The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(36)

This is my chance to meet with Teren.

The shock of that thought leaves me weak at the knees. My week is almost up. If the Daggers will be gone for a while, busy with whatever it is they have planned, then I need to take advantage of this moment. I suddenly look around the chamber, terrified that somehow one of them managed to overhear my silent thoughts. The malfetto murder I saw days earlier comes back to me. Then, Spider’s threat.

Then, thoughts of my sister.

I’ll just go near the tower. If it looks suspicious, I’ll leave. I’m not going inside. I’ll just. . . My thoughts fade away, drowned out by the beat of my heart.

I stand. I start to move. I’m not even sure if I’m in control of myself anymore, or if my body has decided to let my instincts take over. I ascend the stairs and make my way past the main courtyard. There, I glimpse the streets—and see them teeming with festivities. The sky overhead looks dark and menacing. Something important is going on in the city today.

The Daggers are on the move. So am I.





Give a Kenettran gold, and he will do business with you.

Give a Kenettran a purebred stallion, and he will kill for you.

   —Commission on the Prosecution of Maran and Accomplice,

High Court of Beldain





Adelina Amouteru



The instant I sneak out of the Fortunata Court and into the main street, I sense that something’s off.

Sure—people in colorful silks fill the road, and vendors selling masks are everywhere, clogging the street and hawking their wares like they would at a spring masquerade in Dalia. People laugh and cheer. Flowering vines grow thick and lush along the street’s buildings, and horses pulling carriages and crates make their way up and down the wide roads. Gondolas line up in the river canals, heavy with passengers. A man pushing a cart of fruit tarts sings a folk song while a small cluster of children dance after him. The smell of butter and spices mixes with the pungent odor of crowds.

But black clouds blanket the sky, even darker than when I glimpsed it earlier from the courtyard. There’s a dampness in the air, a cold, tense stillness that contrasts sharply with the colorful banners hanging from balconies and the festivities on the street. The smiling people in masquerade masks look threatening to me. As if everyone knows what I’m about to do, and where I’m headed. I keep my face down.

There are reports posted by the Inquisition Axis at each main intersection, calling for the people to report any suspicious malfettos. I instinctively push myself into the crowd, trying to stay hidden. Everyone seems headed in the same direction, so I follow along, lost among their glittering outfits and bright masks. My slippers slap against the curve of cobblestone. What Estenzian celebration is this? I wonder as I pass through a narrow street with low-hanging vines dangling overhead.

“For the Red Quarter!” someone shouts beside me, waving a piece of red silk high over his head. It takes me a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is waving colors of silk: red, green, gold, and blue.

Off in the distance and near the harbor, the roof of the Inquisition Tower shines under the sun.

The crowd jostles me. Finally, I manage to squeeze my way out of the main crowds and down a narrow, quieter alley. I’m careful to stay in the shadows. If I knew how to use my powers, I could probably use a dark silhouette to hide myself even further. I try to call on it again, but the threads stay just outside of my grasp, taunting me.

By the time I reach the Inquisition Tower, I’m drenched in sweat and trembling from head to toe. I’m lucky that few people seem to be in this area of the city—everyone is off at the festivities. I stare at the entrance, where Inquisitors stand guard, and try to imagine Violetta inside the stone walls. I hesitate, wringing my hands.

What if Teren doesn’t have Violetta at all? What kind of trap might this be? I bite my lip, dwelling on how Teren had not arrested me at the court, how he threatened to kill Violetta if I didn’t come. I stare so long at the Tower that my vision starts to blur. Finally, when the street is clear, I hurry on silent feet to the tower’s entrance.

The Inquisitors standing guard bar me. “What’s this?” one of them grunts.

“Please,” I manage to say in a hoarse whisper. Already, I feel exposed out here. If one of the Elites sees me . . . “I’m here to see Master Teren Santoro. He’s expecting me.”

The Inquisitor studies me suspiciously, then exchanges a look with the second Inquisitor at the entrance. He shakes his head at me.

“I’ll pass the word to Master Santoro,” he says to me. “Until then, you’ll have to wait out here.”

“No,” I say in a rush, then look around me again at the streets. Sweat beads on my brow. “I have to see him now,” I add in a lower, urgent voice. “I cannot be seen here. Please.”

The Inquisitor shoves me away with an irritated look. “You will wait here,” he snaps. “Until such time as—”

His words cut off as the door behind him shudders, then swings slowly open. There, standing casually at the entrance with his hands folded behind his back, is Teren. He smiles at the sight of me. “What seems to be the problem?” he says to the guards.

The Inquisitor who shoved me whirls around, bewildered. All annoyance falls from his face. He bows hastily to Teren. “Sir,” he begins, “this girl claims she is here to see you. We—”