The Rose Society (The Young Elites #2)(93)

At this level of pain, Dante had already turned delirious. But Teren is still able to look at me. I blink, taken aback for a moment by how much he can withstand—even without his powers.

“Kill her,” he chokes to his Inquisitors. “Now!”

The Inquisition draws swords against me, but I am not afraid of them anymore. They are done being useful to me. Sergio steps forward, taking over the scene. He whips out two daggers at his belt and throws them with punishing speed. Each lodges in the chest of a soldier. Magiano mimics Enzo’s power, sending tall lines of flames surging toward a dozen others. They alight like fresh tinder in a fire. The men scream as their armor heats instantly from the flames, burning them alive. I watch the scene, letting my revenge happen.

“Stop!” I command.

Dead Inquisitors litter the deck. Those who are still alive cower as I approach. Teren stays where he is. Violetta has released his powers already, but he is still recovering from the pain I wrought upon him. I look on as he coughs, pushing weakly against the floor in an attempt to sit up. Then I glance at the surviving Inquisitors.

“You have hunted me and tortured me,” I say to the soldiers. “Now you have seen what I can do. And you have seen the power of my Elites. I have mercenaries at my back, seizing control of the palace. I have power that you cannot hope to defeat. I can be your enemy, and look on as you die.” I raise my arms at them. “Or, I can be your ruler, and bring you glory you could never have imagined.”

Silence. The Inquisitors look warily at me, and for the first time, I see expressions on their faces—reminders that behind their fearsome armor and white cloaks are just men, still capable of being terrified and conquered. I blink, startled by this realization. I have spent my entire life thinking of the Inquisitors as things, soulless creatures. But they are just men. Men can be swayed, and I have the power to do it.

“Why are you fighting me now?” I say. “Because your Lead Inquisitor tells you to? He is no better than an abomination himself.” I smile bitterly at them. “More importantly, he has met his match.”

The Inquisitors shift, hesitant and fearful, exhausted.

“Follow me,” I continue, “and I will lead you to Beldain. We will take their country and have our revenge. We can seize Tamoura, in the Sunlands, and far beyond. We will expand our empire in ways no one could have imagined. Give up this pointless campaign against malfettos. You fear our powers. And I know you want to live. If you follow me, I will shower you with everything you’ve ever desired.” My expression hardens. “It is that, or death. You don’t have much time.” I nod at Magiano, and he twirls a dagger in one hand. “So. What will it be, my Inquisitors?”

They do not move against me. And I know, in this moment, that I have their answer.

I gesture to Teren. “Chain him well,” I command. “He is no longer your Lead Inquisitor. He is not your king.” I lift my head. “I am.”

For a moment, I think they will ignore me. I’m so used to it.

But then, they move. And they—the Inquisition, the white cloaks, the enemies of all malfettos—obey me and move against Teren.

Teren seizes the cloak of the first Inquisitor in his fist, but he is still too weak to stop him. They pull his hands roughly behind his back. “What are you doing?” he spits at them as they tie him down. “You cowards, you believe her—you fools.” He snarls a string of curses at them, but they ignore their former leader. I smile at the sight.

Fear motivates, more than love or ambition or joy. Fear is more powerful than anything else in the world. I have spent so long yearning for things—for love, for acceptance—that I do not really need. I need nothing except the submission that comes with fear. I do not know why it took me so long to learn this.

Inquisitors drag Teren to his feet. Even now, in his pain and exhaustion and heavy chains, he pulls and strains against them, causing the multiple iron shackles binding his limbs to pull taut. To my surprise, he smiles at me. It is a bitter, anguished smile, full of heartbreak. His cheeks are wet with tears and rain. His eyes still shine with madness, and now I realize that the madness is because of Giulietta’s death.

“Why don’t you kill me, my little wolf?” he says. His voice is strangely calm now, hoarse with a sorrow I have not heard before.

“Yes, I suppose I could.”

“Then do it,” he snaps. “And end this.”

I just watch him. Why don’t I? My eye wanders back to where Raffaele had been beside Enzo only moments earlier. He is already gone. So are the other Daggers. I search the sky for them, but I no longer see them anywhere. They are retreating with what is left of the Beldish navy.

I walk over to Teren, then bend down so that my gaze meets his. I watch the rain pour down his face. When was the first time I saw this face? When I was chained to the stake, of course, and he had come over to bend down before me. How poised he had been, then, with his handsome, chiseled face and his mad, pulsing eyes. I smile, realizing that we have switched places now.

I bend close to his ear, in the same way he had once done to me. “No,” I say. “I will keep you, until the day I choose not to. You have destroyed and harmed all that is dear to me. In return, I want you to know what that feels like. I will not kill you. I will keep you alive. I will torture you.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Until your soul is dead.”