The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(25)
I sustain the hazy, wine-like illusion around the Night King as we pass through the grounds and enter one of the open porticos lining the courtyard. Here, the shadows of the archways cover us, and we are swallowed by darkness. The soldiers following the Night King keep a short distance between us, giving him privacy while still keeping us in sight.
The Night King pulls me close, then pushes me against one of the portico’s pillars. At the same time, I reach within for my energy, find it, and pull the strings close. I start to weave.
One by one, the lights along the portico flicker out. The soldiers startle, bewildered. They glance at the extinguished lanterns. Then one of them looks at us and lets out a shout as I pull a blanket of invisibility over myself and Violetta. We step away from the Night King, slipping out of his grasp.
The Night King opens his eyes to find us gone and stumbles backward.
I silently thank the night for hiding the imperfections of my invisibility. I keep weaving.
“Guards!” the Night King shouts, waving his men over. They hurry to his side. To my surprise, several figures also materialize out of the shadows in the portico. These men are dressed differently from the regular guards—they look like ordinary noblemen, except each of them has a dagger in hand. His mercenaries, I think.
“Where did they go?” one of them breathes, looking around and straight through us. Violetta and I stand perfectly still, pressed as tightly as we can against the pillars.
“How can you not have seen them?” the Night King snaps, trying to recover from his own embarrassment. “Find them.”
I smile, amused by the fumbling soldiers. I grit my teeth and reach for the Night King.
Suddenly he gasps. He looks down. Then he lets out a scream, falls, and scrambles backward until he is pinned against the wall. A mass of red, disgusting sores have broken out across his legs, burning through his clothing as if a bucket of poison had just been poured on him. He screams again and again. Around him, his soldiers and mercenaries look on in horror. A wave of dark energy hovers over the crowd, and I drink it in hungrily, letting their fear fill my insides and strengthen me. The whispers in my head burst into a cacophony I can’t understand.
The Night King’s screams echo down the hall. Other spectators are now swarming over him. I catch glimpses of their shocked faces—their disbelief at seeing the all-powerful ruler of Merroutas crouched against a wall, paralyzed with terror. Good. Let them see.
Then, I stumble. One of the soldiers has accidentally staggered backward, right into me, and shoves me out of my place. The sudden jolt distracts me from my invisibility illusion—and suddenly, for a moment, Violetta and I are exposed. A dozen pairs of eyes are upon us.
On the ground, the Night King sees us—his lips curl into a snarl. “You,” he spits, looking at me and then at my sister.
I lift my chin and release the illusion from him. My heart pounds furiously in my chest.
“A demon. Damn malfettos,” he hisses. “Thieves, whores—” His voice has turned threatening and ugly. His eyes settle on Violetta, and within them, I see murder. My sister takes a step back and his focus shifts to me. “I’ll cut you to pieces and burn you in the central square.”
I look around at the others, letting my stare settle on the mercenaries. When we first came here tonight, I thought I would terrify the Night King in front of his men and mercenaries, so that they would realize how powerful I am—and come to serve me. I did not consider killing anyone.
But now, I stare at the Night King, hear his threats against my sister and me, and feel the full force of hatred in my heart. If my goal is to win over his ruthless mercenaries—to truly be a threat to Queen Giulietta and the Inquisition—then maybe I should do more than just terrify him.
“Seize her!” one of the guards shouts.
I glare at them. I am not sure what they see, but something in my gaze makes them hesitate. Their swords stay drawn, hanging in the air, unmoving. “How can you seize me,” I say calmly, “if you cannot see me?”
One finally lunges for me. I vanish. The whispers in my head burst into chaos. Violetta shrieks for me to keep going, but a blur of thoughts is rushing through me with the speed of a howling wind. I grit my teeth and gather my energy. I reach out, seeking the darkness in those around us, the Night King’s anger, the soldiers’ fear, letting it strengthen me. I snap an illusion around the closest soldier like a whip.
He screams, faltering in his steps. To him, he is suddenly poised over a yawning cliff.
I reach for the Night King and wrap him in an illusion.
“What are you doing?” Violetta shouts. “This isn’t part of—”
The Night King draws his sword, points it at Violetta, and lunges. The blade sings through the air, aiming straight for my sister’s throat.
Too late, he realizes that his blade is an illusion. I vanish it in a puff of smoke. At the same time, I grab the real sword strapped to his waist. My limbs move of their own accord—I blink in and out of existence. The whispers in my mind burst from their cages, roaring, filling me with their hisses. I hold the sword straight out at him, right as he lunges into me.
His weight shoves me back. I feel the blade pierce through soft flesh. He lets out a gurgling scream as his own sword runs him through.
The man’s eyes bulge, and he lets out a strangled cry, like how the roasting pig must have sounded in its final moment. Blood spills down the front of his fine silks. I immediately let go of the sword, and he staggers backward several steps, both hands clutched tightly around the sword’s hilt in a vain attempt to pull it out. He looks back at me in confusion, as if he can’t believe he’s meeting his end at the hands of a young girl. He tries to say something, but he is too weak. He falls forward, going still as his side hits the ground, and blood spills around him in a widening circle.