The Midnight Star

  Magiano grunts. I wonder which poor soldier he stole the second cloak from. “Small victories,” he agrees.

  Nearby stands Teren, who watches the approaching land without a word. He has caused us no trouble for the weeks he’s gone without his chains and, true to his appointment, has stayed near me, a hand always on the hilt of his sword. The new white bandages around his wrists look red again, though. His wounds are stubborn.

  A rumble of voices behind me grabs my attention. Violetta talks in low whispers to Raffaele as they sit together on stacks of cargo, pointing at the strip of land growing before our eyes. I watch them over my shoulder. Raffaele joined us shortly after my accident overboard and has been with us since then. Violetta has gradually eased around me, ever since that night, but she still keeps her distance and confides in Raffaele more often than she does with me. She leans heavily against him and trembles, her lips dry and cracked. Her voice is weaker than it has ever been, and her cheeks are hollow now, the result of her poor appetite. The sight sends my energy churning darkly, not in anger but in sorrow.

  I wish it were me she turns to for comfort.

  “You said the Beldish would meet us here with troops of their own,” I call to Raffaele. “I see no Beldish flags on any of the ships on the horizon.” I pause to nod toward the nearing port again. “Any word from Queen Maeve?”

  “She will be here,” Raffaele replies. Like Magiano, he has an air of unhappiness about him, and pulls his heavy cloak tighter. He must not have enjoyed spending weeks in Beldain the last time he fled here. “But we have to move quickly out of this city.”

  “Which city is this?”

  “Laida, one of Amadera’s most populous port cities.” Raffaele gathers his black hair into a thick rope across one shoulder. “Rumor has it the Saccorists have a base here and may be waiting for you.”

  I smile bitterly at him, then weave an illusion of his face across my own. Raffaele’s expression flickers in surprise for a moment before settling back into its pool of calm. “They may have a hard time finding me,” I reply.

  Raffaele gives me a tight smile in return. “Do not underestimate your enemies, Your Majesty,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. With my anger stirring, the whispers awaken. Ah, yes. You know that better than anyone, don’t you? “Is that a threat, Raffaele?”

  My words bring on a stubborn silence between us. Raffaele shakes his head, then gives me a grave look. “You are looking for conflict in the wrong places, Your Majesty,” he replies.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I turn back to the sea and try to control my emotions. Beside me, Magiano presses a hand against my arm. Steady, he seems to be saying. But even he cannot keep the whispers at bay forever.

  Perhaps I’m getting worse, just like Violetta.

  The port is crowded with ships from every city and nation, and their flags form a rainbow of colors on the bay, reflected in the waters. Our own flags are hidden beneath an illusion mimicking an Amaderan crest, and to my relief, no one seems to pay us any mind. As our two ships dock, I take a deep breath and look out at the bustling piers. The salt of the sea and the odor of blood and fish hang thick in the air. Gulls circle the sky above us, diving for entrails tossed into the water. Groups of men with heavy beards carry what look like sharp hammers swung over their backs and loops of rope around their shoulders. Women in fur pelts and coarse skirts huddle along the multiple piers, cooking stews over small fires. They hold out bowls in one hand and a single Amaderan silver in the other, shouting in a strange tongue I can’t begin to understand. The people here are large and sturdily built, so pale that freckles stand out starkly on their skin. Only Lucent blends in completely, while Teren seems passable with his pale eyes and blond hair. Even though my Inquisitors and companions are not dressed in Kenettran silks, we attract a few stares for our more slender figures and darker complexions.

  You are in enemy land, the whispers remind me. Do you remember the tales of Amadera’s civil wars? When the Aristan people conquered the Salans, they took everything with them: their jewels; their honor; and their children, sometimes straight from the womb. What will they do to you, when they find out who you are?

  Raffaele claims that Maeve will meet us here, but there is still no sign of the Beldish queen and her men. As we unload some of our supplies onto a waiting horse, I gradually weave differences into my appearance—lightening my skin, dotting the bridge of my nose with freckles, curling my hair, hiding my scars. Snapping at Raffaele doesn’t mean I don’t take his words to heart. If the Saccorists are here, then they will find a way to seek us out in town. When I finish with myself, I work on altering the appearances of Magiano, Raffaele, and Violetta.

  “Leave the others,” Magiano says quietly to me as we prepare to leave the piers behind. He subtly gestures to where our Inquisitors and Tamouran soldiers wait. “We’ll go on from here to find Queen Maeve.”

  He’s right, of course—having a patrol of soldiers behind us attracts far too much attention, even at a bustling port city. I nod my agreement. “We go alone,” I reply.

  But as we move forward with the Daggers, I find myself fearing the open air at my back. The whispers only feed my paranoia, sending black silhouettes flickering in and out of the crowd. You are hunted here, little wolf. What does it feel like to be prey? Only the knowledge that Teren walks next to me reminds me that he is, at least, ready to defend me. Magiano is close too.

  I grit my teeth and follow Raffaele. Let them come. I have slit throats before, and I can do it again.

  Violetta is too weak to walk for long, so the first stop we make is to purchase a horse for her. She rests against its back with her eyes closed. I lighten her hair until the illusion of it looks red. She is sickly enough now that her skin is almost as pale as a Skylander’s. She doesn’t stir as we make our way deeper into the city.

  Magiano sniffs the air as we pass tall buildings of limestone, their windows tiny and shrouded with curtains. “Do you smell that?” he says.

  I do. It smells like cooking eggs, as well as something tangy and sour, like a shredded plant I’d once eaten at the ports in Dalia, Kenettra. My stomach rumbles. Suddenly I’m tired of the weeks of dried meat and stale bread on board the ship. “It smells like breakfast,” I reply, turning in the direction of the scents. “Something we could use a bit more of.”

  Magiano smiles at me. As he does, his face suddenly changes into a different one—it is my father’s, dark and grinning, the harsh lines of his wrinkles deep and prominent. I gasp, then turn away and shut my eye. Not now, I scold myself as my energy flares in fear. I cannot lose control of my illusions in the middle of this crowded street.

  “Are you all right?” Magiano whispers. When I gather the courage to look at him again, he has returned to being himself.

  My heart beats weakly within my chest. I straighten my shoulders and try to forget the images. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m just impatient to find the Beldish.”

  Nearby, Violetta frowns in concern, but she doesn’t say anything. Raffaele slows to fall into step beside me. He nods in the direction where the city eventually ends. “Your illusions,” he says. “Disguising us. It is exhausting you, isn’t it?”

  The energy in my chest strains as we continue to move through the city. I wish there were not so many people here; the constant shifts of their movement and colors and shapes make it difficult for me to keep the illusion over myself and the others. “I’ll be fine,” I mutter at Raffaele.

  “We are close enough to the origin that I can feel its slight pull. Remember, everything is connected to everything else.” He shakes his head and frowns. “Its energy will disturb all of ours. Be careful.”

  Only now do I see that there is a certain strain in Raffaele’s face too, as if he were drained from more than just our journey. I look around, wondering who else is feeling the effects. Magiano seems to be doing well enough, aside fr
om his sour mood, but Violetta’s face looks exhausted, and Lucent is uncharacteristically silent.

  As we go, I continue to blink away bits and pieces of illusions. The sky seems to darken, and a weight hangs over the city. Masked faces appear and vanish from narrow alleys that we pass, the glint of silver reminding me of how the Daggers once looked. The whispers stir, appearing in the corners of the streets and the shadows of overhangings.

  Why don’t you abandon this journey, Adelina? they say. Return to Kenettra. Go back and rule your empire.

  I look away and try to keep my concentration ahead of me. It is a good idea. I shake the thought from my mind. We are all tired, and the sooner we can have a good night’s rest, the stronger we will feel in the morning. Perhaps Maeve will meet us by then.

  But what if she doesn’t meet us at all? What if she sends troops to attack us instead? What if she has no interest in joining us on this journey? Raffaele must believe her on good faith, that she will come because she loves Lucent, but that is all. I look to my side, where Lucent walks in silence. What if this is Maeve’s way of seeking revenge for what I did to her navy, to withdraw herself, making our journey worthless?

  This is what I would do, if I were her. So why doesn’t she choose it too?

  We turn off the main road and down a narrow path with steps, heading around the side of a hill toward the tavern. As we pass by a small intersecting alley, the masked faces appear and vanish. Beside me, Magiano frowns, stiffens, and cranes his neck down the alley for another look.

  “Did you see something?” I ask.

  Magiano nods, his eyes still lingering on the alley we passed. “A flash of silver,” he says after a moment. “Like a mask.” He meets my stare. My stomach twists.

  It wasn’t just an illusion of my own creation.

  Suddenly, Raffaele halts. Ahead of us are several people standing there, blocking our path. Even though my illusions remain in place, they seem to recognize that we do not belong. Their leader steps forward from the crowd. This man doesn’t look like he is from the Skylands—his skin is light brown, and his eyes are deep and dark. He hoists a knife in one hand. “So,” he says. “A foreign troupe heading through our territory.”

  The whispers grow louder in my head. “We want no trouble, sir,” I manage to say, keeping my chin up and voice calm, working to keep the illusions I’ve woven over our faces steady.

  The man nods at me. “Where are you from?”

  Kill him. It has been so long. It will be so easy. The voices are persuasive. I could wrap him in agony right now, make him believe I am ripping his heart out of his chest. But I cannot afford to do it here, not without knowing if there are more of them beyond this narrow street, and not with Violetta so sick.

  Magiano saves me from responding by flashing the man a smile full of white teeth. “From a much friendlier place than this town, I can tell you that,” he proclaims. “Do you greet all the foreigners passing through with knives? That must take up an awful lot of your time.”

  The man’s scowl deepens, even as he looks at us in doubt. Raffaele joins Magiano at his side. “We have a friend who is very ill,” he says, nodding up to Violetta. “Can you tell us where the nearest inn might be?”

  The man stays silent. More of his men have come behind us now, people whom I’d taken as fishmongers and passersby, gathering on the steps to block the way we came. There is fear in the air, sharp and dark, calling to me—and I hunger to call back, to grasp the threads draped around us and weave. My illusion over my appearance wavers, only for an instant.

  The man narrows his eyes at me. “They said you’d be in disguise, White Wolf. We know you are Queen Adelina of Kenettra.”

  I blink in mock surprise. “What?” I reply, keeping my voice surprised. “We’re from Dumor to—”

  The man interrupts me with a bark of laughter. “Dumor,” he replies. “You mean one of your puppet states.”

  Magiano unsheathes two of his own weapons. His pupils have narrowed into sharp slits, and his body is tense. Near Raffaele, Teren stands tall with his sword half drawn, ready to move. For the first time, I’m grateful to have him with us.

  There is no point in dragging this out. I’ve had enough. “Let us pass,” I say, pushing myself forward. My anger is starting to rise, and that energy becomes my defense. “And we will spare the lives of your men.”

  The group stirs. The leader draws a second knife from his belt. Beneath his brave exterior, I can sense the tides of terror. He is afraid to die today. “For the Sealands,” he whispers. “For the Sunlands.”

  Then he gives a nod, and his men lunge at us from both sides.

  Magiano moves so quickly, I barely see him jump into the fray. His daggers flash silver in the light. Ahead of us, Teren sets upon two of the first men with a snarl of fury, unleashing his pent-up rage on them. He cuts them down easily.

  “Move!” Raffaele snaps, rushing us forward. We dart ahead as Teren opens a pocket for us. But the narrow street continues filling with more people, forcing us to a stop again. How many of them are here? They must have been waiting for our arrival for months. Violetta’s horse rears in the midst of the chaos, lets out a squeal, and throws her from its back. Lucent catches her—just barely—with a curtain of wind. Violetta falls on the steps, and instinctively, I push her behind me and force her against the wall. She is awake now, her body shaking like a leaf.

  One of the men lunges at her, but Lucent lashes out with her sword, cutting the other man in the stomach. Ahead of us, Teren cuts the path clear even as more come. Blades catch him, slicing his flesh, but he seems oblivious to his injuries, his body slowly, laboriously trying to heal itself with each attack. It’s even clearer now—he heals noticeably slower than I remember. Behind us, Magiano leaps up against the wall of the building and twists in midair, slashing one man neatly across the throat and another in his chest. The smell of blood and fear fills my senses, and I feel the voices feeding on the darkness, growing louder with each passing moment, strengthening me even as they veer me farther from what I can control. I stumble forward, trying to stave off the rush of illusions that threaten to overwhelm me. Our attackers’ smiles turn skeletal, their forms monstrous. Their hands extend like claws toward us, as if they were dead trees in a forest, and suddenly I am struggling through their grasp, trying to breathe. Keep moving. This isn’t real. I tell myself this over and over again. Teren continues moving us forward through the fight, and behind us, Magiano keeps them back. I try to concentrate on them. We have to find a way out of this street.

  Then, ahead of us, Raffaele stumbles. He grimaces in pain, then falls to his knees.

  Lucent rushes to his side. As I look on, she grabs his arm and tries to help him to his feet—but he winces, clutches his head, and stumbles again. There he kneels, crouching in pain, his hair spilling past his shoulders in a black sheet.

  His fear is a blanket over him, and my energy lunges for it. I glance around us. There is far too much chaos here for me to make all of us disappear behind a curtain of invisibility, and I want to save my power—but I can already see two of the attackers eyeing Raffaele in his weakened state. If I don’t hide him now, he won’t make it out of this fight.

  I focus my energy on Raffaele. Then I weave invisibility across him. He vanishes. I rush over to him and Lucent as blades flash all around us. When I reach them, I wrap one of Raffaele’s arms around my shoulder and help her lift him. Magiano looks in our direction from where he’s fending off an attacker.

  A few steps ahead, Teren suddenly jerks backward as a team of attackers charge at once. One of them manages to get past Teren. We’re invisible now, but even though the attacker can’t see us, he swings his blade in an arc toward us. I only have time to get a glimpse of his silver mask.

  An arrow sings through the air from the rooftops. It hits our attacker straight through his throat. He freezes in mid-movement, stunned, and then h
e drops his weapon and reaches up to clutch in vain at his neck. As I look on, he falls backward onto the steps.

  More arrows cut through the air from the roofs. Every single one of them finds its mark. I search the rooftops until I catch sight of a blur of armor darting by. Behind us, Magiano lets out a whoop of laughter—in a flash, he has leapt onto one of the signs dangling in front of a door and swung forward, flinging a dagger down at the attackers.

  As I look up to see another figure dart by on the roofs, I finally glimpse a tall young woman with braids woven high on her head, the strands half black and half blond, crouched with one elbow resting on her knee. She has a bow stretched back and pointed down in the direction of one of our attackers. She lets the arrow fly.

  The Beldish queen has finally arrived.

  More and more of her soldiers appear on the roofs. The Saccorists, now recognizing the crest of her men, start to break apart in their confusion. Several of Maeve’s guards appear at the end of the street. The sight of them seems to be the last straw for the Saccorists. Someone shouts an order to retreat, and the remaining attackers scatter immediately, dropping their weapons and making a run for it. Teren continues to fight, but the battle is already over. The attackers melt away as quickly as they appeared, until all that’s left in the street are the fallen.

  I lift the illusion from all of us. My own strength leaves me, and suddenly Raffaele feels overwhelmingly heavy. Magiano hurries to our side and takes Raffaele’s limp body in his arms. My attention turns to Violetta. She is still crouched against the wall where I left her, curled into a tight ball and looking as if she were concentrating on staying conscious. I walk over, then extend a hand to her.

  Violetta turns up her face to me. Some of the lingering fear and distance in her eyes that had so defined our last few weeks together has faded, replaced by a familiar glimmer. It is a light I remember from when she used to walk at my side through Merroutas, when we were the only company we needed in the world.