The Rose Society Page 7

  Several of his captains are already waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. They straighten at the sight of him.

  “Halve the rations for the malfettos,” Teren says, adjusting his gloves. His irises shine clear in the light. “I want this cleansing sped up. Do not inform the queen.”

  This Documente of Assurance, executed 11 Toberie of 1315, witnesses that Sir Marzio of Dalia may enter into monitored trade with His Eminence the Night King of Merroutas, with knowledge that failure to provide His Eminence with eighty percent of acquired monies will result in arrest and execution.

  —Document of Assurance between Sir Marzio of Dalia and the Night King of Merroutas

  Adelina Amouteru

  Like everything else about Magiano, his little challenge to me is probably a trick.

  “He said he’d make his move tomorrow morning,” Violetta says to me that evening, as we sit together on the floor of a small tavern room on the edge of Merroutas. We are practicing our powers, just as we do every night.

  “He’ll make his move sooner than that.” I weave a tiny ribbon of darkness on the ground and let it dance in a pattern. “Tricksters don’t tell the truth.”

  “Then what should we do? We don’t have much time if we want to beat him.”

  I shake my head, concentrating on weaving the ribbon into a miniature, dancing faerie. I mold as much detail as I can into its face. “Remember,” I say, “our goal isn’t to steal the diamond pin before Magiano can. Our goal is to convince him that we are worth following.”

  Violetta watches as I shift my illusion of the dancing faerie, hunching its back, replacing its beautiful hair with hideous spikes. I grow it into a hulking monster. “You’re thinking about what he said, aren’t you?” she asks after a moment. “How the Night King has ten thousand mercenaries and an army at his back. You’d love to have that kind of support at your disposal.”

  “How did you know?”

  Violetta gives me a timid smile before putting her chin in her hands and admiring my illusion. “I’ve known you my whole life, mi Adelinetta. And I think Magiano told you about those mercenaries for a reason.”

  “And what reason is that?”

  “Perhaps he wants you to win them over to your side.”

  We fall into a comfortable silence as I play with the illusion. The monster gradually changes into a sleek, golden doe, Violetta’s favorite animal. My sister’s smile expands at the sight, encouraging me to make it even prettier for her. “Magiano is arrogant,” I say. “If we really want to win him over, we can’t just steal a diamond pin.” I look at her again. “We need to surprise him with what we can do.”

  Violetta looks away from the doe illusion and arches an eyebrow at me. “How do we plan on doing that? You heard Magiano. And you saw the soldiers during the Midsummer Festival too. They are all intimidated by the Night King. He rules with fear.”

  At that, the doe’s golden hide turns black, and the creature’s eyes glow scarlet. Violetta instinctively shrinks away from it.

  “So do I,” I say.

  Violetta realizes what I want to do. She laughs a little, both uneasy and admiring, then shakes her head. “You were always good at playing games,” she replies. “I could never beat you.”

  I’m not that good, I think, even as her words warm me to her. I tried to play Teren’s game against him, and I lost everything.

  “Adelina,” she whispers, seriously this time. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “You won’t,” I reply, taking her hand. “We are just going to show off what we can do. Mercenaries can be persuaded to turn against their employer. If we can show how much more powerful we are than the Night King—if we can make him fear us, and make sure his men see—some of them may switch their allegiance. They could follow us.”

  Violetta looks up at me and searches my gaze. There is guilt there, for how she had once left me to fend for myself. “Okay,” she says.

  It is her way of telling me that she’ll never betray me again. I squeeze her hand, then lean back. “Go ahead,” I say to Violetta. “Take my power away.”

  She reaches out and tugs at my threads of energy. My illusion wavers wildly. When Violetta uses her power, it feels as if an invisible hand were reaching down my throat and pulling the energy out of my body. She holds on to it tightly—my illusion dissolves. I try to access my power, but I can’t anymore. A feeling of panic bubbles up like bile, the sudden and familiar fear that I will never, ever be able to defend myself again, that I am now exposed for all to see.

  Don’t panic. I remind myself of our promise and force myself to relax. “Hold on,” I murmur to Violetta through gritted teeth. I have to let her do this. She needs to practice her stamina.

  The seconds crawl by as I continue to push back my panic, trying to get used to the feeling. There is a certain solace in it, yes. The absence of darkness. The lack of twisted whispers in the night. But without it, I feel helpless, and I spiral into the version of myself that used to cower before my father. Again and again, I try to reach out for my energy. Again and again, I find nothing but air, emptiness where there had once been a churning pool of darkness. More minutes.

  When I feel like I can’t stand it any longer, I finally choke out, “Give it back.”

  Violetta exhales.

  My power rushes back to me, and I crumple in relief as strength floods me again, filling every nook and crevice of my chest with its sickness. Both of us lean back in exhaustion. I give Violetta a small smile.

  “How long was that?” Violetta asks after she manages to catch her breath again. She looks pale and fragile, as she always does after she uses her power, and her cheeks are unnaturally flushed.

  “Longer than yesterday,” I reply. “That was good.”

  To be honest, I want her to learn faster, so that we can confront Teren again sooner. But I have to be careful when I practice with her, lest she fall ill. I go slowly, gently, encouraging her along. Maybe I also do this because I am afraid of her, because her power is the one that I can never defeat. She is, after all, partly responsible for all my childhood abuse, for holding me back without ever telling me. If she wasn’t my sister, if I didn’t love her, if she had a harder heart . . . “Well, what do we do?” Violetta asks. I turn in the direction of the Night King’s court. My eye narrows at the glow of the setting sun. The whispers in my mind awaken as they sense what I’m thinking, and then they start to twitch and chitter in excitement, pushing and shoving against my thoughts until they crowd every dark corner. This time, I listen to them. This is my chance to send a signal to the Inquisition that I am coming for them, that they have not crushed me.

  “We make the Night King cower at our feet,” I say.

  It is a hot and humid evening, and the city shimmers under the light of a setting sun. Violetta and I make our way through the smoke-filled streets until we end up on a hill, overlooking a lush garden estate in the center of the city. Here, blue-and-silver flags depicting the symbol of a crown and moon hang from every balcony. The Night King’s main quarters.

  I can see why Magiano chose a night like this to steal the pin. Because it’s so hot, everyone is eating and lounging outdoors, and a bustling outdoor space must be easier for a thief to work with. Sure enough, the garden inside the Night King’s estate now buzzes with servants, all setting up for the evening meal.

  Violetta and I hide in the shadows under a row of trees. We stare at the guards posted along the estate’s walls. Farther down the hill, soldiers patrol near the main entrance.

  “We can’t go over the walls,” I whisper. “Not without causing a scene.” If the Windwalker were with us, she could have effortlessly lifted us onto the walls—but now that we are no longer with the Daggers, I can rely only on my own powers.

  “Look,” Violetta says softly, touching my arm. She points to the main entrance below. There, a cluster of young dancer
s gathers by the doors, waiting to be let in. They laugh and talk with the guards.

  “Let’s find a different way,” I mutter. I don’t like the sight of them. Somehow, their ornate hair and colorful silks remind me too much of the Fortunata Court—of sensual consorts I once knew, who could hypnotize their audience with a sweep of their lashes.

  “Do you want to waste all your energy on keeping us invisible for hours?” Violetta says. “It will be the easiest way to get in. You said Raffaele trained you while you stayed in the—”

  “I know,” I interrupt, perhaps more harshly than I intended. Then I shake my head and soften my voice. She’s right. If we want to get in, we should go as dancers, and we need to play nicely with the guards. “But I never could charm clients like Raffaele did,” I admit. “I only played a novice who never needed to speak.”

  “It’s not so hard, really.”

  I give her a withering stare. “Maybe not for an unmarked malfetto like you.”

  Violetta just lifts her chin and gives me a teasing look. It is the same look she used to give our father whenever she wanted something. “You are powerful, mi Adelinetta,” she says, “but you have all the charisma of a burnt potato pudding.”

  “I like burnt potato pudding. It’s smoky.”

  Violetta rolls her eyes. “My point is that it doesn’t matter what you like, it matters what others like. All you have to do is listen and look for what makes the other person happy, and feed it.”

  I sigh. Violetta may not be able to lie about important things, but she does know how to charm. My gaze lingers on the dancers at the gate, and with a sinking feeling, I imagine us down there with them. Too many memories of the Fortunata Court. I only work with the worthy, Magiano had said. If we can’t survive tonight, then we aren’t worthy.

  Maybe the loyalty of Magiano isn’t worth all this. Surely there are plenty of other Elites, lesser ones, who might join us without us risking our lives with the Night King. Magiano may be the most notorious of them all, but he is making us enter a snake pit in order to win him over.

  Then I remember Teren’s pale, mad eyes. I think back on the massacre in the arena, Enzo’s death, and Teren’s taunts. With his versatile power, Magiano may be the only one capable of fighting Teren. If I’m going to return to Kenettra, I can’t afford to go with a ragtag bunch of Elites. I need to have the best. This goes far beyond Magiano. This is about us taking the Night King’s strength, of gathering our own power.

  You have to be brave, the whispers say.

  I start to weave a small illusion across the scarred side of my face. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll follow you.”

  There are six guards at the entrance when we arrive. I can tell immediately that most of them are seasoned soldiers, too experienced to be tempted by the pretty faces of dancers. I take a deep breath and adjust the silk wrap around my hair. Violetta does the same. By the time we approach the gate, the guards are inspecting each of the dancers. They kick several out of the group. One of them tugs on a girl’s hair. She yelps.

  “No malfettos,” he says to them, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Night King’s orders.”

  His eyes fall on Violetta. My sister doesn’t beg like the others; instead, she meets the soldier’s gaze shyly, her expression full of innocence, and approaches him reluctantly.

  The soldier pauses to take her in. “Ah, a new girl,” he says, his gaze flicking to me before returning to my sister. “This one looks nice.” He glances at his companion, as if looking for a vote of approval. “Too much golden hair surrounding the Night King tonight. What about this one?”

  The other soldier studies Violetta in admiration. My sister swallows hard, but gives them a small, demure smile. I’ve seen her win over many a suitor with that expression.

  Finally, the first soldier nods. “In with you.” He waves Violetta over.

  “This is my sister,” Violetta says, motioning to me. “We go together, please.”

  The soldier shifts his attention to me. I can see the spark of desire in his eyes as he recognizes my beauty, a sharper, more sinister version of Violetta. I step forward, then keep my voice firm and my shoulders straight. “You cannot take my sister in and leave me out here,” I say. I remember the way Raffaele used to tilt his head, and I do that now, offering my own smile at them. My smile is different from Violetta’s—darker, less naïve, promising other things. “We entertain the best when together,” I add, looping my arm through Violetta’s. “The Night King will not be disappointed.”

  The other soldiers laugh, while the first one watches me thoughtfully. “An interesting pair, you two,” he mutters. “Very well. I’ve no doubt the Night King will have his fun.”

  I let out a quiet breath and we join the dancers who have been accepted. As the guards open the gate and let us walk past, I notice the soldier’s eyes staying on us, his envy for the Night King obvious on his face. I lower my head and try to hide my thoughts.

  Inside, the garden is lit with lanterns. Fireflies dance in the darkness, mingling with the low hum of laughter and movement. As we approach the center, the soldiers following us begin to fall back. Finally, the first soldier stops and turns to us.

  “You know the rules,” he says. Then he remembers us, the newcomers, and adds, “You go where you’re invited, nowhere else. Stay in the courtyard grounds. Touch no wine or food unless offered to you by a guest. I’ll not hesitate to escort out anyone who causes a scene.” Then he gestures his permission for us to wander the garden.

  “How do you think Magiano will get in?” Violetta whispers as we walk.

  “I’m sure he’s already here,” I whisper back. Several guests walk by us, their eyes lingering on our faces. Violetta smiles sweetly at them, and their expressions relax. I watch her carefully, trying to follow her example.

  It works well. We draw the right amount of attention for a pair of hired dancers. Men brush a little too closely to us, so that the silk of their sleeves touches our bare arms. We even attract the attention of the Night King’s other scattered soldiers—one of them pauses long enough to rub my shoulder. I stiffen at his touch.

  “They’ve let in some exquisite dancers tonight,” he murmurs, nodding a greeting at both Violetta and me. Violetta blushes prettily at him, and he beams before continuing on his patrol of the grounds. I’m too surprised to do the same. The last time a soldier touched me, he cut a scar across my chest with his sword.

  Seeing my expression, Violetta loops her arm through mine and bends close to my ear. “You must relax, mi Adelinetta,” she whispers. “Especially around the soldiers.”

  She is right, of course. I remind myself that no one here can see the true, scarred side of my face. All they see is the illusion of my beauty.

  The crowd turns steadily thicker as the evening lengthens. Gradually, as we search for the Night King, I begin to relax. Violetta points out a pair of handsome noblemen and, when they notice us, she giggles and turns away. I laugh along with her, letting her guide us as questions swirl in my mind. Are any of the Night King’s secret mercenaries here?

  We wander the entire grounds of the garden before we finally stumble across the Night King’s entourage.

  A circle of silk-clad noblemen talk and laugh in a private corner of the garden, where colorful cushions line the grass and a cheerful fire burns in a central pit. A whole roasted pig turns over the fire. Large plates of fragrant rice, dates, and stuffed melon surround the pit. Several dancers have clustered here, enchanting their audience with drumbeats and swirling silks. Others sit and laugh with their patrons.

  I know immediately which of them is the Night King.

  He is easily the most adorned of the circle, his fingers decorated with thick gold rings and his dark eyes accented with black powder. A slender crown sits on his head. A nobleman to his right is muttering something into his ear. On his left is one of his soldiers, draining
the last drops from a wine cup. Several others stand guard nearby, their gloved hands poised over sword hilts. My gaze goes to the collar of his silk shirt.

  An enormous diamond-encrusted pin hangs there. Small wonder why Magiano is after such a monstrous thing—I can see the glimmer of it from across the courtyard. I glance around. Magiano hasn’t made his move yet.

  Violetta and I come upon the circle. When several noblemen glance up at us, I throw back my shoulders and give them my most dazzling smile. To my satisfaction, their eyes widen and they smile in return.

  The Night King laughs as we approach. Then he gestures to a small space of cushions near him. “A night with the prettiest dancers in Merroutas,” he says as we fold our legs beneath us and sit. “Midsummer is kind to us.” His black-rimmed eyes linger on Violetta, then on me. It’s always in that order. “What are your names, my beauties?”

  Violetta just gives him a coy smile, while I let myself blush. If only he knew that we are both malfettos.

  “No malfettos dirtying your estate,” says the man sitting next to the Night King. “It’s getting harder, sir. Have you heard the news coming out of Kenettra?”

  The Night King smiles at him. “What is the new royalty doing there?”

  “The Lead Inquisitor of Kenettra has handed down a decree, sir,” the man replies. “All malfettos have already been removed from within the capital and set up in shelters outside the city walls.”

  “And what’s to happen to them?” The Night King is still admiring both of us as he talks. He leans forward and offers us a platter of dates.

  “Death, I’m sure. We’ve been turning away ships with malfetto stowaways.”

  “The Lead Inquisitor,” the Night King muses. “The queen seems to be giving him quite a lot of power, isn’t she?”