real diamond pin from within her silks.
Magiano blinks. His brow furrows. Then he digs in his pocket for the false pin he thought he had stored safely away. As expected, his hands come up empty. He glances quickly back at us. A quiet moment passes.
“We win,” I say, flashing the pin. My hand is still shaking from what happened, but I hope he doesn’t notice.
“You have not told me of all your powers,” he says. He glances at Violetta again, and I imagine that he must bereaching out, trying to mimic her power. His eyes open wider as she pulls on his energy. He can’t, I realize. “You took my power away,” he whispers. His eyes dart back to me. “No wonder I couldn’t sense your illusions during your dance. You tricked me.”
“Only for a moment,” Violetta admits. “I can’t hold it back for long.”
I expect Magiano to be furious, or at least indignant. Instead, his pupils turn round, and a small grin plays underneath the fabric of his veil. “You tricked me,” he says again.
I’m silent. Everything seemed so crystal clear in the middle of the action. Now that we are here, and my body is weak and spent, I’m having trouble remembering all that took place. The same dizziness washes over me that I’d felt after Dante’s death, and Enzo’s. I close my eye and lean against the wall, trying not to think about the Night King’s blood spilling across the ground. If I’m not careful, I will conjure the illusion of him right here, his snarling face still pointed up at me.
After a while, Magiano folds his arms. “The Night King has ruled here for decades. I don’t think you understand the true weight of what you’ve done.” He pauses and lifts the veil to look more closely at us. “Or perhaps you do understand. By morning, every person in Merroutas will have heard your name. They will wonder and whisper over the White Wolf. They will fear you.” He shakes his head again, and this time, it is in admiration. “You may have just earned yourself an army of mercenaries.”
My heart starts to pound. No look of disgust from Magiano for what I did. No pitying gaze or wary expression. Admiration. After I killed a man. I don’t know how to feel. A sense of horror? Pride?
Violetta hands him the diamond pin. “Take it. You’re the one who wanted it.”
Magiano turns the pin over in his hands with a look of reverence.
“Why did you come back to help us?” I ask. “Does that mean …” I can’t quite bring myself to say it without hearing it first from him.
Magiano leans back against the wall and pulls his veil down. He gives us a wry look. “Do you know how much more notorious I could have been, if you were always close enough for me to mimic your power? Do you know what I could do, if we traveled together? And your sister, with her ability to take away an Elite’s power?” He looks curiously at her, and she coughs uncomfortably under his gaze. “Very interesting,” he murmurs. “Very interesting, indeed.”
I stand there and listen, still lost in a haze. I find myself wondering what he aligns with. Ambition. Greed. Something wicked, perhaps, like me. Again, I find myself wondering what’s going through his thoughts.
If you were able to kill a king, then perhaps you really can strike back against the Inquisition.
“Are you going to join us?” I ask.
He studies my face. Then he holds out a hand to me.
Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Raffaele sits atop a horse and enters the Estenzian gates behind Queen Maeve. With them are three of her brothers. Two of them, Augustine and Kester, ride beside her. Kester is an Elite, although Raffaele has yet to see his power in action. And the third brother is the youngest, the prince with the eerie energy, Tristan. Maeve’s white tiger prowls in front of her horse.
Raffaele keeps his head high and eyes level. A long blue cape trails behind him and spills down the hindquarters of his steed. Gold shackles adorn his wrists and neck. Inquisitors have fenced
Magiano blinks. His brow furrows. Then he digs in his pocket for the false pin he thought he had stored safely away. As expected, his hands come up empty. He glances quickly back at us. A quiet moment passes.
“We win,” I say, flashing the pin. My hand is still shaking from what happened, but I hope he doesn’t notice.
“You have not told me of all your powers,” he says. He glances at Violetta again, and I imagine that he must bereaching out, trying to mimic her power. His eyes open wider as she pulls on his energy. He can’t, I realize. “You took my power away,” he whispers. His eyes dart back to me. “No wonder I couldn’t sense your illusions during your dance. You tricked me.”
“Only for a moment,” Violetta admits. “I can’t hold it back for long.”
I expect Magiano to be furious, or at least indignant. Instead, his pupils turn round, and a small grin plays underneath the fabric of his veil. “You tricked me,” he says again.
I’m silent. Everything seemed so crystal clear in the middle of the action. Now that we are here, and my body is weak and spent, I’m having trouble remembering all that took place. The same dizziness washes over me that I’d felt after Dante’s death, and Enzo’s. I close my eye and lean against the wall, trying not to think about the Night King’s blood spilling across the ground. If I’m not careful, I will conjure the illusion of him right here, his snarling face still pointed up at me.
After a while, Magiano folds his arms. “The Night King has ruled here for decades. I don’t think you understand the true weight of what you’ve done.” He pauses and lifts the veil to look more closely at us. “Or perhaps you do understand. By morning, every person in Merroutas will have heard your name. They will wonder and whisper over the White Wolf. They will fear you.” He shakes his head again, and this time, it is in admiration. “You may have just earned yourself an army of mercenaries.”
My heart starts to pound. No look of disgust from Magiano for what I did. No pitying gaze or wary expression. Admiration. After I killed a man. I don’t know how to feel. A sense of horror? Pride?
Violetta hands him the diamond pin. “Take it. You’re the one who wanted it.”
Magiano turns the pin over in his hands with a look of reverence.
“Why did you come back to help us?” I ask. “Does that mean …” I can’t quite bring myself to say it without hearing it first from him.
Magiano leans back against the wall and pulls his veil down. He gives us a wry look. “Do you know how much more notorious I could have been, if you were always close enough for me to mimic your power? Do you know what I could do, if we traveled together? And your sister, with her ability to take away an Elite’s power?” He looks curiously at her, and she coughs uncomfortably under his gaze. “Very interesting,” he murmurs. “Very interesting, indeed.”
I stand there and listen, still lost in a haze. I find myself wondering what he aligns with. Ambition. Greed. Something wicked, perhaps, like me. Again, I find myself wondering what’s going through his thoughts.
If you were able to kill a king, then perhaps you really can strike back against the Inquisition.
“Are you going to join us?” I ask.
He studies my face. Then he holds out a hand to me.
Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Raffaele sits atop a horse and enters the Estenzian gates behind Queen Maeve. With them are three of her brothers. Two of them, Augustine and Kester, ride beside her. Kester is an Elite, although Raffaele has yet to see his power in action. And the third brother is the youngest, the prince with the eerie energy, Tristan. Maeve’s white tiger prowls in front of her horse.
Raffaele keeps his head high and eyes level. A long blue cape trails behind him and spills down the hindquarters of his steed. Gold shackles adorn his wrists and neck. Inquisitors have fenced
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