That evening, when Teren’s father struck him for being late to his Inquisition training, Prince Enzo stood between Teren and the towering Lead Inquisitor.

Let me discipline my son, Your Highness, his father said. A soldier cannot be taught laziness.

He followed my orders, sir, Enzo replied, lifting his chin. It was my fault, not his.

Teren’s father spared him that night.

The memory fades away. Teren continues to kneel for a long time, until the metal of his armor cuts his knees, making him bleed even as the wounds heal immediately. He looks up at the statues of the gods, trying to understand the mess of emotions crowding his mind.

Was it right for me, he asks silently, to kill your crown prince?

A boy and girl—the priests’ apprentices—come into view in their temple robes, placing fresh flowers at the statues’ feet. Teren watches them with a smile. When the little girl notices his Lead Inquisitor uniform, she blushes and curtsies. “I’m sorry for interrupting your prayer, sir,” she says.

Teren waves off her apology. “Come here,” he beckons, and she does. He takes one of the flowers from her basket, admires it, and tucks it behind her ear. She’s a perfect child—flawless, free of markings, with a head of red-gold hair and wide, innocent eyes. “You serve the gods well,” he says.

The girl beams at him. “Thank you, sir.” Teren places a gentle hand on her head and dismisses her. He watches her scamper away to join the boy.

This is the world he is fighting to protect, from monsters like himself. He looks up at the statues again, certain that the little girl and boy are the gods’ way of telling him what he needs to do. It was right of me. I have to be right. He just has to convince Giulietta that he’s doing this for the sake of her throne. Because he loves her.

Finally, Teren rises. He straightens his cloak and his armor, and heads toward the temple entrance. He throws open the doors. Sunlight washes over him, bathing his white robes and armor in gold. Before him is a sea of tents and dilapidated shelters. He looks on with disinterest as two Inquisitors drag a dead, whipped malfetto through the dirt, then toss the body onto a burning pile of wood.

Several of his captains are already waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. They straighten at the sight of him.

“Halve the rations for the malfettos,” Teren says, adjusting his gloves. His irises shine clear in the light. “I want this cleansing sped up. Do not inform the queen.”

This Documente of Assurance, executed 11 Toberie of 1315, witnesses that Sir Marzio of Dalia may enter into monitored trade with His Eminence the Night King of Merroutas, with knowledge that failure to provide His Eminence with eighty percent of acquired monies will result in arrest and execution.

—Document of Assurance between Sir Marzio of Dalia and the Night King of Merroutas

Adelina Amouteru

Like everything else about Magiano, his little challenge to me is probably a trick.

“He said he’d make his move tomorrow morning,” Violetta says to me that evening, as we sit together on the floor of a small tavern room on the edge of Merroutas. We are practicing our powers, just as we do every night.

“He’ll make his move sooner than that.” I weave a tiny ribbon of darkness on the ground and let it dance in a pattern. “Tricksters don’t tell the truth.”

“Then what should we do? We don’t have much time if we want to beat him.”

I shake my head, concentrating on weaving the ribbon into a miniature, dancing faerie. I mold as much detail as I can into its face. “Remember,” I say, “our goal isn’t to steal the diamond pin before Magiano can. Our goal is to convince him that we are worth following.”

Violetta watches as I shift my illusion of the dancing faerie, hunching its back, replacing its beautiful hair with hideous spikes. I grow it into a hulking monster. “You’re thinking about what he said, aren’t you?” she asks after a moment. “How the Night King has ten thousand mercenaries and an army at his back. You’d love to have that kind of support at your disposal.”

“How did you know?”

Violetta gives me a timid smile before putting her chin in her hands and admiring my illusion. “I’ve known you my whole life, mi Adelinetta. And I think Magiano told you about those mercenaries for a reason.”

“And what reason is that?”

“Perhaps he wants you to win them over to your side.”

We fall into a comfortable silence as I play with the illusion. The monster gradually changes into a sleek, golden doe, Violetta’s favorite animal. My sister’s smile expands at the sight, encouraging me to make it even prettier for her. “Magiano is arrogant,” I say. “If we really want to win him over, we can’t just steal a diamond pin.” I look at her again. “We need to surprise him with what we can do.”

Violetta looks away from the doe illusion and arches an eyebrow at me. “How do we plan on doing that? You heard Magiano. And you saw the soldiers during the Midsummer Festival too. They are all intimidated by the Night King. He rules with fear.”

At that, the doe’s golden hide turns black, and the creature’s eyes glow scarlet. Violetta instinctively shrinks away from it.

“So do I,” I say.

Violetta realizes what I want to do. She laughs a little, both uneasy and admiring, then shakes her head. “You were always good at playing games,” she replies. “I could never beat you.”

I’m not that good, I think, even as her words warm me to her. I tried to play Teren’s game against him, and I lost everything.