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.
Magiano saves me from responding by flashing the man a smile full of white teeth. “From a much friendlier place than this town, I can tell you that,” he proclaims. “Do you greet all the foreigners passing through with knives? That must take up an awful lot of your time.”
The man’s scowl deepens, even as he looks at us in doubt. Raffaele joins Magiano at his side. “We have a friend who is very ill,” he says, nodding up to Violetta. “Can you tell us where the nearest inn might be?”
The man stays silent. More of his men have come behind us now, people whom I’d taken as fishmongers and passersby, gathering on the steps to block the way we came. There is fear in the air, sharp and dark, calling to me—and I hunger to call back, to grasp the threads draped around us and weave. My illusion over my appearance wavers, only for an instant.
The man narrows his eyes at me. “They said you’d be in disguise, White Wolf. We know you are Queen Adelina of Kenettra.”
I blink in mock surprise. “What?” I reply, keeping my voice surprised. “We’re from Dumor to—”
The man interrupts me with a bark of laughter. “Dumor,” he replies. “You mean one of your puppet states.”
Magiano unsheathes two of his own weapons. His pupils have narrowed into sharp slits, and his body is tense. Near Raffaele, Teren stands tall with his sword half drawn, ready to move. For the first time, I’m grateful to have him with us.
There is no point in dragging this out. I’ve had enough. “Let us pass,” I say, pushing myself forward. My anger is starting to rise, and that energy becomes my defense. “And we will spare the lives of your men.”
The group stirs. The leader draws a second knife from his belt. Beneath his brave exterior, I can sense the tides of terror. He is afraid to die today. “For the Sealands,” he whispers. “For the Sunlands.”
Then he gives a nod, and his men lunge at us from both sides.
Magiano moves so quickly, I barely see him jump into the fray. His daggers flash silver in the light. Ahead of us, Teren sets upon two of the first men with a snarl of fury, unleashing his pent-up rage on them. He cuts them down easily.
“Move!” Raffaele snaps, rushing us forward. We dart ahead as Teren opens a pocket for us. But the narrow street continues filling with more people, forcing us to a stop again. How many of them are here? They must have been waiting for our arrival for months. Violetta’s horse rears in the midst of the chaos, lets out a squeal, and throws her from its back. Lucent catches her—just barely—with a curtain of wind. Violetta falls on the steps, and instinctively, I push her behind me and force her against the wall. She is awake now, her body shaking like a leaf.