The Young Elites

“Since the day you escaped your execution,” she whispers back. It takes her a while to continue. “The Inquisition in Dalia searched for you for days. They scoured the city for other malfettos with silver hair. They killed two other girls.” She looks down. “They were already stationed in our home, so I couldn’t leave. Then Teren came and fetched me. He told me he was taking me to the port capital.”

“Did he . . . hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not physically.”

“Did he have any idea that you have powers?”

“No,” Violetta whispers.

I struggle up to a better sitting position, then firmly fix my gaze on her. She props herself up on her elbow. “Did you?”

Violetta’s silent for a moment. In her eyes, I see the truth. “You did know,” I whisper back. “When? How long?”

Violetta hesitates and pulls her knees up to her chin. “I’ve known since we were little.”

I’m numb. I can’t breathe.

“I found out by accident one day. I didn’t think it was real, at first,” she said, meeting my gaze timidly. “After all, I had no markings. How could I possibly be a malfetto with demonic”—she pauses—“with unusual powers?”

I try to ignore the buzzing in my ears. “When?”

“The day Father broke your finger.” Her voice turns quieter. “Do you remember when you pulled away from him? You wanted to hide behind a dark veil, literally. I could feel it.”

Only Raffaele can do that. “You could sense me?”

Violetta nods. “That day, I knew instinctively that I didn’t want you to do something to anger Father even more. I knew that if you were to do something extraordinary, he’d have you killed, or sold, or worse. So I reached out . . .” She pauses for a moment, as if trying to figure out a good way of explaining herself. “And I pushed back on you. I stopped you.”

In a flash, Raffaele’s words come back to me. There is something dark and bitter inside you. Is this where all of my terrifying thoughts come from? Do they originate from so many years of pent-up energy, yearning to break free?

It all makes sense now. Raffaele wondered why my powers didn’t surface earlier in life. They did. I just never knew it, because Violetta always suppressed them. She came down with a fever the day after that first incident, I recall.

And hadn’t I used my powers for the first time on the one night that we were separated? Hadn’t I felt like a mantle was lifted from me when I said my good-byes to Violetta? Hadn’t I used my powers during my execution?

And Raffaele. I start to shake my head. “No. No, there must be something you’re not telling me. We—the Daggers—had a Messenger, someone who could sense other Elites. He never sensed you. How could he have missed you?”

Violetta has no answer to this, of course. I’m not sure why I expect her to give me one. She only stares back helplessly. Raffaele couldn’t sense her, I suddenly think, because she must have unconsciously suppressed his power too. It is the only explanation. To Raffaele, Violetta’s power is invisible.

“When did you let me go?” I whisper.

Violetta’s voice sounds hollow now. “When the Inquisition first arrested you, I reached out and pushed your powers away. I didn’t want to think about you unleashing on the Inquisitors while you were in prison. I thought maybe they would pardon you if they couldn’t prove that you did anything out of the ordinary. But then I heard about your pending execution—I saw them drag you out to the square. I didn’t know what else to do . . . so I released your power. And you called on it.” She lowers her eyes. “I don’t know what else happened to you after the Young Elites took you away.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. Away from my sister, I learned for the first time how to grasp on to that energy after training with the Daggers. Suddenly, I reach out for her hand and press it to my heart. “I want to see you do it,” I say quietly.

Violetta hesitates. Then she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and pushes. I gasp. I feel it this time—as if someone were squeezing the air from my lungs, taking my lifeblood and pushing it down until it is invisible. Unreachable. I slump against the wall, dizzy. A strange emptiness hollows my chest. Odd. I don’t remember ever feeling this in the past. Perhaps it’s impossible to miss something you didn’t know existed. Now I know, though, and now I feel its absence. I reach out tentatively for my energy, searching for the darkness that pools in my chest. A jolt of panic hits me when I can’t feel it at all. I look back at my sister. “Give it back,” I whisper.

Violetta does as I say. I suck in my breath as the air comes rushing back through me, life and darkness, addictive and sweet, and suddenly I can see the threads of energy again, I can feel the hum through my body and I know where to reach out in order to grasp at the strings. I sigh in relief at the feeling, relishing the pleasure it brings me. I test my powers, forming a small rose before our eyes and spinning it in a slow circle. Violetta watches me with wide eyes. Her shoulders slump a little more, as if using her power has taken all of her strength.

She can suppress an Elite’s ability, and then release it again. All this time, my little sister has been sitting on a power that might dominate all others. A thousand possibilities rush through my mind. “You’re a malfetto, just like me,” I whisper, staring absently at the rose hovering between us. “An Elite malfetto.”

Violetta looks away. She’s ashamed, I realize.