The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(50)

“Show me what you can do, Adelina. I know there must be something inside of you.”

I stare back in confused silence, my foolish smile still planted on my lips. When I don’t answer, my father’s gentle expression starts to fade.

“Go on,” he coaxes. “You needn’t be afraid, child.” His voice lowers. “Show me that you are no ordinary malfetto. Go on.”

Slowly, I start to realize that he has been using kindness to coax my power out of me. Perhaps he’s even made a wager with somebody already, somebody who would pay my father for me if I could demonstrate some strange ability. My smile trembles along with my heart. He has tried violence and failed to provoke a power in me. Now he wants to try affection. Be careful, Violetta had told me. Do you see what a fool I am?

Still, I try. I want so badly to please him.

The next day, we repeat the same routine. My father is curiously gentle and attentive, treating me as if he saw Violetta before him instead of me. Violetta says nothing more, and I’m relieved. I know what he wants from me. And I am so hungry to accept this false kindness that I try every day, as hard as I can, to conjure something to please my father.

It never happens.

Finally, weeks later, my father’s good humor wanes. He takes my face into his hands one last time on that carriage ride home. He asks me to show him what I can do. And again, I fail. The carriage lurches along in an awkward, uncomfortable silence.

After a while, my father’s hands leave my face. He edges away from me, sighs, and looks out the window at the moving landscape.

“Worthless,” he mutters, his voice so quiet that I barely hear him.

The next morning, I lie in bed and anticipate my father coming in again with a smile on his face. Today is the day, I tell myself. This time, I am determined to please him, and his kindness will be able to coax something useful out of me. But he doesn’t come. When I finally get out of bed and find him, he ignores me. He has given up his quest to find me useful. Violetta sees me in the hallway. The distance between us feels overwhelming. Her eyes are large and dark, pitying. Her face, as usual, is perfect. I look away from her in silence.



My two weeks have come and gone.

Throughout it all, I haven’t found a single chance to visit Teren at the Inquisition Tower. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it on purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that my time is now up, and he will be expecting me. I know what will happen if I don’t show my face soon.

And tonight is my first official mission with the Daggers.

Their plan for tonight, as far as I understand, goes something like this:

The Spring Moons, Kenettra’s annual celebration of the season, is made up of three nights of festivals and parties, one night in honor of each of our three moons. Each night, a huge masquerade ball will take place at the water’s edge in Estenzia’s largest harbor. At midnight, six ships laden with fireworks will put on a dazzling display of lights over the water.

But the Daggers are going to set fire to the ships before that can even happen, destroying the fleet in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. It will be a display of power, defiance against the king, to show his weakness. And I’m going to help them do it.

“The city is quickly turning into a powder keg,” Raffaele explains to me as we head out from his chambers. Tonight he’s a vision in green and gold robes, part of his face hidden behind an intricate gold half mask, his cheekbones and brows dusted with glitter. “If the king wants to burn us at the stake, then the Daggers are going to respond.” He smiles at me. It is an expert expression—secretive, shy, trained. “The people are tired of a weak king. When Enzo seizes the throne, they will be ready for the change.”

I listen, distracted by my own thoughts. For a moment, I fantasize about myself in such a position—instead of being trapped by the whims of others, what would it be like to have others bowing to me, obeying my every command? What must it feel like to have that kind of power?

It’s the first time I’ve stepped out into Estenzia at night. Soon, gondolas arrive on the canal that the court’s street lines, and the court’s consorts split into groups as we step into our individual boats. I join Raffaele and two others in the same boat, the seats creaking as I gently lower myself in. My movement sends ripples across the water. We pull away, gliding off to the harbor. I gape at the city.

No nights are as lovely as the nights of the Spring Moons, and no city is as breathtaking as Estenzia, which has transformed into a wonderland of light.

Lanterns hang along all the bridges, their glow bouncing off the water’s surface in waves of orange and gold. Gondolas drift through the waterways, and music and laughter ripple through the masked crowds that have gathered out in the warm evening air. Overhead, the three moons hang large and luminous in a near-perfect triangle. Baliras glide past them, their glittering, translucent wings illuminated by moonlight. This close view of them is still a startling contrast to the faraway figures I’d seen before I’d arrived in Estenzia, and the sight of their long, ray-like bodies passing before the moons takes my breath away.

Farther out at the harbor, the silhouettes of six ships with their fireworks sit on the water.

Inquisitors, some on horseback and some on foot, patrol the bridges. They are the only ones not adorned with bright, glittering colors and sparkling masks, and their white and gold figures look harsh against the festivities. They are everywhere tonight, adding to a uniform tension in the air. I turn my face carefully away from them. The city is a powder keg, Raffaele had said, and we are going to light it tonight.