The Young Elites
Enzo closes the door behind him. “The Tournament of Storms,” he whispers. “It’s confirmed. The king and queen will make a rare appearance together there. It will be our best chance to strike both of them down.”
Raffaele nods. “Perfect.”
Enzo frowns at him. “You look tired,” he says. “Are you all right?”
Raffaele’s client for the evening had left over an hour ago. “I’m fine,” he decides to reply.
“Did you see Adelina today?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He tells Enzo about Adelina’s test. How she reacted to each gem. He touches on her alignment with the amber and nightstone, her overwhelming attraction to the twin rocks. As he feared, Enzo narrows his eyes in interest. Raffaele shivers at his expression. He has recruited many Elites for the young prince in the past few years, but none has ever shown Enzo’s same alignment to diamond, such fiery ambition. Being near his energy is intoxicating.
“Fear and Fury,” the prince says thoughtfully. In the candlelight, his eyes gleam. “Well. That’s a first.”
Raffaele takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
Enzo keeps his gloved hands folded behind his back. “What do you advise?”
“Get rid of her. Now.”
“After all that trouble, you are asking me to kill her?”
Raffaele’s voice is pained, but firm. “Enzo. Every single one of her memories was laced with darkness. It is an infection of the mind. Something is very wrong with her. She should have manifested early, as a child, but only now has she started to find her power. It has built up inside her, and the energy feels twisted in a way that disturbs me. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is ravenous to use it. I don’t know how she’ll respond to our training.”
“You’re afraid of her,” Enzo murmurs, intrigued. “Or perhaps you’re afraid of your fascination with her.”
Raffaele stays silent. No. I’m afraid of your fascination with her.
Enzo’s eyes soften. “You know I trust you. I always have. But getting rid of her would be a waste. Adelina has the potential to be very useful.”
“She will be very useful,” Raffaele agrees. The sapphire strands in his hair catch the light. He casts Enzo a sideways look. “If she’ll obey you.”
“I will take back my throne soon,” Enzo whispers. “And malfettos will no longer live in fear.” Raffaele could feel the threat of fire emanating from Enzo’s body. “Adelina has the potential to get us there, even if that potential lies within darkness. We’ve all seen what she can do. She has no reason to turn on us.”
Raffaele hesitates. “Tread carefully, Reaper. We don’t know the extent of her energy yet.”
“Then train her. Let’s see how she does. If your opinion of her remains, I’ll get rid of her. But until then,” he says, his eyes hardening, “she stays.”
We are making a terrible mistake, Raffaele thinks, but bows anyway. “As you command, Your Highness.” As he does, his hair tumbles forward and exposes his neck. Enzo leans closer. Then he reaches out and gently pushes Raffaele’s collar aside.
Ugly red bruises circle the consort’s lower neck, as if someone has tried to choke him. Only now, as Enzo touches Raffaele’s chin and tilts his face in the direction of the light, does the faint purple bruising at the edges of his lips become noticeable.
Enzo looks Raffaele in the eyes. “Did one of your clients do this to you?”
Raffaele’s eyes stay downcast. He adjusts his collar back into place, then brushes his hair across one shoulder in a glossy rope. He says nothing, knowing that his silence answers Enzo’s question.
“Tell me the name,” Enzo murmurs.
Raffaele doesn’t speak for a moment. Most of his clients are gentle with him, even in their passion. But not all. Memories from earlier in the evening return, memories of rough hands on his neck, shoving him against the wall, striking his face, insults whispered harshly into his ear. It happened on very rare occasions, and he did not like troubling Enzo with the details. Raffaele’s work is important to the Daggers, after all—he might not have the same powers that the others do, but while his power cannot kill, it does hypnotize. Many of his clients fall so feverishly in love with him that they become loyal patrons to the Daggers. Political alliances are made in his bed.
Still. The work comes with its dangers. I should tell my madam first; she will privately fine my client for his abuse and ban him from seeing me. Instead, he meets Enzo’s gaze. His gentle heart hardens. But not this time. Some deserve punishment greater than a fine. “Count Maurizio Saldana,” he replies.
Enzo nods once. His expression doesn’t change, but the scarlet streaks in his eyes burn bright. He presses a gloved finger against Raffaele’s chest. His voice is a quiet command. “Next time, do not keep secrets from me.”
The next morning, Inquisitors find Count Maurizio Saldana’s dismembered body nailed to his front door, his mouth
suspended in a scream, his corpse burned black beyond recognition.
Magic is a shortened term derived from “Magiano’s tricks,”
coined from the exploits of the famous young charlatan, Magiano,
who was never captured by the Inquisition.
—Essays, by Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Adelina Amouteru
Violetta was afraid of thunder.
When we were very little, she would sneak into my bedchamber whenever a storm rolled through. She’d climb into my bed, wake me, and curl her little body against mine, and I’d wrap an arm around her and hum our mother’s lullaby as the storm raged outside. I’m not proud to admit it, but I’ve always liked her helplessness. It made me feel powerful. In those small moments, I was the better one.