The Rose Society

I look back at Magiano. He rides with his head held high, his eyes constantly scanning the throngs. His lute sits in his lap, like he might decide to play it. He nods up at the Night King’s banners on the balconies, then leans toward me from his saddle. “I don’t know about those colors,” he murmurs. “Don’t you agree?”

“What do you mean?” I murmur back.

“Make your mark, Adelina,” he urges quietly.

It takes me a moment to understand him. I look back at the banners. The Night King’s blood still lines the inside of my nails in tiny flakes. In my mind, I see those same banners draped across the walls of his estate. If the Night King’s mercenaries have any doubts about who killed their leader, let me reinforce my presence to the entire city. I gather my energy and start to weave.

People in the crowd startle. Their faces turn up to the balconies, and they lift their hands in the air to point. Above them, the tops of the blue-and-silver banners start to turn white, as if new flags were unfurling over them. The illusion tumbles down over each flag, one after the other, until it stretches all the way down the street, covering the Night King’s emblems of the moon and crown, replacing them with solid white banners. I let the illusion of the fabric shimmer in the light, so that as the banners ripple in the wind, they change color from white to silver and back. The energy within me pulses, and the whispers in my mind coo with glee.

“Oh, Adelina,” Violetta says behind me. Even she sounds awed by the sight. “They’re beautiful.” And I smile to myself, wondering whether she remembers when we used to attend festivities as children, and how we’d admire the king’s banners on the buildings. They are my banners now.

Magiano doesn’t say anything. A small grin plays at the corners of his mouth. He watches the reaction of the crowd—the startled murmurs, the whisper of a name across their lips.

The White Wolf. It’s the White Wolf.

Finally, we are forced to a halt. Before us, there is a blockade of soldiers barring the width of the street, forcing people to turn around and take a new route. One of them sees me and nods apologetically. “I’m sorry, mistress,” he says, making a circular motion with one hand. “You’ll have to go back. You can’t pass through here.”

“What’s going on?” Magiano calls out to him, gesturing at the white banners.

The soldier shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say,” he replies. “Please turn around.” He raises his voice to the rest of the crowd. “Turn around!”

Magiano makes a show of grumbling under his breath, but he puts a hand on Violetta’s shoulder and steers us around. “There is always another door,” he says, quoting The Thief Who Stole the Stars with a smile.

We make our way down the street until we reach a tiny, winding canal. Here, Magiano hands several coins to a boatman, and we hurry quietly on board his cargo boat. We float down the canal, listening to the bustle above, shrouded in shadows.

The strange feeling from earlier in the morning returns. I frown, shaking my head. The world shifts, and the whispers in my mind leap forward, sensing a sudden chance at freedom.

Violetta turns to me. “Are you all right?” she whispers.

“I’m fine,” I reply.

But I’m not. This time, when I close my eye and open it again, the feeling doesn’t go away. The world takes on a strange yellow tint, and the sounds around me turn quiet, as if none of it were quite real. Am I creating an illusion? I glance at Magiano, suddenly suspicious. Is he mimicking my power?

That’s it, the whispers hiss, eager to accuse. All of this is a ruse. What if he’s betraying you, mimicking your illusions so that he can hand you over to the Night King’s men? To the Inquisition? This was all a trick all along.

But Magiano doesn’t seem to be using his power. He isn’t even paying attention to me. His focus is entirely on the direction of the canal, and he has a concentrated frown on his face. Violetta doesn’t seem to sense him doing anything, either. In fact, she’s staring at me with a concerned expression. She takes my hand.

It feels numb and very far away.

“Adelina,” Violetta whispers in my ear, “your energy feels strange. Are you …?”

The rest of her words fade away, so that I can’t understand her anymore. Something else has caught my attention. At the next bend of the canal, a man is sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. He turns when we approach.

It’s my father.

He wears that dark smile that I remember all too well. Suddenly terror seizes my throat so hard that I can barely breathe. He’s here. He’s supposed to be dead.

“Heading the wrong way, Adelina?” he says. As we glide past, he gets up onto his feet and starts to walk the canal’s edge along with us.

“Go away,” I whisper up at him.

He doesn’t respond. As we sail around a corner, he follows us—and even though we should be moving faster than he can walk, he manages to stay right behind us. I grit my teeth and turn around in my seat. Beside me, Violetta looks more alarmed. She calls out something—my name, perhaps—but it doesn’t seem important to answer her. All I can do is stare at my father’s silhouette as it follows us.

“Go away,” I hiss again through my teeth. This time, I say it loud enough for both Violetta and Magiano to turn their heads.

“I beg your pardon?” I can hear Magiano say.

I ignore him. I turn away from my father’s figure and try to catch my breath. I close my eye again. The world presses down on me. “It’s just an illusion,” I say, trying not to panic. An illusion like always. But my fear only fuels it, making it stronger. The lines of reality start to blur. No, no, it’s not an illusion at all. My father has come back from the dead. When he catches up to me, he is going to kill me. I tremble all over.