The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(40)

Enzo pauses. He coughs once. I turn my head enough to see the angles of his face in the darkness. “Are you all right?” I ask with a smile. My arms reach up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

Enzo stiffens, then coughs again. His brows twist into a knotted line, and he frowns. He pushes away from me and sits in a hunched position on the bed. His coughs come again and again, until he can’t seem to stop. Spots of blood stain the sheets.

“Enzo!” I cry out. I scramble to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. He waves me away and shakes his head, but he’s coughing so hard that he cannot speak. There’s blood on his lips, glistening in the night. His face contorts in pain. One of his hands comes up to grip his chest, and when I look, I notice with horror that a deep, scarlet wound is growing in the center, right over his heart.

He needs help. I leap out of bed, run to the door, and throw it open with all my strength. All of my limbs feel like they’re dragging through the darkness, struggling through some invisible current. Behind me, Enzo’s breathing turns desperate. I stare wildly down the hall.

“Help!” I scream. Why are all the lanterns dimmed now? I can barely see through the shadows of the corridor. My feet pound silently against the floor. I can feel the coldness of the marble. “Help!” I cry again. “The prince—he’s hurt!”

The hall goes on and on. Raffaele will know what to do. Why can’t I find the way back to the underground cavern? I keep running until I remember that Raffaele isn’t at the cavern with the others. He doesn’t come back on this night, because he has been captured by the Inquisition.

The hall is endless. As I run, the paintings lining the court’s ornate walls begin to peel away, burnt and ashen, the corners ruined by fire. There are no doors or windows. Somewhere in the distance comes the sound of pouring rain.

I pause to catch my breath. My limbs burn. When I look behind me, I can no longer see my own chambers. The same hall stretches in both directions. I continue forward, walking now, my heart pounding against my ribs. New paintings begin to appear on the walls. Perhaps they’ve been there the entire time, and I’ve just noticed them. None of them make any sense. One of the paintings shows a girl with large, dark eyes and a rosy mouth—she sits in the middle of a garden and holds a dead butterfly in her hands. A second painting is of a boy dressed in white Inquisition armor, his mouth stretching from one ear to the other, his teeth scarlet red. He crouches inside a wooden box. A third painting runs from the ceiling to the floor. It is a girl’s face, and half of it is gruesomely scarred. She does not smile. Her brows are knotted in anger, and her eyes are closed, as if they might open at any moment.

Fear begins to gnaw at my stomach. There are whispers here, the familiar whispers that plague me. I start to run again. The hall grows narrower, closing in on me from all sides. Up ahead, it finally reaches an end. I pick up my pace. Help! I call out again, but it sounds strange and distant, like an underwater cry.

My steps now make a splashing sound. I stumble to a halt. Water is pouring down the hall, black and cold. I start to back away, but the current sweeps me off my feet, and the water swallows me whole. I cannot think, I cannot hear, I cannot see anything except for the swirling darkness all around. The cold numbs me. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I look for the light of the surface, but the same darkness yawns all around me.

The Underworld.

Black shapes swim through the depths. Through the darkness, I finally see a set of stairs that I instinctively know leads back to the hallway. Back to the living world. I try to swim toward the stairs, but they never seem to get any closer.

Adelina.

When I look over my shoulder, a shape materializes out of the blackness. It is a monstrous form, with long, bony fingers and milky, sightless eyes. Her mouth is open in a snarl. The fear in my heart turns to terror.

Caldora. The angel of Fury.

I struggle toward the stairs, but it is no use. Hissing fills my ears. When I look behind me again, Caldora’s hands reach for me, fingers curled into claws.



I jolt awake at the ominous blare of a horn from above deck. Sunlight streams in from our porthole. The storm has passed, although the waters are still choppy. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to still my pounding heart. The whispers are stirring, but their voices are muted, and after a few seconds, they fade away entirely. My fingers shake as they run along the fabric of my pillow. This feels real. I hope it is. A part of me yearns to go back to the Fortunata Court, to throw my arms around Enzo and will him back to life—but another part of me is afraid to blink, lest I return to the Underworld’s waters. Even glancing out the window sends a ripple of fear through me—the water is a dark, opaque blue, eager to swallow a ship.

I look to Violetta’s bed. She’s not there.

“Violetta?” I jump to my feet and hurry to the door. I make my way through the dark, cramped passageway of the ship’s belly. My sister. She’s gone. My nightmare comes back to me—the scorched, endless hall—and suddenly I’m terrified I’m still lost inside it. But then I reach the ladder leading to the deck, and I climb it gratefully.

When I peek over the top of the ladder, I see Violetta at the bow of the ship, leaning over the rails and talking in a low voice to Sergio. My limbs turn weak with exhaustion. I take a deep breath, calm myself, and pull myself up onto the deck. Several other crewmembers give me long looks as I pass by. I wonder which of them are also mercenaries, and whether Sergio has told any of them about our conversation from yesterday.