The Midnight Star (The Young Elites #3)(74)

Somewhere in the darkness, I hear voices. They are unlike any voices I’ve ever heard—clear as glass, mighty and deep, so unbearable in their beauty that I am afraid it might drive me mad. I think they speak my name.

As I draw closer to the beam, it splits into various colors. Red and gold, amber and black, deep blue and pale summer green. They gather around me in shafts of color, until it seems as if I were on the ground and the colors surround me in a circle.

The gods.

Adelina, one of them says. I know it is Compasia, the angel of Empathy. There has been another bargain.

I don’t understand, I reply. They are so tall, and I am so small.

There is a feeling of light under my body, of wind and stars. There is the disintegration of my form. Then, there is sky.

You will.





Raffaele Laurent Bessette




There is a brilliant flash of light, and a ringing that reverberates outward from the origin. Raffaele falls to his knees. The world spins around him—the snow and monsters and forest all blending into one—and for a moment, he cannot move. Tears run down his face.

Through his blurred gaze, he sees the monsters slow in their attacks, their bodies hunched, their gaping jaws closed, and their eyeless sockets turned away. They seem confused, as if something had taken their energy and left them as hollow shells. One of them stumbles forward, letting out a low moan. Then it falls. As it does, its body disintegrates into tiny shards of black, scattering across the snow like broken glass.

The same happens to another creature, and another. All around them, the monsters that had seemed unstoppable now crumble into pieces. Raffaele looks down toward the origin. The beam of light—the merging of the mortal and immortal worlds—has disappeared.

Raffaele takes a deep breath of cold air and tries to clear his head. Everything had seemed like a dream, a streak of events painted on canvas. What had happened? He remembers falling through the depths of a dead ocean into the Underworld, arriving on the still shores of another world. There were an infinite number of silver-white pillars reaching up forever into gray sky, and a black mist that shrouded everything around him, the tendrils of fog curling near his feet in anticipation of his death.

He remembers seeing his mother and father asleep, encased in moonstone. He saw old companions and friends from the Fortunata Court. He saw Enzo. He knelt at each of their feet, weeping. There was the sight of distant lights, his other companions that he could not reach. The gods and goddesses gathered before him, with their bright light and overwhelming voices.

Most of all, he remembers reaching into his heart and severing his connection to the immortal world, returning his power to the gods.

Had it really happened? Raffaele pushes himself into a sitting position in the snow. He holds out one hand. His grasp captures only the cold air, and his fingers touch nothing. There is an emptiness in his chest now, a lightness, and when he reaches out for his threads of energy, he finds that they are gone. It is as if a part of him had died, allowing the rest of him to live on.

The Dark of Night is eerily silent. All that remains are the snow and the forest, the remnants of creatures slowly fading away, sinking into white. Time floats past. His vision sharpens. Finally, Raffaele finds the strength to stand. Around him are the others. He sees Lucent first, shaking snow from her curls, and beside her, Maeve, pushing herself up with her sword planted deep in the snow. Magiano crouches nearby, clutching his head. They must be feeling the same emptiness that Raffaele now feels, all trying in vain to reach for the powers that had once always simmered right at their fingertips. On instinct, Raffaele reaches out to sense their emotions . . . but all he feels is the bite of the cold.

It is strange, this new reality.

“It’s gone,” Maeve whispers first. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lifts her head to the heavens. A strange expression is on her face, one that Raffaele instantly understands. It is a look of grief. Of peace.

“Where is Adelina?” It is Magiano’s voice now. He looks around frantically, trying to find her. Raffaele frowns. He had seen Adelina—he was sure of it. Her silver hair, glinting in the black mist; her white lashes, scarred face; her chin, always up. She had been in the Underworld with them. Raffaele scans the landscape, a knot tightening in his stomach, as Magiano calls for her again.

There she is.

There is a girl stirring nearby, her hair is dusted silver and white with snow, and it falls across her face. Raffaele feels immediate relief at the sight of her—until she lifts her head.

No, it is not Adelina. It is Violetta, with the snow hiding the color of her dark hair. The markings that had blemished her skin are now gone, and the color has returned to her cheeks. She shakes her head, blinking, and looks around. Her eyes are red from crying, but she is here and whole, alive.

Raffaele can only stare in silence. Impossible. How did she come here?

Where is Adelina?

Magiano has already struggled to his feet and is making his way through the snow toward her. “Violetta,” he calls. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. He looks as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. Then he embraces her, lifting her clear off the snow. Violetta makes a surprised sound. “What happened? How are you . . . ?”

Impossible, Raffaele repeats to himself. How did Violetta return from the Underworld? She does not look like Enzo did when Maeve pulled him out, with pools of black in his eyes and an energy about him that felt like death. No, Violetta looks healthy and alive, even radiant, the way she had once looked when Raffaele first met her. He wants to cheer, to be joyous for her return—