The Midnight Star (17 page)

I look down, unsure how to feel.

“None of us are saints,” Magiano repeats. “We can all do better.”

We can all do better.
I lean toward him. Every bone in my body yearns to keep this boy safe, always. “Magiano . . . ,” I start to say. “I don't want to leave this world having never been with you.”

Magiano blinks once. He searches my face, as if trying to understand the true meaning of my words. “I'm with you right now,” he whispers.

“No,” I say quietly, bringing my lips up to his. “Not yet.”

Magiano smiles. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he leans forward and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips to mine. The light in his energy floods my insides, chasing away the dark shadows and replacing them with warmth. I can hardly breathe. I gasp as he touches my back and pulls me more tightly to him. His movement makes me lose my balance, and I topple backward into bed, bringing him with me. Magiano tumbles forward on top of me. His kisses continue, trailing the hollow of my throat. His fingers tug at the strings on my bodice and they loosen. He pulls it up over my head and tosses it to the foot of the bed. My skin is bare against his, and I realize that I'm trembling.

Magiano pauses for a moment to look at me, searching for a sign of my emotions. I study his face in the darkness. “Stay with me,” I whisper. “Tonight. Please.” The words said aloud suddenly frighten me, and I pull away, wondering whether I should have opened myself up to him like this. But
the thought of sleeping alone, surrounded by my illusions, is too much to bear.

He touches my hair with one hand, brushes the strands away, stares at the left side of my face. He kisses the scar gently. His lips touch my forehead, then my mouth. And then, as if he understands me better than anyone in the world, he whispers, “It will make this night a little less dark.”

That night, he dreamt of a place full of pillars, silver-white, reaching up to the sky. And that morning, his enemy's soldiers broke through the inner gates.

—
Excerpt from
The Requiem of Gods
, Vol. XVII, translated by Chevalle

A
fterward, no whispers lurk in my mind. My energy is very quiet. I have no nightmares. Stirring when the pale light of dawn creeps into my quarters through the porthole, I half expect last night to be nothing more than an illusion . . . but Magiano is still here, his soft brown skin pressed against mine, his breathing gentle and rhythmic in sleep.

I stretch against him, a genuine smile on my lips. The air is chilly, and I wish I could stay nestled forever under these thick blankets. Memories from last night still linger, Magiano's hot breath against my neck, his whispers of my name, his sharp inhale. When I first met him that evening in Merroutas, he seemed like a mysterious, invincible figure, a wild boy with a mess of hair and a quicksilver smile. Now, he seems quiet. Vulnerable. His fingers stay entwined with
mine, hanging on firmly even in sleep. I study his long lashes. For a moment, I wonder what he had seen in the memories Raffaele unearthed during his test.

Every day, we head farther north. Every day, the air turns colder. Soon, I have to put on a heavier cloak and sturdier boots each time I go above deck. Magiano seems uncomfortable here, in this colder climate. His blood is thinner than mine, and his Sunland heritage shows in his deep scowl.

This morning, as we see the first hints of land on the horizon, he joins me on the deck with two cloaks fastened tightly around his neck. His arm brushes against mine.

“Why can't the origin of the Elites be in a tropical paradise?” he complains.

Even now, looking out at this bleak, dark ocean, I have to smile at his words. He has shared my quarters every night since our first together, and as a result, the whispers have become quieter over the past few weeks. But now that we draw closer to the Skylands, the voices have returned with a vengeance. “We shall reach Beldain today, at least. I'll be happy to be on solid land again.”

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 from 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.