“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.”

Teren can only stare back at me. I cannot describe the expression in his eyes.

The strength of battle finally leaves me. I stand on the deck, letting the rain continue to soak me. All around us, Beldish warships burn low in the stormy waters. Magiano, Sergio, and Violetta look on in silence. Inquisitors stand still, waiting for my next move. The Daggers are defeated, and Teren is my captive.

Enzo inherited a throne. Giulietta relied on her royal blood. Queen Maeve rules Beldain because she was born to it.

But true rulers are not born. We are made.

A cruel queen does not mean an unsuccessful one. Under her guidance, Kenettra changed from a glittering gem into a clouded stone, and her empire became one to rule all others, a darkness that stretched from sun, to sea, to sky.

—The Empire of the Wolf, translation by Tarsa Mehani

Adelina Amouteru

The first time I met an Inquisitor, he dragged me out of the hay in a barn and arrested me for the death of my father. They threw me into their dungeons for three weeks, and then shackled me to an iron stake. They have hunted me for months, chased me between the borders of nations, murdered those I love.

How strange that they now see me and keep their swords sheathed. As I walk down the halls of the palace with Violetta beside me, they step aside and lower their eyes. I keep my head high, but I still stiffen at the sight of so many white cloaks. My mercenaries wander the halls, their blades drawn in loyalty to me. Behind us walk Magiano and Sergio. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Magiano staring out the windows toward the burning harbor, his gaze distant. Sergio stops to talk to one of the mercenaries. I tighten my jaw and remind myself that with them as my allies, I shouldn’t fear the Inquisition as much as I still do.

Their queen is dead. Their Lead Inquisitor is in chains, unconscious. Their palace is overrun, and¸ most of all, they are afraid of what I can do to them. I can sense the fear in their hearts. Word had spread of how Enzo lifted his hands and set fire to the entire Beldish navy. Even now, they whisper of the way I made Teren crumple in agony. The way my Roses hunted down a Dagger riding on the back of her balira, how a lightning strike had killed her.