The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(56)

Violetta will pay for this, you know. Not you. Violetta.

“—hereby pledge to serve the Dagger Society, to strike fear into the hearts of those who rule Kenettra—”

I’ll tell you what you want. Just give me one more week. Please.

“—to take by death what belongs to us, and to make the power of our Elites known to every man, woman, and child.”

Three days. If you go back on your word again, I will shoot an arrow through your sister’s neck and out the back of her skull.

“Should I break my vow, let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.”

I repeat the words. Every single one. Darkness swims inside me. Should I break my vow, let the dagger take from me what I took from the dagger.

Raffaele bows his head to me when we finish. “Welcome to the Dagger Society.” He smiles. “White Wolf.”



Afterward, I dress in a flowing length of red robes and head down to the cavern with Gemma. The others are already there by the time I arrive, along with several strangers dressed in aristocratic clothing. Patrons? Around them swirl a few consorts from the Fortunata Court. The Daggers have donned formal Kenettran robes tonight, and now they lounge in a circle on pillowed divans in the underground sitting room, ignoring the trays of cold grapes and spiced wine. Despite the intense conversations they seem to be having with the richly dressed strangers, there’s a noticeable sense of celebration in the air, the nearing of their end goal. It contrasts oddly with the urns and ashes lining the walls. Their voices sound low, excited. I watch it all like it’s a dream of colors moving around me. None of it seems real. Somewhere beyond these walls, the Inquisition Tower looms.

How will I ever find a chance to get away?

I pick out Enzo’s figure in the midst of the group. Raffaele is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s not attending this meeting, or perhaps he’s occupied. I try to explain away his absence.

“Adelina.” Gemma’s voice cuts through my maelstrom of thoughts. She smiles at me, then leads me over to the group. The strangers cast me curious glances. I look back at them. Only one looks familiar—the madam of the Fortunata Court, dressed tonight in an elaborate silk gown of blue and gold. “These are our noble patrons,” Gemma whispers as we take a seat on a divan. “They’re eager to meet you.”

So, these are the people who support Enzo’s claim to the throne. Gemma introduces me around the circle with her animated chatter, stopping to point out her father in particular. I smile and play along as the patrons each greet me in turn, their eyes lingering. At the other end of the circle, Enzo leans back on a divan with a glass of wine in one hand, his boots crossed on a low table and his face partially hidden behind a mask. He glances briefly at me and returns to his conversation.

“I’ve heard the king cannot cancel the Tournament,” one of the patrons says to Enzo. “It would make him look like a fool and a weakling to the people. He and the queen must appear by tradition.”

“Exactly the corner we wanted him backed into,” another replies.

“Can your illusion worker get us into the palace?” says a third. His eyes flicker to me, and I feel a jolt of anxiety. “The people are ripe for an overthrow now, especially after last night’s display. We could try making a move before the Tournament, even tonight.”

Enzo shakes his head. “My sister will not be with the king. Their apartments are on opposite ends of the palace. Adelina’s skills are not strong enough to hold an illusion for that long, at such close quarters. The Tournament is our best chance.”

The others break into frustrated murmurs. Michel sits back and holds up a glass of wine in apology to Enzo. “If only I could unravel living things. I’d happily march into the palace and unravel the royals off a cliff for you.” Scattered laughter.

Lucent rolls her eyes as she twirls a curly blonde lock of hair around her finger. “And I still say we all forget about saving this damned country, ship off to Beldain, and live like kings. Some nations know how to treat malfettos.” More laughter, while Michel affectionately mocks Lucent’s Beldish accent.

I just look on numbly, trying to play along.

“He will, someday,” Gemma whispers to me. I startle at her voice, then realize she must think I’m confused by the conversation. “Michel, I mean. He’ll figure out how to unravel living creatures. He says the energy of the soul gets in the way.”

The energy of the soul. If Michel were to see the energy of my own soul, what would he see?

The conversation filters back to me as I hear myself mentioned again. “And can she work her illusions well enough for the Tournament?” one patron asks Enzo.

“Yes, Your Highness—can she uphold her end of the mission?”

“We want a demonstration.”

“Adelina,” Enzo suddenly says, looking in my direction. The nobles turn to look at me too.

I blink, taken off guard. “Yes?”

“Create an illusion of a person for us.”

I hesitate, then suck in my breath and concentrate on the darkness in my chest. Gradually, I weave in midair a face that resembles Enzo, the same eyes and nose and mouth and hair, the thin scar prominent on the cheek. The nobles murmur among themselves. It’s still not quite right—there is a lack of refinement in the details, the glassy-eyed look of something that doesn’t seem quite human, the amateur texture of the skin. It wavers a little. Now and then, it looks translucent. It would not work for us at close quarters. But it will be enough. I hold the illusion there for a moment, then release it.