The Young Elites (The Young Elites, #1)(71)

I’m still weak, but the square’s energy crackles with fear, vibrant and dark, and it feeds me.

A faint flicker of movement appears on the Inquisition Tower’s main balcony. A flash of gold robes flanked by white, the glimmer of a leader walking among his men. I tense. Moments later, Teren appears.

He wears formal robes, a shining coat of white armor under a flowing robe of swirling white and gold patterns. A heavy cloak is pinned over his shoulders and drapes behind him in a long train. The slant of morning light hits the balcony just right—a part of the palace’s intentional design—and illuminates him in brightness.

Then I notice that he brought a prisoner with him. “Oh,” I breathe, my heart seizing.

Two Inquisitors appear, dragging between them a boy with long dark hair, his slender frame weighed down with chains, his head tilted high as Teren now presses a sword against his throat. The boy’s rich scarlet robes are torn and dirty. His face is solemn, but I recognize him immediately.

It’s Raffaele.

It is my fault he’s here.

Teren raises his free arm. “Citizens of Estenzia,” he calls out. “It is with a heavy heart that I deliver this news.” He pauses. “The king is dead. In his place, Her Majesty, Queen Giulietta, will rule. Tomorrow evening, the king’s funeral will take place at the Estenzia arena. You are required to attend.”

He pauses before continuing. “There will be changes to how we deal with traitors and abominations. Her Majesty does not tolerate crimes against the crown.”

If Enzo had succeeded, he would have killed his sister, the queen, too. His nobles would have made their move, offering their support. He could be making his move now. But he won’t. Not with Raffaele held hostage like this. And I realize, suddenly, that this is why Teren, not Giulietta, is addressing the crowd. She knows she has to protect herself.

The king’s death begins to look more and more clear to me.

I look on as Teren tightens his grip on Raffaele. Raffaele winces as the sword digs into the flesh of his neck.

“Kneel,” Teren commands him.

Raffaele does as he’s told. His scarlet robes spill around him in a circle. The energy in my chest lurches painfully.

Teren nods at the crowd. “From this day forth,” he says, “all malfettos are banned from the city. They will be moved to the city’s outskirts and separated from society.”

The crowd’s silence breaks. Gasps. Mumbles. Then, shouts. Violetta and I just look on, our hands joined in fear. What will the Inquisition do to them, once they’re banished to the outskirts?

Teren raises his voice over the chaos. “Anyone who turns in defiant malfettos to the Inquisition will be rewarded with gold. Anyone resisting this order, or found sheltering malfettos, will be executed.”

Can I reach Raffaele? Can any of us? I study the square. It’s impossible to get close enough without drawing attention, and with Teren holding Raffaele’s life by the throat, we can’t afford to slip up. Too many Inquisitors surround the square for me to get anywhere close, especially in my weakened state. We can’t save him here.

Violetta turns her head. A strange, thoughtful expression appears on her face. “There are other Elites out there,” she whispers.

It takes me a moment to remember that her power means she can also do what Raffaele does—she can tell when another Elite is nearby. I glance abruptly at her. “Aside from Teren?”

She nods.

“How many?”

Violetta concentrates for a moment, counting. Finally, she replies, “Four.”

Four. The others are here. Enzo is watching.

Teren scans the crowd as his voice continues to ring out across the square. “Malfettos are a scourge upon our population. They are lower than dogs. Unworthy.” Teren bends down to grab Raffaele by his hair, yanks him back up on his feet, and presses his sword harder against Raffaele’s throat. “People like this are a curse on our country. They are the reason why your lives are miserable. The more malfettos we get rid of, the better off our country will be. The better off you’ll be.” His voice rises. “Do you see this, Reaper?”

He’s trying to lure us out. The crowd shifts, uneasy and on edge. People look up to the roofs and down the alleys. Just as they did at my burning.

Teren narrows his eyes. “I know you’re watching. I’ve heard that this worthless boy is precious to you. So I will make you a deal. Turn yourself in. If you don’t, you will see me gut this boy right here on this balcony.”

Enzo won’t take the bait. We are completely trapped. I look desperately from Raffaele to the roofs where I think Enzo might be lying in wait, watching. There is no way to save him. None. We are going to watch him die.

Just as I think it is all over, a shout rises from someone in the crowd. Then, another. And up on the roofs, a shadowy figure stands up in front of the entire square.

It’s Enzo.

His face is hidden behind his silver mask, but his words ring out clear and sharp. Cold with fury. I look on with my heart in my throat. “Let me make you a deal, Lead Inquisitor,” he calls out. “And let us swear it here, on the gods. I challenge you to a duel. On the morning of the king’s funeral, I shall meet you in open combat in the Estenzia arena. I shall fight you alone.”

The crowd has gone completely still. They hang on his every word. Inquisitors on the roofs hurry toward Enzo, but I know he can disappear in the blink of an eye if any of them get too close. Teren must know it too, because he holds up one hand and signals for them to stop.