The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(42)
Magiano gives me a pointed look. “Stay quiet,” he whispers. He glances at Violetta. “Keep a lid on your sister’s power. It’d be in all of our best interests for it not to careen out of control like it did in Merroutas.”
“She’s going to be fine,” Violetta answers, a note of irritation in her voice. “She knows how to control herself.”
He looks unconvinced, but still gives her a nod. Then he’s gone, closing the door behind him and leaving us in darkness.
I can feel Violetta’s faint trembling. She doesn’t do as Magiano suggested—take away my power—but she doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with me, either. “You’re feeling okay, right?” she whispers to me.
“Yes,” I reply.
We wait without saying another word. For a while, the only thing we can hear is the familiar sound of waves outside the ship. Then, we hear new voices. Footsteps.
“Don’t lose control again,” Violetta whispers. After such a long silence, her words sound deafening. She doesn’t even look at me. Instead, her eyes stay fixed on the grating above us.
I turn up to stare at it too. I keep waiting for that strange, hazy pressure to hit me again, like it did in Merroutas—but this time, my strength holds steady, and I keep a firm grip on my powers. “I won’t,” I whisper back.
The voices are very faint. Through two layers of wooden floors, all I can make out are muffled human sounds and the subtle vibrations of boots on the deck. I sense a general unease in the energy of the ship’s crew. Violetta’s head turns as the voices travel from one end of the deck to the other.
“They’re going to come belowdecks,” she whispers after a while. And sure enough, no sooner have the words left her mouth than we hear the stomp of boots on the ladder leading downward. The voices abruptly become louder.
Now I can hear the soldiers speaking to one another. My fear rises as they draw steadily closer overhead.
In the mix, Magiano’s animated voice suddenly appears. “And, why, the last time I was in Campagnia, I fell in love with your wines. Do you know I’ve never been drunker? I—”
An Inquisitor cuts him off with an exasperated sigh. “When did you leave Merroutas?”
“A week ago.”
“A lie, boy. No ship takes a week to reach our shores from Merroutas.”
Sergio’s more reasonable voice now sounds out. “We docked in Dumor first, to drop off some cargo,” he says.
“I see no Dumorian stamps on your ship. You left Merroutas recently, I wager. Well, some new laws have come into effect here in Campagnia. The Inquisition deems all arriving ships subject to search. Malfettos from other countries are no longer allowed in this city, you see.” He pauses for a moment, as if to peer closer at Magiano. His eyes must not be slitted, because the soldier steps back again. “So if anyone in your crew is a malfetto, I recommend you tell us now.”
“We have none that I can think of, sir.”
“And you wouldn’t happen to have any stowaways?”
“You’re welcome to search,” Magiano pipes up. “Malfettos—a pile of trouble, aren’t they? I still count us lucky that we’d already left Merroutas by the time the incidents down at their pier happened. You heard about that by now, haven’t you?”
I glance at Violetta in the darkness. She stares back. Her mouth puckers into a word. Ready?
Slowly, I weave a web of invisibility across us, changing us into the slants of light on an empty closet floor, the dark grooves of an empty closet’s walls. The voices and footsteps draw steadily closer, until they sound like they’re right on top of us. I peer at the grating through the darkness.
The bottom of a boot suddenly appears over it, then another. They’re directly overhead now. I hold my breath.
“Anyone else on board this ship?” the Inquisitor asks. He’s turned toward who I assume must be Sergio. “Is the entire crew here?”
“All accounted for, sir,” Sergio replies. “Supplies are on the lowest deck.”
More muttering between the soldiers. I stiffen as footsteps now sound out from our deck. Moments later, the door to the dark supply room opens, and someone approaches our closet. I tighten our invisibility illusion. The door flies open.
An Inquisitor squints straight at us. Through us. He looks bored. One of his hands taps restlessly against the hilt of his sword. Violetta’s hand shakes harder, but she doesn’t make a sound.
He peers through us and around the closet for a moment before leaving the door ajar and wandering around to search the rest of the room. His cloak billows past us. I continue to hold my breath. If he tries to step inside this closet after the rest of his search, and he bumps into our bodies, I will have to kill him.
Above us, Magiano’s voice pipes up again. “You’re searching the wrong ship,” he says. His tone has changed from lighthearted innocence to something ominous. “How do I know this?” He digs around in his pocket for a moment before pulling something out and holding it up to the light. Even from down here, I can see the object glinting. It is the pin he stole from the Night King. “Do you see the crest engraved on the side of this beauty? This is the Night King’s very own emblem. We are a crew of his protected fleet from Merroutas, and none are more aggrieved than us by news of his death. But even in death, he is a wealthier and more powerful man than any of you could ever hope to be. If you dare kill one of our crew, just in the futile hopes of finding a fugitive that’s probably making his way as far from Kenettra as possible, I can guarantee you that you will be answering to your Lead Inquisitor and your queen.”