The Midnight Star (The Young Elites #3)(54)

It wasn’t just an illusion of my own creation.

Suddenly, Raffaele halts. Ahead of us are several people standing there, blocking our path. Even though my illusions remain in place, they seem to recognize that we do not belong. Their leader steps forward from the crowd. This man doesn’t look like he is from the Skylands—his skin is light brown, and his eyes are deep and dark. He hoists a knife in one hand. “So,” he says. “A foreign troupe heading through our territory.”

The whispers grow louder in my head. “We want no trouble, sir,” I manage to say, keeping my chin up and voice calm, working to keep the illusions I’ve woven over our faces steady.

The man nods at me. “Where are you from?”

Kill him. It has been so long. It will be so easy. The voices are persuasive. I could wrap him in agony right now, make him believe I am ripping his heart out of his chest. But I cannot afford to do it here, not without knowing if there are more of them beyond this narrow street, and not with Violetta so sick.

Magiano saves me from responding by flashing the man a smile full of white teeth. “From a much friendlier place than this town, I can tell you that,” he proclaims. “Do you greet all the foreigners passing through with knives? That must take up an awful lot of your time.”

The man’s scowl deepens, even as he looks at us in doubt. Raffaele joins Magiano at his side. “We have a friend who is very ill,” he says, nodding up to Violetta. “Can you tell us where the nearest inn might be?”

The man stays silent. More of his men have come behind us now, people whom I’d taken as fishmongers and passersby, gathering on the steps to block the way we came. There is fear in the air, sharp and dark, calling to me—and I hunger to call back, to grasp the threads draped around us and weave. My illusion over my appearance wavers, only for an instant.

The man narrows his eyes at me. “They said you’d be in disguise, White Wolf. We know you are Queen Adelina of Kenettra.”

I blink in mock surprise. “What?” I reply, keeping my voice surprised. “We’re from Dumor to—”

The man interrupts me with a bark of laughter. “Dumor,” he replies. “You mean one of your puppet states.”

Magiano unsheathes two of his own weapons. His pupils have narrowed into sharp slits, and his body is tense. Near Raffaele, Teren stands tall with his sword half drawn, ready to move. For the first time, I’m grateful to have him with us.

There is no point in dragging this out. I’ve had enough. “Let us pass,” I say, pushing myself forward. My anger is starting to rise, and that energy becomes my defense. “And we will spare the lives of your men.”

The group stirs. The leader draws a second knife from his belt. Beneath his brave exterior, I can sense the tides of terror. He is afraid to die today. “For the Sealands,” he whispers. “For the Sunlands.”

Then he gives a nod, and his men lunge at us from both sides.

Magiano moves so quickly, I barely see him jump into the fray. His daggers flash silver in the light. Ahead of us, Teren sets upon two of the first men with a snarl of fury, unleashing his pent-up rage on them. He cuts them down easily.

“Move!” Raffaele snaps, rushing us forward. We dart ahead as Teren opens a pocket for us. But the narrow street continues filling with more people, forcing us to a stop again. How many of them are here? They must have been waiting for our arrival for months. Violetta’s horse rears in the midst of the chaos, lets out a squeal, and throws her from its back. Lucent catches her—just barely—with a curtain of wind. Violetta falls on the steps, and instinctively, I push her behind me and force her against the wall. She is awake now, her body shaking like a leaf.

One of the men lunges at her, but Lucent lashes out with her sword, cutting the other man in the stomach. Ahead of us, Teren cuts the path clear even as more come. Blades catch him, slicing his flesh, but he seems oblivious to his injuries, his body slowly, laboriously trying to heal itself with each attack. It’s even clearer now—he heals noticeably slower than I remember. Behind us, Magiano leaps up against the wall of the building and twists in midair, slashing one man neatly across the throat and another in his chest. The smell of blood and fear fills my senses, and I feel the voices feeding on the darkness, growing louder with each passing moment, strengthening me even as they veer me farther from what I can control. I stumble forward, trying to stave off the rush of illusions that threaten to overwhelm me. Our attackers’ smiles turn skeletal, their forms monstrous. Their hands extend like claws toward us, as if they were dead trees in a forest, and suddenly I am struggling through their grasp, trying to breathe. Keep moving. This isn’t real. I tell myself this over and over again. Teren continues moving us forward through the fight, and behind us, Magiano keeps them back. I try to concentrate on them. We have to find a way out of this street.

Then, ahead of us, Raffaele stumbles. He grimaces in pain, then falls to his knees.

Lucent rushes to his side. As I look on, she grabs his arm and tries to help him to his feet—but he winces, clutches his head, and stumbles again. There he kneels, crouching in pain, his hair spilling past his shoulders in a black sheet.

His fear is a blanket over him, and my energy lunges for it. I glance around us. There is far too much chaos here for me to make all of us disappear behind a curtain of invisibility, and I want to save my power—but I can already see two of the attackers eyeing Raffaele in his weakened state. If I don’t hide him now, he won’t make it out of this fight.