The Rose Society

  “What is that?” I ask Magiano, nodding toward the shelters.

  He wipes water out of his eyes. “Malfetto slave camps, of course,” he replies.

  My heart seizes. Malfetto slave camps? The camps wrap all the way around the wall, disappearing only when it curves out of our line of sight. So, this is what Teren has been busy doing. I wonder what kind of slave labor he has forced upon the malfettos, and how long he will allow them to live. There is no question that he is only biding his time. A dark tide swells in my stomach, bringing a scowl to my lips.

  I will fix this, once I rule Kenettra.

  “Come on,” Magiano urges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He beckons me into the back of the gondola with Violetta. As I accept his outstretched hand, his eyes meet mine and hold me there for a heartbeat, unsure. His hand tightens. I cling to him, the heat rising fast in my cheeks. The kiss that had lingered between us last night is still here, and I don’t know what to do with it.

  Magiano leans closer, as if about to take that kiss again. But he stops a hairsbreadth from my lips. His eyes lower, gentle for a moment. “Watch your step,” he says, guiding me into the boat.

  My response is an incoherent murmur. I lower myself in carefully. The boat dips in the water as I crawl underneath the dark canvas and lie in the boat’s belly. It is already rapidly filling with water, but I’m able to keep myself up enough to breathe. Violetta’s boots are a foot away from mine, so that both of our heads are facing the ends of the gondola.

  “When we get close enough,” I say up to him, “I’ll veil us. Stay close and keep an eye out for the rest of us.”

  Magiano nods. Then he and Sergio give my gondola a push, and the boat jerks forward, taking me with it.

  The storm intensifies as we draw closer to Estenzia. I stay low in the boat, keeping my head out of the water. I can barely see anything but the stone lining the edges of the canals, but now and then I get a glimpse of the approaching walls. Ahead of us is the start of the camps. Now we are close enough to see the dots of white scattered throughout the rows of crumbling tents—Inquisitors, their cloaks weighed down in the storm, hurrying back and forth along the camps’ dirt paths. I risk a glance behind me. There is a long distance between our gondola and the one behind us. If everything went well, Magiano and Sergio should be following us. I reach out with my energy, searching for the beating hearts of excitement, anticipation, and fear in them.

  I find them. And I pull.

  A net of invisibility weaves across me first, erasing me from the gondola and melting me into the wet wood, the pooling water in the boat’s belly, and the dark canvas. I do the same to Violetta, and then I grit my teeth and reach for the others behind me. It is an imperfect illusion. I can’t know exactly what the inside of their gondola looks like, and as a result, I can only make an estimate. If Inquisitors look too carefully into their gondola, they will see the figures of two hiding Elites underneath the texture of the boat’s bottom.

  It’s the best I can do.

  As we draw near the camps, Inquisitors come into sharp view along the banks of the canal. One of them notices our gondolas floating with the current toward the city walls. “Sir,” he calls to one of his companions. “More stray boats. Should we pull them ashore?”

  Another Inquisitor peers at my gondola first. I cringe, reminding myself to keep a tight hold on our illusions.

  “Empty,” the second Inquisitor says. He makes a distracted gesture with his hand and starts to turn away. “Ah, just let them float by and come help me with these malfettos. The gondoliers can find their boats piled somewhere in the canals after this storm’s over.”

  I can’t move much without risking detection, but as the Inquisitors turn away, I lift my head enough to see down a path among the shelters. At the far end, I catch a glimpse of disheveled, frightened malfettos lowering their heads as the soldiers pass them. The sight of them makes my stomach churn. For a moment, I wish I could do what Raffaele does.

  We keep moving. The walls loom closer, until I can see their individual stones washed dark by the rain. By now, night has fallen completely. Aside from the few scattered torches and lanterns holding up against the rain, I can hardly see anything. In front of me, Violetta stirs underneath our shield of invisibility.

  “The gate is up,” she says back to me.

  I look ahead. The gate is indeed drawn up, allowing the canal to swell, and beyond it I can see the start of inner Estenzia, the cobblestone streets and archways of buildings. The city’s celebrations are subdued by the rain, and broken paper lanterns litter the streets. Brightly colored flags hang limp and soaking from balconies.

  Two Inquisitors walk where the canal meets the gate, their eyes trained on the water, but aside from them, we are alone.

  We are not as lucky with this second pair of Inquisitors. One of them leans over the edge of the canal as we sail by. His boot stops our gondola with a jerk. I bite my tongue in frustration. In the darkness and rain, he can’t see that the gondola looks empty. He nods to his partner. Behind us, the second gondola carrying Magiano and Sergio comes to a stop.

  “Check that one,” the first says to his partner. Then he turns back to ours, draws his sword, and points it down into the boat—right at Violetta’s crouched body. He lifts the blade. Violetta tries to press herself away, but it will be useless if he stabs down all along the length of the boat.

  Behind us, the second Inquisitor lifts his blade at the other gondola.

  I yank back my blanket of invisibility. We suddenly come into view.

  The Inquisitor pauses for an instant as he sees eyes blinking back at him from where moments ago there had been nothing. “What in—” he blurts out.

  I narrow my eye and lash out at him. Threads of energy whip around his body, the illusion hooking into his skin and pulling taut. At the same time, Violetta leaps out of the boat and knocks the Inquisitor’s sword from his hand. It clatters to the ground. The man lets out a half shriek, but I cut it off as my threads tighten around him. The energy in me surges with delight as the man’s confusion changes into terror. His eyes bulge, filling with pain.

  Behind us, Magiano leaps out of their boat to attack the second Inquisitor.

  The first Inquisitor clutches his chest and falls to his knees. He reaches for the sword on the ground, but I grab it first. As I move, I catch a glimpse of Violetta’s face. Her lips are set in a grim line. I half expect her to cower in the darkness, or reach out with her powers to stop me, but instead, she stoops down and grabs the Inquisitor’s cloak. She yanks it, forcing him to topple backward. He gasps in pain.

  The world around me closes in—for a moment, all I can see is midnight and my victim. I grit my teeth, lift his sword, and plunge it into his chest.

  The man trembles on the blade. Blood sprays from his mouth. I glance to my side to see Sergio with his arm wrapped tightly around the second Inquisitor’s throat. Sergio squeezes hard. His Inquisitor’s arms grapple frantically for him, but Sergio hangs grimly on. I breathe in the terror of the struggling man.

  The Inquisitor I stabbed stops trembling. I close my eye, lift my head, and take a deep breath. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, mixing with the wetness of the rain—it is all so familiar. When I open my eye again, I’m no longer looking down at the Inquisitor. I’m looking down at my father’s ruined corpse, his ribs smashed in by his horse’s hooves, his blood staining the cobblestones—

  And I’m not horrified. I look at it, indulging in the darkness around me, feeding me, strengthening me, and I realize that I’m happy I killed him. Truly happy.

  A hand touches my shoulder. My face jerks around to see who it is, and my energy surges, eager to hurt again.

  Violetta jumps back. “It’s me,” she says. She holds a palm out, as if that might stop me. Her own power touches mine, and I can feel it pushing me back hesitantly, threatening to take my power away. �
�It’s me, it’s me.”

  The snarl gradually fades from my lips. I look back down at the body before me, now no longer my father but the Inquisitor I killed. Magiano and Sergio hurry to my side, leaving their Inquisitor lying lifeless in the shadows. Violetta stares at the two dead men. Her expression is numb.

  My moment of bloodlust has passed, but the darkness it brought lingers, feeding the little whispers in my head that have suddenly become deafening. Quiet, I hiss back at them, until I realize I say the word out loud.

  “We’d better move. Now.” Magiano glances over his shoulder, then hops over the Inquisitor’s body to glance down both sides of the canal. “We won’t be alone here for long.”

  I pull myself up to my feet. I wash my hands in the rising waters of the canal. Then I hurry after them. Up in the pouring sky, a haunting cry echoes over the city, followed shortly by another. A pair of baliras are passing over the city, although in the night, all I can see are their silhouettes, their massive, translucent wings covering up the sky. If Gemma were with us, she could have gotten us onto their backs—we could have flown over the city and found a way down somewhere. I could have avoided killing those two men. It’s not that I wanted them dead, after all. It’s that we had no other way. I repeat this over and over again to myself. Had it been this easy for me, when I ended Dante’s life? When I killed the Night King? When I watched Enzo die? When I nodded my approval to Sergio to execute the Inquisitors on the ship?

  No. But this time, it was.

  I look at my Roses, then step forward so that I lead the way. I start to weave a curtain of invisibility over us again. As the baliras pass overhead, I turn us in the direction of the Estenzian palace. My thoughts transition from the Inquisitors’ deaths to the task before us. If the Beldish queen makes her move tonight, then I have to find Raffaele before she does.

  Already, I’m starting to forget the face of the man I killed.

  Raffaele Laurent Bessette

  It takes another week before Queen Giulietta sends for him again. This time, when he visits her private chambers, Teren and several of his guard stand outside the doors instead of within. Raffaele looks briefly at him as he walks past. The energy churning in Teren is black with rage and jealousy, and the feeling makes Raffaele dizzy. He turns his eyes back down, but he can still feel the Lead Inquisitor’s stare burning into his back as the chamber doors open and close for him.

  Inside the chambers, Inquisitors still line the walls. Queen Giulietta sits at the edge of her bed, her hair down in long, dark waves, her hands folded neatly into her lap. The sheer drapes hanging on each side of the bed are also down tonight, half drawn in anticipation of sleep. She watches him as the soldiers guide him into the center of the chamber, then leave him to stand there alone. He hesitates, then steps closer and lowers himself into a kneel before her.

  For a moment, neither of them says anything. The queen’s emotions are different tonight, Raffaele thinks. Calmer, less suspicious, more calculating. She wants something.

  “They say that you were the greatest consort ever to grace the courts of Kenettra,” Giulietta finally says. “You fetched a virgin price that had the courts talking for weeks.” She leans back on her arms and regards him thoughtfully. “I’ve also heard that you are something of a scholar, that your patrons frequently gifted you books and quills.”

  Raffaele nods. “I am, Your Majesty.”

  Giulietta’s lips curve into a smile. When he looks up at her, she motions for him to rise. “You certainly look and speak as beautifully as they say.” She straightens then, and approaches him. Raffaele stays very still as she draws near. Her fingers go up to the gold string near the collar of his robes, then tugs it loose, exposing a bit of his skin.

  Raffaele’s eyes dart to the Inquisitors lining the walls, their crossbows still fixed on him. When Giulietta sits down on the edge of the bed again and pats the spot beside her, he steps closer. “I’ve already told you what I wish for, Your Majesty,” he says in a gentle voice. “Tell me, then, what you desire. What can I do for you?”

  Giulietta smiles again as she lays her head down on her pillow. “You say that if I grant mercy to all malfettos, you and your Daggers will do my bidding as a part of my army.” Giulietta nods. “I’ve decided I will grant you that, as long as I am satisfied with what you can do. Tomorrow, I will order my Inquisitors to begin bringing our malfettos back into the city. In return, I want you to summon your Daggers. And I want you to fulfill your end of the bargain.” Her stare hardens for a moment. “Remember that I can easily bring my wrath down on the malfettos of this city if you fail to follow through on your word.”

  Raffaele’s smile returns. So, it is as he suspected. Giulietta’s “hatred” for the malfettos is not the same as Teren’s. Teren despises malfettos because he believes them to be demons. Evil, cursed. But Giulietta . . . Giulietta despises malfettos only when they are in her way. She will use them as much as they can benefit her. Very good. He bows his head in a perfect imitation of submission. “Then we are yours to command.”

  Giulietta nods at his expression. She stretches out on her bed and looks at him through a halo of dark curls. As beautiful as Enzo was handsome. Raffaele sees for a moment what must have drawn Teren to her. It is hard to believe that, behind the dark lashes and small, sweet, rosy mouth, is a princess who had once tried—even as a child—to poison her brother.

  “Well, my consort,” she murmurs. “Prove your reputation to me.”

  In the early hours before dawn, Raffaele emerges from the queen’s chambers and into the long shadows of the hall. Inquisitors still stand guard on either side of the door, and two of them move away to walk alongside him.

  “The queen has ordered you moved to more comfortable quarters,” one of the Inquisitors says as they walk.

  Raffaele nods, but his eyes stay on the shadows in the hall. Teren is still here—he can feel his Elite energy seething in the darkness, waiting for him to approach. Raffaele slows his walk. Although the shadows cover nearly everything, he can sense that Teren must be standing just a few feet away.

  He will attack you. Raffaele’s instincts suddenly flare up—he knew this would happen. He whirls in the direction of the queen’s chambers, then calls out, “Your Majesty!”

  It’s all he manages to say before a blur of white materializes from the shadows and seizes him by the collar of his robe. Raffaele feels himself lifted nearly off his feet—his back slams so hard against the wall that the impact knocks all the breath from his chest. Stars explode across his vision. Somewhere comes the sound of a blade through air, and an instant later, cold metal presses hard against his throat. A hand clamps over his mouth.

  Teren’s face comes into focus before him. His pale irises seem to pulse in the darkness. “Pretty little peacock,” he snarls as Raffaele struggles for breath. He gestures for the other two Inquisitors to pin him against the wall. “What lies did you tell the queen this time? What demonic spells are you weaving?”

  Raffaele returns Teren’s glare with his own quiet one. “I am no more a demon than you are.”

  Teren’s gaze hardens. “Let’s see how often the queen will ask for you after I carve the skin off your face.”

  Raffaele smiles back. His smile is sharp, a blade of silk and grace. “You fear me more than I fear you.”

  Teren’s eyes flash. He nods to the Inquisitors to hold him tightly, and then he hoists his dagger higher. He smiles in a way that prickles Raffaele’s skin.

  “Stop.”

  The queen’s command rings out sharply down the hall, and Teren freezes. Raffaele turns to see Giulietta heading out of her chambers with soldiers at her back, her face cold and distant. She narrows her eyes at Teren. Immediately, the two Inquisitors pinning Raffaele to the wall release him, and everyone falls into a hurried kneel. Raffaele gulps as pain continues to lance down his back.

  “Your solution to everything, Ma
ster Santoro,” she says when she reaches them, “is to bite.”

  He opens his mouth as she approaches him, but before he can say anything, Giulietta reaches out for the gold clasp holding his Inquisition cloak in place. She flicks the clasp open, then gives the cloak one vicious yank. The cloak falls from his shoulders, pooling at his feet.

  The sign of a demotion.

  Teren’s eyes snap open in shock. “Your Majesty—” he begins.

  Giulietta just gives him an icy look. “I warned you what would happen if you ever ignored my commands again.”

  “But I—”

  “I ordered Raffaele to be taken back to his new chambers. Why did you disobey me?”

  Teren bows his head in what looks like shame. “Your Majesty,” he replies. “I apologize. I—”

  “I’ve heard enough of your apologies,” Giulietta interrupts. She folds her arms. “When dawn arrives, you are to take a patrol and report to the southern cities immediately.”

  “You . . . ,” Teren says, his words trailing off as realization hits him. “You are sending me away? Out of Estenzia?”

  Giulietta arches an eyebrow at him. “You are asking me to repeat myself?” she says.

  “Your Majesty, please.” Teren takes a step closer to her. “Everything I do—everything I have ever done—is to protect your crown. You are the one true queen. There are times I may act rashly, and I deserve to be punished, but I do it in the name of the crown.”

  “I expect you to relinquish your quarters and your armor by tomorrow.” Giulietta gives him a look of disinterest. This, Raffaele thinks, more than anything, makes Teren wince. “You will set out with several patrols by tomorrow evening, to secure my rule in the south. If you truly care for me, you will obey this order. Do you understand?”

  Teren’s voice hardens. “Your Majesty,” he says. “I am your best fighter. I am your champion.”

  “You are useless if you ignore my commands.”