Teren doesn’t seem to notice my presence. As I draw closer, I can tell that he’s muttering something under his breath. Louder than muttering, actually. He is talking in earnest, his voice angry and rushed. My tether to Enzo hums. I can still feel him nearby. The others must be too. Magiano must be somewhere in the shadows. But if Teren were to move against me right now, would Magiano save me in time? I’m close enough to see the silver lines engraved on his armor. He’s not wearing his Lead Inquisitor cloak.

The last time I saw him, Enzo lay dead at my feet. You don’t belong with them, Teren had said. You belong with me. Perhaps he’s right.

I’m close enough now to hear what he’s saying.

“This is not my mission,” Teren insists. He shakes his head and looks up at the statue. His thin blond tail trails down his upper back, the gold bands on it shining in the light. “You put me in this world for a purpose—I know that purpose, have always known it. But the queen—” Teren pauses. “The Daggers have poisoned her against me. Raffaele—he’s working his demonic magic on her.”

An image appears in my mind of Raffaele seducing the queen. Even Giulietta is no match for his charms.

“I can’t leave her like this,” Teren snaps. His voice echoes through the temple, and I freeze. “She is my superior in every way. I have pledged my entire life to obeying her. But now she wants to send me away, Lord Sapientus. How can I leave her with them?”

He sounds confused now, like he is arguing with himself. His voice changes from grief to confusion, then back to anger. “She’s listening to him. She used to listen to me. She used to hate the malfettos—but now he’s talking her out of our goal. Would she really give up our entire mission of cleansing this country, just to have those abominations fight for her? They are liars and whores, thieves and murderers. They are tricking her, and she is allowing it. Do you know what she said to me when I tried to defend her?” Anger again. “She said I am an abomination, like them.” His voice takes on a frightening tone now, somewhere between the borders of fury and madness. “I am not like them. I know my place.”

Suddenly he stiffens. I hold my breath. The temple is so silent now that I can hear the rustle of my sleeves brushing against the sides of my robes. For an instant, I think he might not have heard me.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Teren whirls from his crouched position, draws his sword, and points it straight at me. His eyes are chilling, his black pupils floating within them like drops of ink on glass. His cheeks are wet, to my surprise.

His eyes widen a little at the sight of me, then narrow again. “You,” he murmurs. Gradually, his grief fades away, hidden behind a shield, until all I can see is the cold, calculating smile I remember, his eyes still dancing with the light of madness. “Adelina,” he says, his voice turning silky smooth. “What’s this?” He takes a step toward me, his sword still pointed at my neck. “Has the White Wolf finally decided to stop hiding? Did the Daggers send you?”

“I am not a Dagger,” I reply. My own voice sounds even colder than I remember. I take a step toward him, forcing my head to stay high. “And it sounds to me like you can’t seem to remove their thorn from your side.”

Teren’s smile deepens so that I can see his canine teeth. It is a furious smile. He pauses, then lunges at me with his sword.

“Violetta!” I shout.

Teren stops mid-attack. He lets out a terrible gasp, then stumbles backward and clutches his chest. It takes him an instant to catch his breath. He lets out a weak laugh, then points his sword at me again. In the shadows, I see a glimpse of Violetta moving. “I knew your sister must be here somewhere,” he says. “She seems to have grown bolder since last we met. Fine, let’s play. I could slit your throat even without my strength.”

He lunges at me again. Old lessons from Enzo flash through my mind—I sidestep, then lash out at him with an illusion of pain. The threads wrap tightly around his arm. I pull, and he shrieks as he thinks his arm is being ripped clean of his body. But almost immediately, he recovers and slashes his sword at me.

“Stop,” I call out. “I’ve come to talk with you.”

“All an illusion with you,” he shouts through gritted teeth. I can feel him pushing back against my power. If he doesn’t believe me, I can’t hurt him.

I concentrate, throwing all my strength into my pain illusion. This time, the threads slice deep into his belly—when I pull, I conjure the illusion that I am ripping apart his organs, that I am cutting him from the inside out. Teren screams. Still, he comes at me. His sword catches my skin this time. It slashes a scarlet mark on my upper arm.

Something flickers in the darkness—and an instant later, Magiano appears before me, drawn out by the sight of my blood. His pupils become slits as he looks at Teren. “Keep your filthy blades off her,” he snaps. “It’s rude.”

Teren’s eyes widen again, surprised by Magiano’s sudden appearance—but then he strikes at Magiano with his blade, cutting deep across his chest. Instinctively, I reach out to protect him.

Magiano stumbles backward. Before our eyes, the bloody cut on his chest heals almost immediately, stitched together by invisible threads. He laughs at Teren. “I believe she told you to stop, so that we can all talk,” he says, crossing his arms. “Don’t you like talking? You seemed to be doing a great deal of it a moment ago.”

Teren can only stare at Magiano’s healed chest in disbelief.