A rough hand grabs my ankle. I kick frantically, but it’s no use. Another hand grabs my soaked shirt and yanks me up, then slams me against the wall. My arms fly up in defense. My father’s snarling face appears before me, rain carving rivers down his cheeks and chin, water making his teeth slick. He grabs my hair tightly in one fist. There is fire around us, distant shouts.

“No—” I cry out. Break out of the illusion break out of the illusion it’s not real tell me it’s not real.

My father’s knife presses against my chest. He stabs down, hard. I can feel the knife slice into my flesh. It hits deep. My eye widens—my mouth opens in horror. I try to stop him, but my arms are weak and useless. The blade hits my lungs.

I take a deep breath and scream.

“Adelina! Adelina!”

Hands are trying to pull my arms down. I scream and scream, unable to stop. Stop saying my name.

And then, everything leaves me in a rush. I crumple in sudden exhaustion.

It takes me a long moment to realize that the person calling my name is Magiano, and it is his arms wrapped around me. Beside him stands Violetta. She has taken my power away. Our old home, my father, the silverware littering the ground, the knife, Teren—they’ve all vanished, leaving me huddled at the entrance of the Fortunata Court, drenched in rain. I cling desperately to Magiano. How had my illusions felt so real this time? How can I be sure that Magiano and Violetta are not an illusion? What if they aren’t here at all?

“It’s okay,” Magiano whispers into my hair as I cry. He kisses my face. “You’re okay. I’m sorry.”

I try to say that I’m grateful he’s here, that I hope he’s real, but my words are lost in my sobs. Violetta watches me helplessly, then turns away and looks at Magiano.

“What happened?” she calls out over the rain.

“A group of attackers,” Magiano replies. “They ambushed us.”

Violetta gasps. “Inquisition?”

“No. These were foreign soldiers, with foreign accents.” One of his arms loops under my legs, while the other presses against my back. He lifts me effortlessly. I huddle against his warmth, balling his shirt into my fist. “I don’t know where Enzo’s gone. Some of the other mercenaries have given chase.” He raises his voice. “Hey! A little help here!” A couple of our men run toward us.

I realize, slowly, that the fires and shouting around us are real. Someone had attacked us. The tether between Enzo and me is pulled tight, stretched thin. I reach out through it, but he is too far away for me to control him. The distance sends a sharp pain through me, and I wince, trying to choke that pain down. He’s gone. I blink through the rain, fighting to see the difference between illusion and reality. Am I truly here?

“Get a warm cloth,” Magiano is saying over me. We head inside and up the stairs, where he places me gingerly on the bed. The rain dripping from my hair soaks the sheets. From here, I can see out the window toward the black sea.

“Who were they?” I whisper. I’m still not entirely sure that any of this is happening.

“The Beldish, I think,” Magiano mutters. “They must have sent a hunting party out after us.”

I shudder. The knife stabbing into my chest had felt so real—my father had been right there, Teren had slammed me against the wall. My wild illusions, like my powers, are starting to take on more facets than just sight and sound. They can touch me, make me think they are hurting me. I think of all the times I have used this against others. Then, the thought of it turning against me.

I look up at Magiano. He stares at me with a worried expression. His eyes are not slitted. His pupils are black, and his gold eyes are warm and bright. “This is your tether making things worse,” he says. “I know it. You told me you aligned with passion. It calls to you when you’re tied to him, doesn’t it?”

My alignment to passion. He’s right, of course. Enzo has returned from the dead, and with him has come all of my old passion, the same passion that caused my powers to leap out of control, that had made Raffaele so distrusting of me in the first place. Now, with this tether between us, my instability has only grown.

“Why …” I fight to clear my head. “What did they want?”

I know the answer before Magiano even replies. “The Daggers came for Enzo,” he says.

No. The pain returns to my chest as I realize that the Daggers will tell him everything about me—both lies and truths. He will find out what I did to Raffaele.

The distant rumble of explosions makes us both freeze. At first, I think it must be the thunder. Then I see something on the horizon, filling the dark, furious oceans around Estenzia as dawn slowly creeps forward. The light of fire.

Magiano sees it too. We freeze where we stand, and together we see a trail of fire arc through the air, then send up a burst of flames.

I try to see what is going on through the rain and darkness. “Is that …?”

Then a fork of lightning cuts through the sky, illuminating the clouds and land and sea, and my question dies on my tongue. Yes, it is. Warships dot the horizon, their blue-and-white banners unmistakable even from this distance, an endless trail of beads on a necklace, stretching as far as the eye can see. Their hulls curve high, and their sails loom tall. The Beldish navy has arrived.

Such blinding dreams of white ice and spinning dice, I watched them all vanish in a trice. What will be your sacrifice?

—Leven Night: A Collection, by Enadia Hateon

Adelina Amouteru

Never in my life have I seen so many ships. They cover the sea like a swarm of insects, and from here I feel as if I could hear the buzz of their wings. The sound of horns and the deep rhythm of war drums float to us. Estenzian horns answer back. From the Fortunata Court’s vantage point, I can see the Inquisition spilling into the streets, swarming in the direction of the palace. Kenettran warships cover the ocean closest to our harbor. But our ships are outnumbered.