The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(15)

I would do anything for you. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

Giulietta touches his cheek affectionately. Her hand is cold. “The king will be pleased to hear it, as soon as he climbs out of his mistress’s bed.” She emphasizes her last words.

Teren’s mood darkens at that. The king is supposed to be meeting with his council right now—not frolicking in bed with a lover. He’s no king. He’s a duke the queen was forced to marry. A loud, arrogant, disrespectful duke. He lowers his lips to hers, then steals another long kiss. His voice turns tender and aching. “When can you come to me again? Please.”

“I’ll come to you tonight.” She gives him a careful smile, one full of calculated secrets. It is the smile of someone who knows exactly what to say to a boy soldier madly in love. She pulls him close enough to whisper in his ear. “I’ve missed you too.”





There are four places where the spirits still wander . . .

the snow-covered Dark of Night, the forgotten paradise of

Sobri Elan, the Glass Pillars of Dumon, and the human mind,

that eternally mysterious realm where ghosts shall forever walk.

—An Exploration of Ancient and Modern Myths, by Mordove Senia





Adelina Amouteru



For a week, I never leave my bedchamber. I float in and out of consciousness, waking up only to eat the pastries and roasted quail brought daily into my room, and to let the maid change my robe and bandages.

Sometimes Enzo checks in on me, his face expressionless and his hands gloved, but no one aside from him and the maid visit. No more information about the Dagger Society. What they’ll do with me now, I have no idea.

More days pass. Prosperiday. Aevaday. Moraday. Amareday. Sapienday. I imagine what Violetta is doing right now, and whether she’s wondering the same about me. Whether she’s safe or not. Whether she’s searching for me, or moving on with her life.

By the time Prosperiday comes around again, I’ve recovered enough to go without bandages. The chafing on my wrists and ankles has faded into faint bruises, and the swelling in my cheek has disappeared, returning my face to normal. I’m thinner, though, and my hair has turned into a mess of knots, the spot where my father pulled at my scalp still tender. I study myself in front of the mirror every night, watching how the candlelight splashes orange on my face, how it illuminates the scarred skin over my missing eye. Dark thoughts swim in the far corners of my mind. Something is alive in those whispers, clawing for my attention, beckoning me deeper into the shadows, and I am afraid to listen to it.

I look the same. I also look like a complete stranger.



Voices outside my bedchamber pull me out of my sleep and into the gold of morning light. I lie very still, listening to the conversation that drifts in through the door.

I recognize the speakers immediately. Enzo and my maid.

“—business to attend to. Mistress Amouteru. How is she?”

“Much better.” A pause. “What should I do with her today, Your Highness? She is well now, and growing restless. Shall I take her around the court?”

A brief pause. I imagine Enzo tightening his gloves, his face turned away from the maid, looking as disinterested as he sounds. Finally:

“Bring her to Raffaele.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The conversation ends there. I hear footsteps echoing down the hall outside, then fading away and disappearing altogether. A strange disappointment hits me at the thought that Enzo won’t be around. I’d hoped to ask him more questions. The court, that’s what the maid had called this building where we’re all staying. What kind of court? A royal estate? Who is Raffaele?

I stay in bed and wait until the maid bustles in. “Good morning, mistress,” she says from behind an armful of silks and a bowl of steaming water. “Look at that! So much pink in your cheeks. Lovely.”

How odd, someone complimenting me all the time and catering to my every whim. But I smile my thanks. As she scrubs me all over and then dresses me in the white and blue shift, I comb strands of hair across my missing eye. I wince when she runs a brush along the injured part of my scalp.

Finally, we’re ready. She guides me toward the door, and I take a deep breath as I step out of my bedchamber for the first time.

We head down a narrow hallway that branches into two. I study the walls. Paintings of the gods adorn them, tales of beautiful Pulchritas emerging from the sea and young Laetes falling from the heavens, the colors as vivid as if they had been commissioned only a week ago. Veined marble outlines the ceiling’s arch. I stare at the hall for so long that I start to fall behind, and only when the maid calls for me to hurry do I turn my gaze away and quicken my steps. As we walk, I try to think of something to say to her—but every time I open my mouth, the maid smiles politely at me and then looks away in disinterest. I decide to stay quiet. We take another turn, and then abruptly stop before what seems like a solid wall and a line of pillars.

She runs a hand along one side of a pillar, then pushes against the wall. I watch, stunned, as the wall swings aside to reveal a new hall behind it. “Come, young mistress,” the maid says over her shoulder. Dumbstruck, I follow her. The wall closes behind us, as if nothing had ever existed beyond it.

The longer we walk, the more curious I grow. The layout makes sense, of course. If this is a place where the Young Elites stay—assassins wanted by the Inquisition—then they wouldn’t have a door you could simply enter and exit straight from the street. The Elites are a secret hidden behind the walls of another building. But what is this court?