The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(79)
My hatred for him rises like bile and I grit my teeth, letting my illusion of fire die out, and we’re left to stand in the charred remains of the temple. Then that, too, disappears, returning our surroundings to normal.
Teren’s eyes glow with an unstable light, and I know that I have reached his tipping point, that any doubt he might have for helping me will be overshadowed by his desire to strike back against the Daggers. “What are you planning, little wolf?” he says. “The Daggers have already wedged their way to the queen’s side. She has already sent for them for tomorrow morning.”
My hands tremble at my sides, but I press them harder against my legs. “Then lead us into the palace, Master Santoro. Tomorrow morning.” I look beside me, where Magiano watches with slitted eyes. “And we will destroy the Daggers for you.”
Maeve Jacqueline Kelly Corrigan
The lookout in the crow’s nest is the first to give the signal. He rushes down from the mast to kneel in front of his queen. “Your Majesty,” he says breathlessly before Maeve. “I saw the signal far out at sea. Your ships. They’re here.”
Maeve gathers her furs around her neck and puts a hand on the hilt of her sword. She walks to the edge of the deck. The ocean looks like an expanse of black nothingness from here. But if her lookout is to be believed, he saw two bright flashes out in the midst of that darkness. Her navy has arrived.
She looks to her side. Aside from her brothers, the Daggers are also up on deck. Lucent bows her head, while Raffaele folds his hands into his sleeves. “Messenger,” Maeve calls to him. “You say Giulietta has asked for your audience tomorrow morning?”
Raffaele nods. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replies.
“And Master Santoro?”
“He should already have left the city, Your Majesty.” Raffaele gives her as level a look as he always has, but underneath it, Maeve senses his distance. He has not forgiven her for what she did to Enzo.
“Good.” The wind whips Maeve’s high braid over her shoulder. Her tiger utters a low growl at her side, and she pats his head absently. “It’s time for us to strike.” She hands Raffaele a tiny vial. At first glance, the vial seems to contain nothing but clear water and a tiny, insignificant pearl. The Daggers draw near for a better look. Maeve gives the bottle a light tap.
The pearl transforms in an instant, shifting from its round shape into a writhing, dozen-legged monster hardly an inch long. Maeve can see its needle-like claws raking against the glass, and the way it swims through the water in a jagged, furious motion. The Daggers back away. Gemma puts a hand over her mouth, while Michel looks sickly pale.
Raffaele meets Maeve’s gaze. His lips tighten into a tense line.
“It can burrow underneath the skin,” Maeve explains. “It does so with such speed and precision that the victim will not even realize it until it is too late.” She hands Raffaele the vial carefully. “Giulietta will be dead within the hour.”
Raffaele stares at the wriggling creature, then places it carefully in a pocket of his robes. “I will find a way tomorrow morning,” he says.
Maeve nods. “If we time this correctly, Giulietta will die as my navy invades her harbor. The throne will be ours before Master Santoro can turn tail fast enough back to the capital, and before the Inquisition can push back.”
“And what of Adelina?” Raffaele says. “What of Enzo?”
Maeve’s attention shifts. She reaches for her belt, pulls out a parchment, and unfurls it. It is a map of Estenzia and its surroundings. She points toward a spot in the forests near the city’s outskirts. Beside her, Augustine toys with the hilt of his sword, while her brother Kester’s eyes glow bright. “We are going to fetch him tonight.”
“Turn it one way,” said the merchant to the girl, “and you will see where you want to go. But if you turn it the other way, you will see where you are needed the most.”
—The Other Side of the Mirror, by Tristan Chirsley
Adelina Amouteru
The rains come tonight.
Lightning forks across the sky, and thunder shakes the windowpanes. I watch Sergio’s downpour from the court’s old entrance. The haunting cries of baliras fill the black sky overhead. The shores near Estenzia are churning furiously, and the chaos must have stirred the enormous creatures into the skies. Violetta tosses in a fitful sleep in the next room, the thunder working its way into her nightmares. Enzo sits out in the hall and sharpens his blade. He doesn’t interact with anyone else here. I know what he’s waiting for—I can almost feel it through our bond. He is looking forward to reuniting with the Daggers. I dwell on it with a sinking heart. Sooner or later, he is going to find out what really happened, and that my story to him is not the whole story at all.
From downstairs come low voices and the shuffle of boots. My mercenaries. They are restless, now that we will storm the palace tomorrow. Earlier, I’d walked among them to count how many of the Night King’s former men had decided to follow me. There are forty of them. A small number, to be sure, but they are deadly, each the equivalent of ten soldiers. Sergio tells me there are more, scattered across the land and waiting for our strike. “They won’t show themselves until you look like a sure bet,” he’d said earlier. “Then they’ll come out of the woodwork to help you finish the job.”