Violetta just lifts her chin and gives me a teasing look. It is the same look she used to give our father whenever she wanted something. “You are powerful, mi Adelinetta,” she says, “but you have all the charisma of a burnt potato pudding.”

“I like burnt potato pudding. It’s smoky.”

Violetta rolls her eyes. “My point is that it doesn’t matter what you like, it matters what others like. All you have to do is listen and look for what makes the other person happy, and feed it.”

I sigh. Violetta may not be able to lie about important things, but she does know how to charm. My gaze lingers on the dancers at the gate, and with a sinking feeling, I imagine us down there with them. Too many memories of the Fortunata Court. I only work with the worthy, Magiano had said. If we can’t survive tonight, then we aren’t worthy.

Maybe the loyalty of Magiano isn’t worth all this. Surely there are plenty of other Elites, lesser ones, who might join us without us risking our lives with the Night King. Magiano may be the most notorious of them all, but he is making us enter a snake pit in order to win him over.

Then I remember Teren’s pale, mad eyes. I think back on the massacre in the arena, Enzo’s death, and Teren’s taunts. With his versatile power, Magiano may be the only one capable of fighting Teren. If I’m going to return to Kenettra, I can’t afford to go with a ragtag bunch of Elites. I need to have the best. This goes far beyond Magiano. This is about us taking the Night King’s strength, of gathering our own power.

You have to be brave, the whispers say.

I start to weave a small illusion across the scarred side of my face. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll follow you.”

There are six guards at the entrance when we arrive. I can tell immediately that most of them are seasoned soldiers, too experienced to be tempted by the pretty faces of dancers. I take a deep breath and adjust the silk wrap around my hair. Violetta does the same. By the time we approach the gate, the guards are inspecting each of the dancers. They kick several out of the group. One of them tugs on a girl’s hair. She yelps.

“No malfettos,” he says to them, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Night King’s orders.”

His eyes fall on Violetta. My sister doesn’t beg like the others; instead, she meets the soldier’s gaze shyly, her expression full of innocence, and approaches him reluctantly.

The soldier pauses to take her in. “Ah, a new girl,” he says, his gaze flicking to me before returning to my sister. “This one looks nice.” He glances at his companion, as if looking for a vote of approval. “Too much golden hair surrounding the Night King tonight. What about this one?”

The other soldier studies Violetta in admiration. My sister swallows hard, but gives them a small, demure smile. I’ve seen her win over many a suitor with that expression.

Finally, the first soldier nods. “In with you.” He waves Violetta over.

“This is my sister,” Violetta says, motioning to me. “We go together, please.”

The soldier shifts his attention to me. I can see the spark of desire in his eyes as he recognizes my beauty, a sharper, more sinister version of Violetta. I step forward, then keep my voice firm and my shoulders straight. “You cannot take my sister in and leave me out here,” I say. I remember the way Raffaele used to tilt his head, and I do that now, offering my own smile at them. My smile is different from Violetta’s—darker, less naïve, promising other things. “We entertain the best when together,” I add, looping my arm through Violetta’s. “The Night King will not be disappointed.”

The other soldiers laugh, while the first one watches me thoughtfully. “An interesting pair, you two,” he mutters. “Very well. I’ve no doubt the Night King will have his fun.”

I let out a quiet breath and we join the dancers who have been accepted. As the guards open the gate and let us walk past, I notice the soldier’s eyes staying on us, his envy for the Night King obvious on his face. I lower my head and try to hide my thoughts.

Inside, the garden is lit with lanterns. Fireflies dance in the darkness, mingling with the low hum of laughter and movement. As we approach the center, the soldiers following us begin to fall back. Finally, the first soldier stops and turns to us.

“You know the rules,” he says. Then he remembers us, the newcomers, and adds, “You go where you’re invited, nowhere else. Stay in the courtyard grounds. Touch no wine or food unless offered to you by a guest. I’ll not hesitate to escort out anyone who causes a scene.” Then he gestures his permission for us to wander the garden.

“How do you think Magiano will get in?” Violetta whispers as we walk.

“I’m sure he’s already here,” I whisper back. Several guests walk by us, their eyes lingering on our faces. Violetta smiles sweetly at them, and their expressions relax. I watch her carefully, trying to follow her example.

It works well. We draw the right amount of attention for a pair of hired dancers. Men brush a little too closely to us, so that the silk of their sleeves touches our bare arms. We even attract the attention of the Night King’s other scattered soldiers—one of them pauses long enough to rub my shoulder. I stiffen at his touch.

“They’ve let in some exquisite dancers tonight,” he murmurs, nodding a greeting at both Violetta and me. Violetta blushes prettily at him, and he beams before continuing on his patrol of the grounds. I’m too surprised to do the same. The last time a soldier touched me, he cut a scar across my chest with his sword.