“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 dancers 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.”