The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(13)

Raffaele shakes his head. He should be overjoyed at the thought of seeing the prince again. But he senses the stain of the Underworld hovering over Tristan’s energy.

“You doubt that it works,” Maeve says after a moment. “Those I bring back must always be tied to someone from the living world. They need living threads to hold them away from the Underworld’s constant pull. Tristan is tied to me, giving me a certain level of control—protection—over him. Enzo will need to be tethered to someone too.”

Tethered to me. Raffaele’s eyes narrow as he looks at her. That is what she means to do. “I cannot be a part of this,” he finally says. His voice is firm, even in its hoarseness. “This violates the order of the gods.”

Maeve’s voice hardens now. “I am a child of the gods,” she snaps. “I was gifted with this power. The gods bless it—it violates no order.”

Raffaele bows his head. His hands are shaking. “I cannot agree to this, Your Majesty,” he says again. “Enzo’s soul has gone to rest in the Underworld. Pulling him back, away from the side of Holy Moritas, and into the real world again … he does not belong here anymore. Let him rest.”

“I am not asking your permission, consort,” Maeve replies firmly. When Raffaele looks up at her again, she lifts her chin. “Remember, Raffaele, that Enzo was the Crown Prince of Kenettra. A malfetto, an Elite, your former leader. He did not deserve to die. He deserves to return, to see his country’s malfettos safe. I will rule Kenettra, but I will reinstate him in my absence.” Her eyes are hard as stone. “Is this not what you and your Daggers have long fought for?”

Raffaele is silent. He is seventeen again, standing before a sea of nobility at the Fortunata Court, sensing Enzo’s energy in the crowd for the first time. He is in the underground training cavern of the Daggers’ former home, watching the prince duel with others. Raffaele looks at Michel, then Gemma, then Lucent. They look back, grave and silent. This should be what they all want.

But Enzo died. They grieved, and made their peace with it. And now …

“I will bring him back,” Maeve continues, “and I will tether him to anyone I please.” Then, her voice turns gentler. “But I’d rather tie him to those who care the most for him. The bond with the living is strongest that way.”

Still, Raffaele doesn’t reply. He closes his eyes, willing himself to silence his mind. To force away the churning sensation of wrongness in this idea. Finally, he opens his eyes and meets the queen’s gaze. “Will he be the same?”

“We won’t know,” Maeve says slowly, “until I try.”





SCENE VII

(Exeunt all but Boy.) BOY. Are you an ogre?

(Enter Ogre.)

OGRE. Are you a knight?

BOY. I am not a knight! Nor am I a king, scout, or priest.

Therefore, you can be sure I am not here to steal the jewel.

—Original translation of The Temptation of the Jewel, by Tristan Chirsley





Adelina Amouteru


The Little Baths of Bethesda turn out to be a set of ruins at the edge of Merroutas.

Early the next morning, as the sun crests the horizon and fishing boats set out into the bay, Violetta and I make our way down the dirt path leading out of the city-state’s main gates and to a smaller cluster of abandoned domed houses, all situated beneath the stone arches of a former aqueduct.

It looks like a place that once bustled with activity. But the bathhouse itself—or what’s left of it—was built on soft ground, which must have sealed its fate. As people abandoned the bathhouse, so must they have abandoned the small settlement of homes around it. Or perhaps the aqueduct delivering its water crumbled first. The once-glorious pillars at its entrance have now collapsed, and the stone foundation has sunk into the marshy soil. Vines crawl up the stone, their flowers vibrant green and yellow. I feel a strong attraction to this place’s ruined beauty.

“He’s here,” Violetta whispers beside me, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Good.” I adjust my mask across my own ruined face and approach the entrance.

The bathhouse is cool and dark inside, its arched stone ceiling covered with mosses and ivy. Narrow shafts of light cut through the ceiling’s openings, illuminating the pools of water below. We step carefully through the halls of ancient marble colonnades. The air smells wet and musky, the scent of something green and alive. The sound of dripping water echoes all around us.

Finally I stop where the bath pool begins. “Where is he?” I whisper.

Violetta lifts her eyes to the ceiling. She spins in a half circle, then focuses on a dark corner. “There.”

I strain to see into the shadows. “Magiano,” I call out. My voice startles me—it bounces off the walls, over and over, until it finally fades away. I clear my throat, a little embarrassed, and continue in a quieter tone. “We were told we could find you here.”

There is a long silence, so long that I start to wonder whether Violetta might be mistaken.

Then, someone laughs. As the sound echoes from surface to surface, a flurry of leaves rain down from the bathhouse’s mossy banisters. A trail of dark braids flashes in and out of the light. I instinctively extend one of my arms in front of Violetta, as if that might protect her.

“Adelina,” a voice calls playfully. “How nice to see you.”