The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(14)

I lower my gaze. “Your Royal Highness,” I say, bowing my head.

Enzo replies with a single, subtle nod. “Now you know the real reason why the king and queen denounce malfettos. It makes malfettos look like abominations, and it keeps me unfit for the throne.”

My hands start to tremble. Now I understand. He is assembling a team, a team to help him reclaim his birthright.

Enzo leans close enough for me to see slashes of a brilliant red in his eyes. “I make you this offer, Adelina Amouteru. You can spend the rest of your life on the run, friendless and alone, always fearful of the Inquisition Axis finding you and bringing you to justice for a crime you did not commit. Or we can see if you belong with us. The gifts the fever left with you are not as unreliable as they might seem. There is a rhythm and science to controlling your power. There’s reason behind the chaos. If you wish, you can learn control. And you will be well paid for it.”

When I stay silent, Enzo lifts one gloved hand and touches my chin. “How many times have you been called an abomination?” he whispers. “A monster? Worthless?”

Too many times.

“Then let me tell you a secret.” He shifts so that his lips are close to my ear. A shiver dances down my spine. “You are not an abomination. You are not merely a malfetto. That is why they fear you. The gods gave us powers, Adelina, because we are born to rule.”

A million thoughts run through my mind—memories of my childhood, visions of my father and my sister, of the Inquisition’s dungeons, the iron stake, Teren’s pale eyes, the crowd chanting against me. I remember how I always crouched at the top of my stairs, pretending to rule from on high. I can rise above all of this, if I become one of them. They can keep me safe.

Suddenly, in the presence of this Young Elite, the power of the Inquisition Axis seems very far away.

I can tell that Enzo is watching how my hair and lashes shift colors ever so slightly with the light. His gaze lingers where my hair hides the scarred side of my face. I blush. He reaches out a hand. It falters there, as if waiting for me to shy away, but I stay very still until he finally touches my hair and tucks it carefully away from my face, exposing my imperfections. Heat rushes instantly from his fingertips through my body, a thrilling sensation that sends my heart pounding.

He says nothing for a while. Then, he pulls the glove off one of his hands. I gasp. Underneath the leather, his hand is a mass of burned flesh, most of it healed over in thick layers of hideous scar tissue that must have accumulated over the years, while a few spots still remain red and angry. He replaces the glove, transforming the awful sight into one of black leather and flecks of blood. Of power.

“Embellish your flaws,” he says softly. “They will turn into your assets. And if you become one of us, I will teach you to wield them like an assassin wields a knife.” His eyes narrow. His subtle smile turns dangerous. “So. Tell me, little wolf. Do you want to punish those who have wronged you?”





Teren Santoro



Late afternoon in Estenzia.

Teren waits behind a pillar lining the palace’s main courtyard, his heart in his throat, the white of his Lead Inquisitor cloak blending in with the marble. Shadows and sunlight play on his face. Farther up the courtyard’s path and partially hidden from view by rose vines, the queen of Kenettra walks alone, her dark hair piled high on her head in a tumble of curls, her skin a warm hue under the sun. Her Majesty, Queen Giulietta I of Kenettra.

Teren waits until she’s close enough. When she walks past, he grabs her wrist and pulls her gently into the shadows behind the pillar.

The queen lets out a soft gasp, then smiles at the sight of him. “You’re back from Dalia,” she whispers. “And up to your boyish antics, I see.”

Teren presses her tightly against the pillar. His lips brush against the skin of her neck. Her dress seems cut particularly low today, emphasizing the swell of her breasts, and he wonders with a surge of jealousy whether she wears it as temptation for the king—or for him. The king is a grown man, well into his forties. Teren is nineteen. Does she like me for my youth? Perhaps she sees me as a boy, four years too young for her. He marvels again at how lucky he is, to have drawn the attention of royalty.

“I returned last night,” he whispers back. He kisses her deeply. “You asked to see me, Your Majesty?”

The queen lets out a sigh as he kisses the line of her jaw. Her fingers run along the grooves of his silver belt, and he arcs toward her in longing. “Yes.” She stops him for a moment to give him a level look. Her eyes are very dark, so dark that sometimes they seem wholly empty. Like he could fall to his death in them. “So. Did they take her?”

“They did.”

“And will you be able to find her again?”

Teren nods once. “I don’t know what curse the gods have brought down on us, to give us demons like this, but I promise you—she will be our advantage. She’ll lead me to them. I’ve already gathered five patrols of my best men.”

“And the girl’s sister? You mentioned her in your report.”

Teren bows his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. Violetta Amouteru is in my custody.” He smiles briefly. “She’s unharmed.”

The queen nods in approval. She reaches out and undoes a clasp on his uniform’s collar, exposing the hollow of his throat, then traces it with one slender finger. A breath escapes him. Gods, I want you. I love you. I’m not worthy of you. She tightens her lips, lost in her own thoughts, and then meets his eyes again. “Let me know when you find the girl. I dislike the embarrassment these Elites are making of the crown.”