The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(47)

For a moment, I sense something I’ve never sensed outside of the Dagger Society. Something I’m finding only now, surrounded by young strangers that remind me of myself. Kindness. With no strings attached.

I can see a life for me here, as one of them.

It’s a very, very dangerous way to think. How can I be their friend, with what I’m doing? The closer I get, the harder it will be the next time Teren expects me to deliver what I’ve promised him. But the longer he stays away and the stronger I get, the bolder I grow. I return to watching the scenery with Raffaele, but my mind spins. I need to find a way out, to find Violetta without giving Teren his information. And the only way is to work up the courage to tell the Daggers the truth.



Raffaele’s sessions with me evoke gentle passion—but nothing I do with anyone comes close to my training sessions with Enzo himself.

Enzo pushes my emotions hard. He teaches me how to create a convincing illusion of fire, how a flame flickers, how the color of it changes from red to gold to blue to white. I weave and weave until I exhaust myself.

“Your strikes are unfocused,” he snaps one night as he teaches me the basics of sparring with a wooden sword. “Concentrate.” Our clashes echo in the empty cavern. He knocks the weapon out of my hand with one effortless blow, then kicks it up in the air and flings it back at me. I scramble to catch it, but my weak vision means I miss it by a good several inches. The wood hits my wrist. I wince. At this hour, all I want to do is go to bed.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” I retort, ignoring the pain. Curse him to the Underworld—he always attacks on my blind side. I know he tries to anger me on purpose, to strengthen my power, but I don’t care. “I’m a merchant’s daughter. I haven’t exactly trained for dueling.”

“You’re not dueling. You’re learning basic defense. Young Elites have enemies.” Enzo points his sword at me. “Again.”

I strike. I conjure a dark silhouette of a wolf and fling it at him, hoping to throw him off. It doesn’t. He dodges my blow with ease, then lunges back, clashing with me twice until we’re close to the cavern’s wall. He whirls and yanks a dagger straight out of his boot. This second blade stops a hairsbreadth from my neck.

My fury heightens. What’s the point of pitting a lamb against an expert assassin? I conjure an illusion of smoke that explodes around us. Then I do a move he taught me—I grab his dagger and aim for his throat.

His hand clamps hard on my wrist before I can make contact. Heat rushes through me. Something sharp taps against my chest. When I look down, I see a sword point hovering over my ribs. “Don’t forget one weapon just because of another,” he says. A flicker of approval flashes in his eyes. “Or you’ll find yourself skewered in no time.”

“Then maybe you should know which weapons are real,” I reply. The dagger I’m holding near his throat vanishes in a puff of smoke. The real dagger I’d taken from him is in my other hand, which I now press against his side.

Enzo studies me with a thoughtful expression. Then he smiles—a genuine smile, full of surprise and amusement. It warms his entire face. My fear is abruptly replaced by joy, the satisfaction of finally pleasing him. He carefully drops the wooden sword, pushes my hand away from his side, and fixes my grip on the dagger’s handle. Heat rushes through me. His chest presses against my shoulder and side; his gloved hand covers mine. A surge of passion cuts through my darkness, and the color of the smoke around us changes from black to red.

“Like this,” he murmurs, molding my hand into the correct grip. He says nothing about the shifting color of the smoke.

I stay silent and do as he says. The warmth trickling from his fingers to mine feels as delicious as hot water over an aching body.

“Create a dagger again,” he whispers. “I want a good look at it.”

With my anger still churning and his touch sending shivers through me, I gather my concentration. The pull is easier now. Before our eyes, the outline of a dagger appears. It wavers and shimmers, not quite whole, and then I fill it with details, painting in the crimson handle, the grooves on the hilt, the smooth shine of the blade and the blood channel that cuts down its center. Solidifying it. The blade’s edge sharpens to a severe point. I rotate it in midair until the point faces us.

There’s hardly a difference between the illusion and the reality.

I look to my side to see Enzo’s gaze fixated on the false dagger. His heart beats through the fabric of his robes, rhythmic against my skin. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. Somehow, I think I hear two meanings behind the word.

He releases me, then sheathes his daggers with one flourish. The smile is gone. “Enough for today,” he says. He doesn’t bother meeting my gaze, but his voice is different now. Softer. “We’ll continue tomorrow.”

A sudden impulse hits me. Teren’s face swims in my thoughts, then shifts to a vision of my sister. I don’t know where this impulse comes from, whether it’s my alignments with passion or ambition, but I reach out to him with my energy before I can stop myself. Enzo pauses, then glances back at me with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?” he says simply.

Silence. All of my pent-up tension from the past two weeks now comes to a head, and I find myself struggling to get the words out. Tell him. This is your chance.

Tell him the truth.

Enzo watches me with a patient, piercing look.