The Midnight Star (16 page)

Another assassination attempt.

I clutch the dagger in one hand and struggle to the top deck. An icy wind blasts me with rain. I freeze and look up at the sky to see clouds hovering so low that they seem like they might touch the crow's nest, clouds so black and ominous that it feels like I am peering up into the gaping mouth of Death herself.

“Adelina!” a drenched Magiano shouts from near the bow of the ship, where he hangs on desperately to the rigging of the sails. He's pointing in the direction where Raffaele's ship must be. Frantic, I glance around the deck. It all looks like a blur—a mass of gray crew fighting the tempest, water everywhere. I whirl around, as if my would-be assassin is behind me.

“Teren!” I shout back at Magiano. “He's gone! He's—”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I spot him. Under the glow of a streak of lightning, I see Teren making his way toward Magiano. Teren's wrists are still bound in chains, and as he moves, they clatter noisily. A gasp escapes me.
No.
I shout again and prepare to strike with my energy, but a huge wave smacks the side of the ship and I stumble at the impact. A rope snaps loose from somewhere and hits Magiano viciously in his side—on his never-healing marking.

Magiano doubles over in agony and loses his footing. His hands grab for the rigging. I leap onto the deck right as
Teren reaches it.
Teren is going to kill him.
The thought speeds through me like lightning—and my powers well up, roaring to the surface as I face Teren.

But Teren seizes the rope—and swings it toward Magiano with all his strength. Despite his pain, Magiano manages to catch it. He swings back toward the mast and hits the spar with a soft thud—narrowly avoiding going overboard. He crumples on the deck, clutching his side.

I wipe water from my vision. Did Teren just save Magiano's life?

At the same time, another wave crashes against the deck, flooding it. It washes one of my Inquisitors into the sea. I stumble and fall on my knees. Before me, Teren loses his footing and tumbles. I rush forward. Somewhere in the gale, Magiano calls out to me. “Adelina—don't!” he yells.

The water sweeps Teren overboard.
We need him
is all I can think.
We need Teren if we want to live.
I reach the railing and look down to see Teren clinging to the side of the ship. His chains clack in the wind. He glances up and catches sight of me.

Let him drown,
the whispers say.
Let the Underworld take him. Let him sink. He deserves it.

I hesitate, trembling from the effort of listening to the voices. He
does
deserve it. For a moment, the thought crowds my mind and the whispers crow as if they've won. Teren's face shifts and moves, rippling with an illusion out of my control, shifting from a human face to that of an unrecognizable demon, the monster underneath his skin.

Then I remember why we are here. I reach down, close my hand tightly around his wrist, and pull as hard as I can. Teren climbs slowly, making his way up one step at a time. His eyes reflect the lightning and the torrential rain.
When he is back on board,
I think,
we will need to secure his quarters more strictly.

“Look out!” someone shouts. I glance up just in time to see Magiano leap in my direction. But it's too late—an instant later, a wave hits the side of the ship like a battering ram and I'm flung free of the railing. All I see is a rush of black sky and ocean. Magiano is still standing along the deck, his arm outstretched toward me. Then he vanishes from sight as rain and ocean spray streak past. I look down to see the dark ocean rushing up at me.

The Underworld has come to claim you,
the whispers scream.

Then I hit the water. And the ocean consumes me.

Said the man to the sun, “How I wish you could shine your light on every day of my life!” Said the sun to the man, “But only with the rain and the night could you recognize my light.”

—
Domaccan poem, translated by Chevalle

T
he world is deafening and silent. Light and dark. I think I see Caldora in the depths, her long, monstrous fins carving through the water. The thunder sounds muffled from underneath these black tides. I float for a while, unsure of where I am or whether I am even alive. The current tosses me, I am down, and my heartbeat thuds in my ears. I struggle to breathe.

I surface with a gasp. Rain and seawater pours into my open mouth. I choke, coughing, and search for the ship. It's behind me, looming. I try to swim in its direction, but another wave swallows me and I'm tossed over and over. I manage to pull myself up again, only to see the ship edging farther away.

“Magiano!” I cry out. “Violetta!”

But my voice is lost in the tempest. Another wave pounds me and I'm submerged in the depths once more.

I will not die here. Not like this.
The thought becomes a drumbeat that fills me with rage, and the rage gives me strength. I force my limbs to keep churning, force my head above water one more time. The storm roars its fury overhead—lightning flashes between the clouds, and sheets of rain pummel me. I'm swallowed by another wave and every time I surface, the ship looks farther away. I start to lose feeling in my limbs. The energy of the Underworld seeps under my skin and down my throat. Monsters seem to swim in this sea, their massive black silhouettes framed by deep blue, which seems to extend down forever.

Will he miss me?
I picture Magiano's face, contorted in fear as he watched me go overboard. Is he safe?

Will Violetta miss me?

Then, a hand. The fingers are rough, nails dig into my flesh, the grip so hard that I think my bones will break. I open my mouth to cry out, but the effort is soundless in the sea. Through the darkness, I catch a glimpse of wild, white, mad eyes and a flash of blond hair.
Teren.
It is Teren in the water, fighting upward alongside me, pulling me by the arm.

We break through the surface into the center of the storm. I gasp, choking on seawater—through a blurry haze of rain, I see our ship careening several dozen yards away. On the masts, Magiano is pointing for the others to search the waters for us.
I'm here.
I try to wave, but the sea swallows my arm.

“Not invincible after all, little wolf?” Teren shouts.

Illusions darken the world all around. I am struggling to breathe in the Inquisition Tower, and Teren has his sword pressed against my throat.
He's going to kill me; he's going to cut me open with his blade.
A wild surge of terror lodges in my throat—and I panic, struggling to get away from him.

Teren growls and only tightens his grip on my arm. I'm vaguely aware of the ocean surrounding us. Another wave crashes against our bodies, and seawater pours into my mouth. I splutter.
He's drowning you,
the whispers shriek. Anyone else would have lost his grip in a sea this fierce, but Teren—still imbued with his powers—manages to stay locked on me like a shackle.

“Let go of me,” I choke out, clawing blindly at Teren. The sharp tang of blood suddenly fills my nostrils, and I realize that it is from his wrists, spreading a film of scarlet around us. Somewhere ahead, the silhouette of our ship looms.
We are getting closer.

“I wish I could,” Teren spits, dripping venom. “There's nothing I'd like to see more than you in the Underworld, Adelina.”

His words spark my fury.
He never intended to finish this journey with you.
Teren grips my arm again so hard that I scream in pain. He is pulling us both toward the ship, his face set in grim determination.

Then I hear him shout, “But I won't.”

But I won't.
My fury wavers, turning into bewilderment.

We are very close to the hull of our ship now, so close that Magiano has caught sight of us. I can hear his shout over the wind, his arm pointing down to where we are. Teren waves back at them, and as the crew bustles along the deck, I feel a sudden lift from the water below. A whirlwind pushes it away, and for an instant, a crater forms in the sea around us. The wind urges us both upward. Startled, I glance in the direction of Raffaele's ship, which yaws behind our own. Lucent is up on the masts, arms pointed in our direction. The wind strengthens, and the world blurs as we are lifted up, up, up above the railing of our ship's deck, a funnel of seawater raining onto the ship as we go.

Then we fall. I hit the deck hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Teren finally releases my arm, and I abruptly feel lighter without his iron grip on me. Inquisitors crowd around us. Magiano, still clutching his wounded side, shouts for blankets. In their midst, I see Violetta's face. Warm arms wrap around my cold neck, and I'm pulled forward, startled, into an embrace. Her hair drapes across my shoulder.

“I thought we lost you,” she says, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her in return before I even realize what I am doing.

Beside me, Inquisitors surround Teren, forcing his arms behind his back again. He stares at me with the side of his face pressed against the ground. His lips are still twisted up into a crooked smile. His eyes pulse with something unstable.
I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he's done.
He saved Magiano from falling overboard. He saved
me
.
He is taking this mission seriously, however much he loathes us.

“Maybe next time,” he says to me with that smile, “you won't be so lucky.”

Laetes had not even a single coin to his name—but it did not matter. Such charm did he exude, such joy did he bring to every passerby he met that they invited him into their homes, fed him their bread and stew, and protected him from thieves and vagabonds, so that he passed through the border between Amadera and Beldain without harm.

—The Fall and Rise of Laetes,
by Étienne of Ariata

T
he traitor Inquisitor turned out to be a new recruit from Dumor. After a tip from Teren and a brief hunt on board the ship, Magiano dragged every single member of our crew before me on the top deck, where they quivered and groveled at my feet. Magiano rarely has such a look of cold anger on his face—but he did then, the pupils of his eyes slitted so sharply that they looked like needles.

I could kill this crew, if I wanted. I could have their blood coating the deck of this ship by nightfall.

But I can't afford to do such a thing. There would not be enough people to guide the ship, nor protect us, if I rid myself of them all. So instead, I showed them the corpse of the would-be assassin. Then I ordered it tossed unceremoniously overboard.

“Let that be a reminder to those of you who still want to challenge me,” I said, my head high. “Anyone else?”

Only silence greeted me, followed by the whispers in my head. They seemed amused.

It is only a matter of time, isn't it, Adelina, before they get you.

It is strange to see the ocean so calm tonight, when only hours earlier, our ships had nearly been devoured by the waves.

I sit huddled in a chair, blankets wrapped around me even after I'd taken as warm of a bath as I could, shivering with a mug of bitter tea. To my annoyance, my mind lingers on Violetta. After her sudden emotional display on the deck, she returned to her usual tense silence in my presence, although she did give me a concerned look before retiring to her quarters. I don't know what to make of it, but I'm too tired tonight to dwell on the thought. Now only Magiano lounges by the porthole nearby, while Teren crouches in his chair, quietly eating his supper.

He still has a set of chains between his wrists, along with two Inquisitors at his sides—but the chains don't do much to restrict his movements, allowing him instead to eat freely. His wrists are also bandaged with clean cloth and there's a blanket wrapped around him. He seems unharmed, for the most part, by our ordeal in the ocean. I suppose his powers have not yet abandoned him.

“Why did you save me?” I ask Teren, my voice breaking through the silence.

“Probably the same reason why that Dagger saved both of our lives. The Windwalker, was it?” Teren doesn't bother looking up from his plate as he speaks. It is his first proper, hot meal in a long time, and he seems to be savoring it.

“And what reason is that?”

“As you said, I am here only to carry out the gods' wishes. And I'll be damned if your foolish actions make this voyage pointless.”

Let him keep you safe.
My whispers are surprisingly calm tonight, perhaps subdued by the herbs Magiano mixed into my tea. I nod at Teren. “Remove his chains,” I say to the Inquisitors standing beside him.

“Your Majesty?” one of them responds, blinking.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” I growl. The Inquisitor turns pale at my tone, then hurries to do my bidding. Teren eyes me as his chains fall away, landing with a heavy clang on the floor. Then he lets out a small laugh. The sound of it is familiar, and it scrapes against my memory.

“Trusting me,” Teren murmurs, “is a dangerous game, mi Adelinetta.”

“I'm doing more than that,” I reply. “For the rest of this journey,
you
will be my personal guard.”

At that, Teren's eyes flare with surprise and anger. “I'm not your lackey, Your
Majesty
.”

“And I'm not Giulietta,” I fire back. “You could have killed me on board the ship, when you first freed yourself. You could have drowned me in the ocean. But you didn't—and that makes you more trustworthy to me than even my own
crew. It's clear I can't rely on all of my men, and for once, we have the same goals. So, for the rest of this journey, you
will
be my personal guard. It is in both of our personal interests.”

The mention of Giulietta, as always, seems to hit Teren hard. He winces, then turns back to his food. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” he replies. “I suppose we'll see how well we do together.”

I take a deep breath. “This will all be over soon,” I say. “And your duty to the gods will be complete.”

Teren puts his plate down. We exchange a long stare.

Finally, he rises from his seat and faces one of the Inquisitors. The man swallows hard as Teren seizes the sheath of his sword and pulls it off the belt. Teren glances at Magiano, then at me. “I'll need a weapon,” he mutters, hoisting the sword in the air before he steps out of the cabin.

I do not realize how tense his unchained presence made me until he is out of the room; I relax my shoulders in his absence.

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Magiano says, walking over and offering his hand for support as I rise. “One heroic act doesn't make a man trustworthy. What if he decides to turn his blade on you?”

I follow Magiano out of the main cabin and turn down the corridor to our quarters. “You can't watch me all the time,” I say wearily. “Teren will be better than leaving me at the mercy of any other rebels who might be on board.”

Magiano tightens his lips, but doesn't argue. His eyes search my face, pausing for a heartbeat on my scars. His
braids are tied up in a thick mess, ruffled from exhaustion, and light from the corridor's lanterns highlights the gold glint in his eyes. “You aren't well tonight,” he says softly.

Before I can respond, the whispers hiss again, fighting against the herbal tea, and I rub my temples in an attempt to soothe my headache.

Magiano takes my hand and leads me inside my quarters. “Come,” he says. I follow him to the bed, where I gingerly sit down, while he goes to the writing desk, lights a candle, and prepares me another mug of tea. Outside my porthole, a strange wailing echoes across the ocean. I sit still in bed for a while and listen to it. It is a low, lingering sound, like a ghost's whisper on the wind, and as I continue to listen, I feel it coming from right beneath the waves. My energy trembles at the call, even as something about it sounds familiar, even beckoning, to my ears. This is a sound from the Underworld.

The shadows in the corners of my quarters seem to bend and shift, even as Magiano stands barely a few feet away. I must be hallucinating again, my illusions twisting out of my control. The shadows change into shapes with claws and teeth, tiny empty sockets for eyes, and as I look on, the shapes sharpen until their faces take on the characteristics of people long gone. They struggle to crawl out of the shadows and into the moonlight that paints the floors. I sink deeper into bed, try to ignore the sound outside, and pull my blankets up to my chin. I have to find a way to regain control over the threads of my energy. I practice taking deep breaths—in and out.

The wail outside fades, then strengthens, then fades again. After a while, I can barely hear it anymore. The shadows against the walls lose their threatening shapes, settling into flat darkness.

“Adelina.” Magiano's whisper. I hadn't even noticed him approach and sit on the corner of my bed. He holds a mug out to me.

I take it in relief. “Did you hear the wailing?” I ask.

He leans over and carefully peers out of the porthole, his hand supporting his marked side. If the moons were new tonight, the ocean would be a black mass, reflecting nothing but a sky full of stars. But tonight the storm clouds have cleared and the water is brightly lit, and as we look on, I can see the rolls of water pushed up by a pod of baliras swimming by.

“I've never heard them wail like that before,” I say as they pass.

“I heard them several nights ago,” Magiano replies. “Raffaele told me he heard it, too, when he came on board our ship. It is the sound of a dying balira, poisoned by this water.”

His words tug at my heart. I look out the porthole again to catch a sight of the last ones swimming by, until nothing but triangles of ripples drift in their wake.
Let them die,
the whispers say.
When it is all done, you can turn your back on them. On everyone. Escape with your powers. You can't give them up.

Yes, I could do this. I'll wait until we've reached the border of Amadera and Beldain, and begin the trek northward. Then Magiano and I can return to Kenettra. I shake my head, frowning, and sip more of the herbal drink. Would Violetta
return with me? Could I leave without her? Will I abandon the others? I stay very still, focusing my thoughts on following through with this plan. I imagine sailing back to my country and returning to my throne. I force myself to be happy about it.

I picture Raffaele and Lucent, who saved my life, and then Teren, who has turned against every belief he holds in order to do what he thinks is right.

Magiano looks at me. His side is pressed against mine, his skin warm and full of life.

“I'm afraid,” I finally whisper to him. “Every day, I wake up wondering whether or not this will be the last day I get to live in reality.” I look at him. “Last night, my nightmare returned. It went on for longer than it ever has. Even now, when you were standing so close by, I could see the shadows in the corner reaching their claws toward me. Even at this very moment, my illusions are growing stronger, evolving completely out of my reach.” I pause as the whispers scold me for speaking against them.

This boy will betray you, just like all the others. He is here for the pouch of gold you give him. He'll disappear the instant you reach land, gone to search for better companions.

“Good thing we're going to find a way to fix this, then,” Magiano replies, his eyes turned down at me. His words sound like they should be teasing, but his voice is grave, his face serious. “It won't be like this forever.”

No response comes to my lips. After a while, I rest my hand upon his. “You're still in pain.”

“Just my old wound acting up again, ” he replies quickly. “But I'm declining slower than you are, my love. I can endure this.”

“Let me see,” I murmur gently. “Maybe you need to wrap it.”

Magiano pulls away at first, but when I give him a pointed look, he sighs and relents. He shifts a little so that his back is turned to me, and then he reaches up and pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his torso. My gaze goes straight to the massive mark on his side. It stretches from the small of his back to the side of his upper chest. I bite my lip. Tonight, it looks swollen, red and angry from the mast's strike.

“Perhaps Raffaele can have a look at it tomorrow,” I say, frowning at the sight. My thoughts turn to the priests from Magiano's childhood, the ones who made this wound by trying to cut off the marking on his skin. The image makes my temper boil.

“I'm all right. Don't worry.”

I meet his gaze. He looks vulnerable and gentle, his pupils round and dark. “Magiano, I . . . ,” I start to say, then pause, unsure. Even after our moments of shared kisses, our encounter in the bathhouse, I've never confessed my feelings to him.
Don't, foolish girl. He'll only use it against you.
But I decide to push on. “We might not return from this voyage. None of us. We might all lay down our lives when we reach the end, and not ever know whether our sacrifice changed anything for the better.”

“It
will
be for the better,” Magiano replies. “We cannot just die, not without trying. Not without fighting.”

“Do you really believe that?” I ask. “Why are we doing this, anyway? To preserve my own life, and yours—but what has the world ever done for us in order to deserve our sacrifice?”

Magiano's brows furrow for a moment, then he leans in closer. “We exist because this world exists. It's a responsibility of ours, whether or not anyone will remember it.” He nods at me. “And they will. Because we will return and make sure of it.”

He is close enough now that I can feel his breath against my lips. “You are so full of light,” I say after a moment. “You align with joy, and I with fear and fury. If you could see into my thoughts, you would surely turn away. So why would you stay with me, even if we return to Kenettra and resume our lives?”

“You paint me as a saint,” he murmurs. “But I aligned with greed solely to prevent that.”

Even now, he can make my lips twitch with a smile. “I'm serious, Magiano.”

“As am I. None of us are saints. I have seen your darkness, yes, and know your struggle. I won't deny it.” He touches my chin with one hand. At this gesture, the whispers seem to settle, pushed away where I can't hear them. “But you are also passionate and ambitious and loyal. You are a thousand things, mi Adelinetta, not just one. Do not reduce yourself to that.”