The Young Elites

The king is dead! The king is dead!

This is all wrong. I watch as the Inquisitors kill other malfettos. I am numb. Something has gone terribly wrong.

I pull Violetta close. “Think of something else,” I whisper into her ear, feeling her trembling uncontrollably against me. I force myself to take in the terror and evil that swirls around us, letting it strengthen the darkness in me so that I can weave an illusion of calm around my sister. I block out the screams for her. I weave a blanket of darkness around her, shielding her from the sight of the crying malfettos gathered in the square. This must be happening all across Estenzia—across Kenettra, even. As Violetta weeps against my shoulder, I stare at the horrific scene in her stead.

How ironic, that I should embrace such evil in order to protect my sister from evil.

Through my fog of terror, I remember the catacombs under the city. I touch my sister’s face. “We have to go,” I say firmly. Then I take her hand and begin to lead us away—

—until we turn the corner and run straight into Dante. He stares down at me, his face swathed in shadows. “Well,” he growls. “I knew I’d find you out here.”

He could feel the storm’s energy in the breeze, as if it were

some sort of living creature, breathing life and fear into his body.

—Tales of Lord Dunre, by Ephare

Adelina Amouteru

My first, feverish thought: Dante followed me.

He’d somehow seen me leave the Fortunata Court. He’d tracked me to the Inquisition Tower. And now he knows I must have visited the Inquisition. A flurry of thoughts flash through my mind in the span of a second. If he goes back to the other Daggers, he will tell them about everything. No—they cannot find out in this way. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say.

He doesn’t give me a chance. Instead, he lunges at me with an outstretched hand, trying to grab my arm. Violetta cries out—my energy roars in my ears.

I fling an illusion of invisibility desperately over us and throw myself to the ground. My powers are fading fast, and we blink in and out of sight. I scramble to my feet right as Dante lunges for me again. This time he attacks with a dagger. My illusion manages to throw off his aim, but the blade still catches the edge of my thigh, slicing through my clothes. I wince at the bite against my skin. Darkness roars inside me, feeding on Dante’s own fury. My strength grows again.

“You traitor.” He points the dagger at me. “Enzo should’ve done away with you the instant you came to us.”

How dare you. I protected you all. “I didn’t do anything,” I shout back. “I told them nothing.”

“You expect me to believe you?” Dante twirls his blade.

“Let me explain,” I say, holding my hands out. “I didn’t give anything to them. What you saw happen at the Spring Moons—”

Dante’s lips curl into a snarl. “I know what I saw. How long have you been working with Teren?”

“I wasn’t working with him! He found me—months ago, at the court—” I don’t know how to tell Dante this, without making it sound like everything is my fault. It is my fault.

“And yet, you told us none of this. Why keep it a secret?”

“I didn’t mean to! I was afraid of getting hurt. My sister—”

Dante sneers. “I knew you were no good. I should carve your mouth right off your face, because it spits out nothing but lies.”

I’m starting to have trouble breathing. My words come in gasps. “You have to believe me. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Did you tell him about the Tournament of Storms?”

“I—” I hesitate.

Dante catches my pause. He narrows his eyes. “And you betrayed Raffaele to the palace, didn’t you?”

I blink. What? Raffaele? “Raffaele hasn’t returned?”

Dante doesn’t need to speak for me to know the answer. Raffaele was absent at the last meeting, he never returned from his client visit. No, not him. The thought of Raffaele being the first to suffer—

Dante lashes out again. He knocks me to the ground and holds me down. I can’t find my energy to pull on. Violetta lets out a choked scream.

“I’m taking you back to Enzo,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at me. His hand presses down on my neck, choking me. No, you can’t. I should be the one telling him, not you. “You’ll answer to him, you pathetic little coward.”

I’ll kill you before you can ruin this deal.

My father’s words from that fateful night suddenly echo all around me, filling my ears and taking me back to the rain-soaked marketplace where he’d died. Dante’s words to Enzo run through my mind. The darkness that has risen in me ever since I left the Daggers now claws eagerly for freedom—it builds and builds, feeding off the fears and hatred of Dante, the Inquisitors, the terror of the people in the streets, the darkness all around us. Above me, I no longer see Dante . . . instead, I see my father, his lips twisted in a dark smile.

Enough. I twine the glittering threads of energy around myself—there is suddenly so much of it that I feel light-headed from the power, as if I’d left my body. Raffaele once showed me how to create illusions of touch. Can I do that now?

I bare my teeth. And I unleash my anger.

For a single, terrible moment, I can see every single one of the energy threads connecting Dante to myself. From myself to his pain senses. On instinct, I reach out and pull hard.

Dante suddenly scrambles away from me. His hand leaves my neck—I gasp desperately for air. His eyes bulge. Then he drops his weapons and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound sends a flood of excitement through me so intense that I tremble from head to toe. The illusion of touch; the illusion of pain. Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I pull harder, twisting, increasing his belief that he is in agony—that his limbs are being ripped off one by one, that someone is peeling the skin off his back. He collapses to the ground and writhes. Scream after scream.