But I aligned with greed solely to prevent that.”

Even now, he can make my lips twitch with a smile. “I’m serious, Magiano.”

“As am I. None of us are saints. I have seen your darkness, yes, and know your struggle. I won’t deny it.” He touches my chin with one hand. At this gesture, the whispers seem to settle, pushed away where I can’t hear them. “But you are also passionate and ambitious and loyal. You are a thousand things, mi Adelinetta, not just one. Do not reduce yourself to that.”

I look down, unsure how to feel.

“None of us are saints,” Magiano repeats. “We can all do better.”

We can all do better. I lean toward him. Every bone in my body yearns to keep this boy safe, always. “Magiano . . . ,” I start to say. “I don’t want to leave this world having never been with you.”

Magiano blinks once. He searches my face, as if trying to understand the true meaning of my words. “I’m with you right now,” he whispers.

“No,” I say quietly, bringing my lips up to his. “Not yet.”

Magiano smiles. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans forward and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips to mine. The light in his energy floods my insides, chasing away the dark shadows and replacing them with warmth. I can hardly breathe. I gasp as he touches my back and pulls me more tightly to him. His movement makes me lose my balance, and I topple backward into bed, bringing him with me. Magiano tumbles forward on top of me. His kisses continue, trailing the hollow of my throat. His fingers tug at the strings on my bodice and they loosen. He pulls it up over my head and tosses it to the foot of the bed. My skin is bare against his, and I realize that I’m trembling.

Magiano pauses for a moment to look at me, searching for a sign of my emotions. I study his face in the darkness. “Stay with me,” I whisper. “Tonight. Please.” The words said aloud suddenly frighten me, and I pull away, wondering whether I should have opened myself up to him like this. But the thought of sleeping alone, surrounded by my illusions, is too much to bear.

He touches my hair with one hand, brushes the strands away, stares at the left side of my face. He kisses the scar gently. His lips touch my forehead, then my mouth. And then, as if he understands me better than anyone in the world, he whispers, “It will make this night a little less dark.”





That night, he dreamt of a place full of pillars, silver-white, reaching up to the sky. And that morning, his enemy’s soldiers broke through the inner gates.

—Excerpt from The Requiem of Gods, Vol. XVII, translated by Chevalle





Adelina Amouteru




Afterward, no whispers lurk in my mind. My energy is very quiet. I have no nightmares. Stirring when the pale light of dawn creeps into my quarters through the porthole, I half expect last night to be nothing more than an illusion . . . but Magiano is still here, his soft brown skin pressed against mine, his breathing gentle and rhythmic in sleep.