The Rose Society

Enzo narrows his eyes. For the first time, he looks wary. “Why are the Daggers not here? Where am I?”

“Everyone thought you were dead,” I say softly. This, at least, is the truth. “The entire country mourned you, while the Inquisition rounded up all malfettos and began a massive hunt for the Daggers.” I pause again. “Raffaele and the Daggers blamed me for your death. They cast me out,” I say. The memory of my last real conversation with Raffaele haunts me. “Raffaele thinks I helped Teren and the Inquisitors, and that I betrayed the Daggers.”

“And did you?” Enzo’s voice is quiet, the calm before a predator’s strike. His trust in Raffaele runs so deep that he knows there must be a good reason why Raffaele cast me out. I think of the way he’d once tilted my chin up with his gloved hand, how he’d told me so firmly not to cry. That I was stronger than that. I remember the way he once pushed me against the rocky wall of the training cavern, and how, when he left, a scorched handprint remained on that wall. I tremble. This is my Enzo.

“No,” I reply. “I wish I could convince the Daggers of that.” I sound more certain than I feel. The lies come more easily now. “I don’t know where the Daggers are now, or what they plan to do next. All I know is that they will certainly strike the palace.” I steady my trembling voice and I give Enzo a determined look. “We can still take the crown.”

Enzo studies me for a moment. I sense him searching for buried truths in my story. His gaze wanders from the scarred side of my face, to my lips, then to my good eye. How strange that I should be the one sitting here now, and he is in bed. I think of when he had first come into my chambers on the day we officially met, how he’d smiled and asked me if I wanted to strike against the Inquisition. What does he see now?

Can we rule together?

The whispers in my head hiss at me. They are upset, I realize, with Enzo’s presence. There is no rightful heir to Kenettra’s throne. You deserve it, as much as anyone. I try to silence them, annoyed.

At last, Enzo sighs and softens his gaze. “When I mentioned what I remembered from the Underworld,” he says, “I left something out.” His hand closes around mine. This time, I jump at his touch. His fingers are scalding hot, the energy underneath them overwhelming. A delicious, familiar heat rushes through me. His ability with fire churns under his skin, stronger than I remember it ever being. He leans toward me.

“What?” I whisper, unable to turn away.

“I saw you, Adelina,” he whispers. “Your energy wrapping around me, pulling me through the black ocean and up to the surface. I remember looking up and seeing your dark silhouette in the water, framed by the quivering glow of the moons through the ocean’s surface.”

The moment when Maeve tied him to me, forever.

“And do you remember me well?” I ask. “Do you remember all that has happened in our past?”

“I do,” he replies. And I wonder whether he is remembering the last night we spent together, when he told me of his darkest fears, when we slept side by side for comfort.

“I’ve missed you,” I say, my voice hoarse, and the truth in those words burns me until I’m raw. It takes me a moment to realize that my cheek is wet. “I’m sorry.”

Enzo tightens his fingers around mine. Heat rushes from his hand and through me in a current, and for a moment, I’m helpless. The whispers’ protests fade away into nothing. The tether wraps tightly around us both, entangling us as surely as if a rope had tightened around our hearts, and I lean toward him, unable to resist the pull. This is something different altogether, the strength fueled by the history between us, the passion I once felt for him, that I still feel. Did Enzo ever love me? He must have. He looks at me now with a strange hunger in his eyes, like he can feel the pull of the tether too.

“What is this?” he whispers. His lips are very close to mine now. “This new tie between us?”

But I can’t think straight anymore. My energy lurches, and my passion sparks wildly out of control, fed by the strength of our connection. I had not expected this. All I know is that the tether is hungry to join its two ends together, and that it pulls us tighter and tighter together, the energy growing more and more powerful the closer we get. Violetta’s warning echoes in the back of my mind.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back. I put one hand against his face. He doesn’t pull away. A small sound comes from his throat, and before I can do anything else, he puts a hand against the back of my neck and pulls me forward. He kisses me.

I cannot breathe. It is a frightening, savage energy—my power lashes out at Enzo, pulling him forward and trying to overpower him. For a while, it does. I can feel the threads of my energy whipping around his, washing over them and swallowing them whole. They act as if I were not even here. Like I have no control.

I can feel his fire coursing through me, wrapping around my heart, wanting more. This is nothing like the gentle kiss I’d shared with Magiano. I cannot let go—I’m not sure I want to. My energy darts through our tether, coiling itself around his heart and whispering for him to come closer. I realize that I am the one coaxing him on. Commanding him.

Then, suddenly, something pushes back against my power. It pushes hard.

The sound in Enzo’s throat turns into something dark, a rumble, a growl that doesn’t sound human. Without warning, he shoves me back against the wall, pinning me there with his weight. I gasp. His energy blankets me. This shouldn’t be possible. An illusion of mine flings out from us and spirals around the room, erasing the dilapidated barn and replacing it with a night forest covered in snow, illuminated by the glow of the moons. The ground beneath us is soft with bright green moss. The wall behind me turns into the trunk of an enormous, twisted tree. And Enzo … when I get a glimpse of his eyes, I see that they have gone completely black, the darkness filling every corner. I choke out a gasp of horror. I realize vaguely that the string at the top of my tunic has come undone, exposing my skin and the curve of my shoulder. He arches against me as I pull him toward me.