The Rose Society

But the Beldish queen is already on the move. Lucent exchanges a quick look with her, then calls a curtain of wind to send her soaring into the sky. One of her brothers flies by. He reaches out for her arm, grasps it, and then pulls her up onto the back of his balira.

But my eyes are fixed on Raffaele. He walks toward where Enzo stands, the prince’s eyes still liquid dark, his face frozen in fury, the ring of fire burning near his feet. I don’t know why I pause to watch Raffaele. Perhaps I have always done so, so captivated am I by his beauty. Even now, in the midst of death and destruction, he moves with the grace of someone not of this world. His attention is focused entirely on Enzo. The sight breaks my heart, and a small, lost part of me sparks with light.

Raffaele reaches Enzo. Flames still burn on Enzo’s hands, but for some reason, he doesn’t move to attack. Instead, he waits as Raffaele reaches up to curl a hand around the back of his neck, then pulls him close so that their foreheads touch. Tears streak Raffaele’s face. Suddenly I remember how he had looked on the day he turned his back on me, the way he had closed his eyes when I begged him to let me stay. It is the same expression he wears now.

Enzo narrows his eyes. He moves as if to grab Raffaele’s wrist with his burning hands, to burn him alive from the inside out.

“Don’t,” Raffaele whispers to Enzo. And even though Enzo’s eyes stay black, Raffaele does not flinch away. He remains where he is, surrounded by fire.

Enzo’s eyes flicker. He blinks at Raffaele, confused, and then lowers his face toward him. Raffaele leans forward, closes his eyes, and rests his head against Enzo’s shoulder. I do not need to touch them to know that Raffaele’s energy is coursing through Enzo now, healing and soothing, calming, pushing against the fury of his own.

For a moment, Raffaele looks at me. His jewel-toned eyes are breathtaking in the light of the fire.

“Don’t,” he says again, this time to me.

Teren snarls. He steps forward now, ready to lunge for Raffaele.

“Violetta!” I scream. And up in the air, she answers. She reaches out and pulls.

Teren lets out a shriek as his power vanishes and Violetta takes over. I pull grimly. The threads of darkness tighten around him, strangling his nerves and making them scream. I pull as hard as I can, trying to redo what I did to Dante. To someone who deserves to die. The whispers take full control. “You do not command me,” I snap. Teren shudders on the floor of the ship as the battle rages on behind us.

My attention turns to Raffaele for a moment. There is no fear in him for what I could do. Not even after the way I’d tortured him at the arena. All I feel from him is sadness and, beneath it, a firm resolve.

“If justice is what you seek, Adelina,” he says, “you will not find it like this.”

I feel my own resolve waver. How can I find in my heart the coldness that I need for all else, but I cannot bring myself to move against Raffaele? Against the other Daggers? How does he soften my heart, after all he has done to me? I realize that I am crying now, too, and I don’t bother to wipe my tears away. As Teren writhes on the floor beside me, Raffaele takes Enzo’s hand and pulls him toward a balira. I don’t have the strength to reach out and stop them. All I can do is look on.

Teren struggles to his feet on the deck. I’m forced to tear my gaze away from Raffaele and Enzo. Violetta continues to hold Teren’s powers at bay, but he still manages to give me a glare full of hatred. “I’m going to cut you open, little wolf,” he snarls.

He attacks me. I barely manage to avoid his sword—he swings past my shoulder by a hair, then whirls in midair to send the blade cutting back toward me. I dart away. My hands clench into fists, and with my powers heightened, I fling an illusion across the entire harbor, making the water churn as if boiling. Then I look back at him and tighten my threads of energy as harshly as I can.

At this level of pain, Dante had already turned delirious. But Teren is still able to look at me. I blink, taken aback for a moment by how much he can withstand—even without his powers.

“Kill her,” he chokes to his Inquisitors. “Now!”

The Inquisition draws swords against me, but I am not afraid of them anymore. They are done being useful to me. Sergio steps forward, taking over the scene. He whips out two daggers at his belt and throws them with punishing speed. Each lodges in the chest of a soldier. Magiano mimics Enzo’s power, sending tall lines of flames surging toward a dozen others. They alight like fresh tinder in a fire. The men scream as their armor heats instantly from the flames, burning them alive. I watch the scene, letting my revenge happen.

“Stop!” I command.

Dead Inquisitors litter the deck. Those who are still alive cower as I approach. Teren stays where he is. Violetta has released his powers already, but he is still recovering from the pain I wrought upon him. I look on as he coughs, pushing weakly against the floor in an attempt to sit up. Then I glance at the surviving Inquisitors.

“You have hunted me and tortured me,” I say to the soldiers. “Now you have seen what I can do. And you have seen the power of my Elites. I have mercenaries at my back, seizing control of the palace. I have power that you cannot hope to defeat. I can be your enemy, and look on as you die.” I raise my arms at them. “Or, I can be your ruler, and bring you glory you could never have imagined.”

Silence. The Inquisitors look warily at me, and for the first time, I see expressions on their faces—reminders that behind their fearsome armor and white cloaks are just men, still capable of being terrified and conquered. I blink, startled by this realization. I have spent my entire life thinking of the Inquisitors as things, soulless creatures. But they are just men. Men can be swayed, and I have the power to do it.