The Midnight Star (7 page)

Magiano lifts one hand out of the water and touches my chin for a moment, tilting it up, leaving a droplet of water to run along my skin. “I'm looking forward to seeing you become Queen of the Sunlands,” he says, his gaze wandering across my face.

What do you see now, Magiano?
I wonder. When he first met me, I was a girl cast out by her friends, allied with her sister, intent on getting revenge on the Inquisition Axis. Now I
rule
the Inquisition.
What do you see when you stare at me? Is it the same girl you once kissed by a crackling fire?

Gradually, an old, mischievous light appears in his eyes. I tremble as his lips brush against my ear, and I can't help but think about the submerged half of him, flushing at the knowledge that I, too, am naked below my shoulders. “I found a secret place,” he whispers. His hand finds mine under the water, tugging on my wrist. “Come with me.”

I'm unable to suppress a laugh. “Where are you taking me?” I say in a mock scolding voice.

“I'll beg your forgiveness later, Your Majesty,” he teases back, flashing me a grin as he pulls us toward the far end of the pool. Here, the water branches into two narrower segments, each leading into a more private chamber. One of the private chambers has been sealed off for the past few months, though, as part of the archway had collapsed into the water and left it impassable. As we near the bend, I think Magiano is going to lead us into the still-open private chamber on the right. But he doesn't. Instead, he guides us to the left, toward the collapsed arch. We pause in front of it, a trail of water disturbed in our wake.

“Behold.” Magiano spreads his arms in a gesture of pretend triumph. “Revel in its majesty.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you trying to impress me with a collapsed archway?”

“No faith. No faith at all.” He is back to his old self, and it sends a rare thread of joy through my heart. “Follow me,” he murmurs. Then he takes a deep breath and dives down, grabbing my hand as he descends.

At first, I hesitate. There are still a few things I fear in life.
Fire. Death. And the last time I was submerged in water, in a canal in Merroutas when my illusions first betrayed me, I did not fare well. When I resist, Magiano resurfaces. “Don't be afraid,” he says with a half smile. “You're with me.” His hand tightens around my wrist, tugging me down again playfully. And this time, I feel safe enough to take a deep breath of my own and do as he says.

The water is warm, caressing my face, and as I go deeper, the world disappears into shades of light and muffled sound. Through the water I catch a glimpse of Magiano's bare body, gliding like a balira down toward the broken archway. Then I catch sight of what he wants me to see. At the very bottom, the archway hasn't completely blocked off the private chamber behind it. There is still a narrow entrance under the water, one that looks just wide enough for a person to swim through.

Magiano goes first. His movements send up a cloud of bubbles. I follow in his wake. The light in the water darkens, turning black, and for a moment, I feel a suffocating sense of fear.
What if I have entered the Underworld? What if I will never surface again?
The whispers in my head stir, chittering.
What if he is leading you in here so he can drown you?

Then I feel Magiano's familiar hand close on my wrist again, pulling me up. I surface with a gasp. As I brush wet hair and water from my face, I look up to see a chamber lit only by the faint blue glow of moss on the walls.

Magiano watches me as I take in the sight. He turns in the small secret chamber, gesturing along the walls to where
the plants have started to grow. “Amazing, isn't it,” he says, “how quickly life finds a place for itself when no one is around to keep it out?”

I stare in wonder at the moss's faint glow. “What is this?” I ask, reaching a hand out to the blue-green vegetation. It feels as velvet as the finest fur.

“Faery moss,” Magiano replies, admiring the view along with me. “It thrives in damp caves in Merroutas too. Once it finds a good slit on the wall where it can seed, it spreads everywhere. They'll have their work cut out for them once they fix the archway and reopen this chamber.” He grins. “Let's hope it takes them a long time.”

I smile. The glow adds a hue of blue to the edge of Magiano's skin, softening his features. He drips water. I draw closer to him, suddenly bolder. “I suppose you come in here often, then,” I say, half teasing. “Bringing your maids and admirers?”

Magiano frowns at that. He shakes his head. “You think I'm bedding every maid I speak to?” he says and shrugs. “Flattered, Your Majesty. But you are very wrong.”

“So, what you're telling me is that you come to this secret space alone?”

He tilts his head in a flirtatious way. “What's wrong with a thief wanting a little private time now and then?” He comes closer. His breath warms my skin like the fog that hovers over the water. “Of course, here you are. I suppose I'm not alone, after all.”

A blush rises on my cheeks as I become very aware of my
bare skin, both above and below the water. My energy stills, as it tends to around him, and I find myself aching for his touch. He leans down so that his lips are just a breath away from my own, and there we hover, suspended in time.

“Do you still remember the fire? Under the stars?” he asks, suddenly shy, and I feel innocent for the first time in a long while.

“I remember what we were doing,” I reply with a small smile.

A laugh escapes his lips. Then his expression turns serious. “You asked me whether or not I miss my old life,” he whispers, his voice now hoarse. “Do you know what I miss the most? That night.”

My heart skips a beat, aching in sudden sadness. “And what about the girl you once sat beside, on that night? Do you miss her too?”

“She is still here,” he answers. “That is why I stay.”

Then he closes the distance between us, and his lips touch mine. Around us is nothing but the sound of water lapping gently against overgrown stone and the faint glow from the moss. His hand trails along my bare back, tracing the curve of my spine. He pulls me close so that our chests are pressed together. His kiss goes from my lips to my chin, and there he plants them lower and lower, creating a gentle path along my neck. I sigh, wanting nothing more in this moment than us, content with staying here forever. The tether tying me to Enzo fades in my mind, and for an instant I can forget that we are linked at all. Magiano's hands run down my back,
unwilling to let go. My breaths come in ragged gasps. Gradually, I notice that we have made our way to the edge of the pool, where he presses me tightly against the stone. One of his hands tangles in my hair, drawing me forward to him. His kisses return to my lips, more urgent now, and I fall into them eagerly. A low groan rumbles in his throat. I wonder, for a wild second, if he will take us further, and my heart pounds in my chest.

“Your Majesty,” he whispers, breathless. A note of amusement creeps into his voice. “You'll ruin me.” Then he pulls me to him, so that every inch of our bodies is pressed together. I lean against him, soaking in the luxury of the warm water. I don't want to ask him what he's thinking.

A faint voice rings out, muffled, from the other side of our hidden space. I ignore it as Magiano drowns me in another kiss. Through the haze of my thoughts, the voice comes floating over again.

“Your Majesty? Your Majesty!”

Water ripples against our bodies.

“Your Majesty,” the voice continues, drawing nearer. Now I recognize it as one of the stewards who deliver my messages. “There is an urgent letter for you.”

“She's not here,” another voice complains. “The bathhouse is empty.” The voice sighs. “She's probably off slitting some poor fool's throat.”

The words break me out of my haze. I push away from Magiano right as his eyes open again. He glances toward the collapsed entrance too, then shoots me a questioning glance.
I straighten and give him a smile, unwilling to show him that the servant's remark has bothered me. Instead, I exhale and try to bring down the flush in my cheeks.

“You'd better go,” Magiano whispers, his words echoing in the space. He nods toward the collapsed archway. “Far be it from me to interrupt something urgent.”

“Magiano, I . . . ,” I start to say. But the rest of the words don't want to come out, and I stop trying to force them. I take a deep breath before ducking under the warm water and swimming through the space that leads back out into the main bath hall.

I break through the surface with a loud splash. A yelp of surprise comes from somewhere in the chamber. As I wipe water away from my face, I see two messengers standing at the edge of the bath, their eyes wide, their fear hovering over them.

“Yes?” I say coolly, raising my brow at them.

This snaps the men out of their terrified stupor. They jump backward in unison and bend down in low bows. “Your Majesty, I—” one of them says, voice trembling. This is the one who had spoken about me with sarcastic disgust. “I—I—I—hope you had a lovely bath. I—”

His words fade into an incoherent jumble as Magiano comes up behind me, shaking water from his hair. If he weren't here, I might indulge myself in punishing this messenger for speaking about me so carelessly. The whispers stir, delighted at the fear emanating from the man. But I shake them off. He's lucky this time.

“You mentioned an urgent letter,” I finally say, interrupting the messenger's distracted train of thought. “What is it?”

The second man, smaller and slighter, approaches the water. He presents a rolled parchment to me. I wade toward him and lift one hand out of the water to take it.

The letter's crimson wax seal bears the royal crest of Tamoura. I crack it open, unfurl the parchment . . . and freeze.

I know this handwriting. No one else can write in such an elegant script, with such careful flourish. Behind me, Magiano approaches and looks over my shoulder at the message. He whispers the first thought on my mind. “It's a trap,” he says.

But I cannot speak. I only read the message again and again, wondering what it really means.

To Her Majesty of Kenettra,

Your sister is dying. You must come to Tamoura at once.

Raffaele Laurent Bessette

Where will you go, when the clock strikes twelve?

What will you do, when you face yourself?

How will you live, knowing what you've done?

How will you die, if your soul's already gone?

—
Excerpt of monologue from
Compasia & Eratosthenes
, as performed by Willem Denbury

T
omorrow, we set sail for the shores of Tamoura. So, tonight, the entire palace is alight with festivities in celebration of our upcoming invasion.

Long tables piled high with food sit in every hall of the palace, while the courtyards are bright with lanterns and dancing. I sit with Sergio in one of the gardens. In my hands is the strip of parchment from Raffaele, which I've played with so much now, I can hardly read the letters anymore. My stomach feels hollow and sick. I couldn't even finish my herbal drink, and now, with nothing to keep them at bay, the whispers have started murmuring incessantly in the back of my mind again.

Violetta is with the Daggers after all. Your enemies. What a traitor.

Why do you still care for her? Have you forgotten how she abandoned you?

Yes, she tried to wrench us away from you.

She's better off dead.

Beside me, Magiano's chair is empty. He has taken up his lute and is now sitting in the arched entranceway to the garden, playing a song he's composed just today. Below him, a crowd has gathered. Everyone is already drunk—they sway in their dances, stumbling all over, laughing uproariously. At the edges of my vision, an illusion of Violetta unfurls. I see her dying on the floor, blood spilling in a pool all around, while the other partygoers step over her body. I force my attention back to Magiano, hoping he can distract me.

Magiano is a sight to behold tonight. His silks are gold and white, and trinkets glimmer amongst his long braids, all of them pulled over one shoulder. He leans forward and flashes a brilliant smile down at the cheering people listening to his music; every now and then, he pauses in his playing to call for challenges. People shout the names of old folk songs at him, then cheer and clap when he takes them on. I blush as I remember the bathwater beading on his braids, his bare skin against mine in our secret pool, illuminated by the dim blue glow of faery moss. Perhaps he is thinking about it too.

Ignoring us won't change anything, Adelina. Your sister will still die. And you'll be happy about it, won't you?

The whispers push at my mind until I grimace, clutching my head.

“Your Majesty?”

Sergio's voice beside me sends the voices skittering to the recesses of my mind again. I relax a little in my seat and look over at him. He returns my look with obvious concern. “It's nothing,” I say. “I'm thinking of Raffaele's letter.” I hold it up to show Sergio.

He lets out a grunt of approval as he tears into a leg of roast hare. “Perhaps he's heard rumors of your split from her and wants to use it against you. Violetta might not even be with him.”

A part of me still stirs at the thought of Raffaele—and instantly, I imagine him on the deck of Queen Maeve's ship, surrounded by flames, his forehead pressed against Enzo's, calming the prince, looking back at me with tragic, tear-filled eyes, shaking his head in despair.
If justice is what you seek, Adelina . . . you will not find it like this.

“They are in Tamoura,” I say a little too loudly, in an attempt to drown out the whispers. “No doubt working with the Golden Triad there. Their rulers must think using my sister against me will make me act carelessly.”

“They're trying to trick you into a meeting,” Sergio replies, although he casts me a careful glance that doesn't match his bold words. “To get you alone in a room. But what they'll get instead is an army.” He throws back the rest of the drink in his cup, visibly reacting to how strong it is, and then clears some space on the table before us. He pulls out a wrinkled parchment and spreads it out. He has been carrying this with him everywhere lately, so I'm already familiar with it. It is his battle plan for Tamoura. “I've been digging up all
the maps I can find of the landscape around Alamour. Look: The city itself is surrounded by high walls, but if we can get up here”—he points to a strange outcropping of cliffs that meander along the eastern side of the city—“we can find a way to get over the walls.”

“And how do we do that?” I ask, folding my arms. “Baliras can't fly that far inland, not in a Sunland desert. They'll suffocate in the dry air.”

The instant I say it, I know the answer. I glance at Sergio, who gives me a sly smile as he pours himself a cup of water instead of wine. “I think I know someone who can bring us a good storm,” he replies.

I give him a smile back. “It should work,” I say, leaning forward in my seat to peer more closely at Sergio's calculations. I'm impressed with the way he has split up the rest of our men. “We'll surprise the Tamourans in their own home.”

Sergio's eyes sweep once over the festivities, out of habit. I follow his gaze. Off in the corner, a path is being cut through the crowd, causing cheers and taunts to go up. The entertainment has arrived. “We'll do more than surprise them,” Sergio replies. “We'll defeat them so soundly that their Golden Triad will soon be mopping your marble floors.”

Our conversation pauses as the procession makes its way to the main clearing. It's led by two young Inquisitors who now gleefully shove forward several people with bound arms. They stumble and fall, then crouch into some resemblance of a bow in my direction. All around them, the crowd cheers. Wine spills out of goblets.

“Your Majesty!” one of the Inquisitors calls up to me. His hair shines in the light, revealing a glimmer of scarlet red against the black. “Found these four in the streets and brought them in for you. I overheard one using the word
malfetto
. Another was trying to pass as one of us with false markings.”

At that, the crowd—all of whom are marked—starts to shout curses at the people tied up on the ground. I peer at them to get a closer look. One is an old man, while another is an aging woman. The third is a boy, barely out of childhood, while the fourth is a girl newly wedded, still wearing double bands around one of her fingers. I can tell the girl is the one who was trying to wear false markings—the color in her hair and against her skin looks disturbed, where an Inquisitor must have smeared his hand across it.

“Burn them all!” someone yells, and this is met with a thunderous cheer.

“Let's have some fun!” another shouts.

Over by the archway, Magiano's eyes meet my own. He isn't smiling anymore.
Their fear and hatred fill this place.
The whispers chitter again, fully awake now, and the terror wafting off the four prisoners fills my senses, feeding me. I take them in and feel little pity. After all, not much time has passed since they once stood by and watched as the marked were dragged through the streets and set ablaze, saw our families stoned to death by crowds of enthusiastic onlookers. We used to be the ones to sneak powders and potions from apothecaries, desperate to hide our markings. How quickly
our former enemies have tried to adopt our appearance—how eagerly they smear colors on themselves in an attempt to be more like us.

Why shouldn't we cheer their punishment now?

Beside me, Sergio has gone silent too. I look on as an Inquisitor lights a torch from one of the lanterns, then glances expectantly at me. So does everyone else. The noise fades as they wait for my command.

I am their queen. The
malfettos
, the malformed, the marked. I give them what they want, and they give me their loyalty.
It is what I want too.
My gaze turns to the trembling prisoners on the ground. I stop on the youngest, the boy. He stares back at me with vacant eyes. Beside him, the old man lifts his tear-stained face long enough for me to see the blinding hatred in them.
Demon queen,
I know he's thinking.

The whispers in my head build to a dull rumble. I bow my head and close my eye, trying in vain to shut them out. On another night, I would be more ruthless—in the past year I've ordered prisoners executed before me, so this would be nothing new. But tonight, my heart feels heavy with the weight of Raffaele's message. Visions of Violetta continue to crowd my thoughts.

One glance in Magiano's direction is enough. He gives me the subtlest shake of his head, and his words return to my mind, as if whispered in my ear. Perhaps he is drawing on my power.
Let the people love you a little, mi Adelinetta.

“Release them,” I hear myself saying as I rub my temples. “And get on with the celebrations.”

The crowd's raucous cheers fade away as they gradually understand what I've said. The prisoners stare at me in stunned silence, as do my Inquisitors.

“Was I not clear?” I call out, my voice ringing in the chamber. The corners of the space turn dark, and a haunting wail whips through the air. The crowd lets loose a round of frightened gasps as they edge away from the encroaching blackness. My soldiers jump to action now, untying the ropes that bind the prisoners' arms and forcing them to their knees so that they can thank me. They sway, blinking away confusion, and I look on, wondering how my sister has the power to influence my decisions even when she's not here.

“Get out of my sight,” I snap to the kneeling prisoners. “Before I change my mind.”

They need no second bidding. The girl scrambles to her feet first, then rushes over to the old man and pulls him to his feet. The old woman follows. The boy lingers the longest, puzzling over my expression before he, too, hurries after the others. The crowd's eyes turn from me to them, and as the musicians try to strike up the songs again, scattered singing begins to puncture the awkward silence.

My focus shifts back up to the archway, but Magiano is no longer there.

His absence cuts through the rising tide of darkness in my chest, leaving me exhausted—in this moment, all I want is to get away from here and find him. I weave an illusion of invisibility around myself while the crowd tries to resume
celebrating. Only Sergio realizes that I've gone, although he doesn't call out to stop me.

I shake my head in disgust as I walk. All this dwelling on Violetta has turned me soft tonight.

I make my way out of the gardens and into a dark hall. There are crowds of new nobility here too, marked people to whom I'd handed aristocratic titles after stripping them from their unmarked masters. I push through them. One of the nobles spills her wine as I shove by. I rush down the hall until I come to a winding staircase guarded by Inquisitors, and then I head up to an empty floor. Finally, peace.

I stop and lean my head against the wall. The whispers whirl in a cloud around me, and their fury adds to the dizziness in my head. I try to steady myself. “Magiano,” I call out, wondering if he might be nearby, but my voice just echoes down the hall.

You shouldn't have let them go,
the whispers say. They always respond when no one else does.

“Why not?” I retort through gritted teeth.

The harmless grow up to become the bringers of wrath. You know this better than anyone, you fool.

“An old couple and a pair of children,” I murmur with a sneer. “They can't hurt me.” I close my eye, and in the darkness, the whispers lurch forward, flashing their naked grins at me.

Oh? How arrogant you've grown, little wolf.
My anger flares at their use of my old nickname, and in response, the
whispers clap in delight.
Yes. That makes you furious, doesn't it? You
are
arrogant, my queen. Why, look. The boy has already come back for you.

I open my eye again and glance around. There, standing in the hall right before me, is the boy with his grave eyes. He looks at me without a word.

My anger ignites again, and the ghosts of illusions flicker in the corner of my consciousness. “I thought I told you to get out.”

The boy doesn't answer. Instead, he takes a step closer. Are those tears of blood coming from his eyes?
The blood fever.
My anger shifts to uncertainty. Then the boy emits a shriek and lunges at me with a knife.

I scream, stumble backward, and throw my arms instinctively across my face. Through my haze of thoughts, I see the boy vanish. He is replaced by a hulking beast. Black boils cover his hunched back, and his long claws click against the floor. He jerks toward me, his fangs stretching all the way around his head. The incarnation of my whispers.

What's the matter, Your Majesty? Afraid of your own halls?

He charges at me with arms outstretched, mouth extended. He is an illusion, just an illusion. He's not really there. Raffaele's note has distracted me, disturbing my energy, so I've lost control again. That's all this is. If only I stand still, he will disappear in a cloud of dust when he reaches me. He cannot hurt me.

But I can't make myself stop. I am in danger. I need to
run
. So I do. I run as the monster pursues me, his claws tearing
up the floor's stone. I can feel his hot breath on my back. The hall stretches endlessly before me, like a gaping mouth, and when I blink, arms tear out from each of the corridor's walls, reaching for me.

Wake up,
I scream at myself as I run.
Wake up. Wake up!

I stumble. I try to catch myself, but instead I fall to my hands and knees. The monster reaches me and I look up at him in horror.

But he is no longer a beast. I see my father's face, contorted into a picture of rage. He seizes my wrist and yanks me forward, dragging me along the floor. “Where have you put your sister, mi Adelinetta?” he asks in his eerie, quiet voice even as I try to pull free. “What have you done with her?”

She left me. It wasn't my fault. She left me behind, of her own free will.