The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(22)
Author: Marie Lu

I need to learn faster. The world is closing in on us.

“Both were malfettos accused of having powers, of being Elites,” Raffaele tells me today, as we sit together before my bedchamber mirror. “Neither were, of course. But their families turned on them anyway. The Inquisition pays well for such information, and gold is hard to pass up in times like these.”

I look at the array of creams and powders scattered on the dresser top, then glance at my reflection in the mirror. My maid took me this morning to a private bathhouse in the court and washed me until I gleamed and glistened. My skin now smells of rose and honey. I’m surprised at how quickly I’ve become used to such luxuries.

I turn my gaze back to Raffaele. “Why didn’t the Daggers save them?” I ask.

Raffaele’s reply is one that answers nothing. He picks up a tub of cream. “These hunts happen too often. We react when necessary.”

I try not to look bothered by his answer, but secretly, I dwell on his real meaning. We didn’t risk saving them, because they were not Elites.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

“You stay at the Fortunata Court. You will need to look the part.”

I recoil at the thought of transforming into a consort. Raffaele must have sensed the sudden shift in my energy, because he adds, “Would you prefer to be recognized by an Inquisitor?” He dabs a touch of the cold cream on my face. “No one will touch you, you have my word. But looking the part will give you some freedom.”

The cream tingles. I watch, amazed, as it brings the warmth out in my olive skin. He runs an ivory comb through my hair. Occasionally his fingers brush the base of my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. There is a precision to his gestures that speaks volumes about his talents as a consort. I have a fleeting thought of what being his client must be like, his skin warm against mine, his lips soft on my neck, his hands smooth and experienced, roaming.

Raffaele lifts an eyebrow at me through the mirror. “What you’re thinking will cost you at least five thousand gold talents, mi Adelinetta,” he teases gently, tilting his head in a subtle movement that sends blood rushing to my cheeks. Five thousand gold talents?

“A night?” I breathe.

“An hour,” Raffaele replies, still working his way through my hair.

Five thousand gold talents an hour. In one night, Raffaele can fetch my father’s annual salary.

“You must have singlehandedly turned the Fortunata Court into the wealthiest court in the country,” I say.

He smiles shyly . . . but behind it, I sense something sad. My grin fades.

Raffaele rubs a fine oil into my scalp, and then finishes combing. He turns his attention to other details—touching my eyelid and lashes with a black, shimmering powder that hides the strands’ silver color; rubbing an ointment on my nails that makes them gleam; smoothing my brows into perfect brushstrokes. I tremble again as his finger runs across my lips, painting them a color of rose that accents their fullness. I wonder if any of his clients are Dagger patrons, nobility enticed by the riches Enzo can reward them with once he’s on the throne. Maybe all of them are. Or maybe they have no idea who the Daggers’ leader is—only that they are supporting an expert assassin who will dethrone the king.

“How did you learn so much about energy?” I decide to ask as he works.

Raffaele shrugs once. “Trial and error,” he replies. “We are the first. There is no one before us to learn from. With each new Elite we recruit, I learn, experiment, and record. Someone needs to leave the knowledge behind for the generation after us. If there is another generation.”

I listen in quiet fascination. He’s a Messenger in more ways than one. “Do you know where it came from? I know it began with the blood fever, but . . .”

He reaches for a slender brush. “It did not begin with the blood fever. It began with energy, the link between the gods and the mortal world they created.”

“Energy.”

“Yes. It forms the land, air, sea, and all living things. It is what breathes life into us.”

“And what gives us powers?”

Raffaele nods. He dips the brush in a shallow dish of sparkling powder, then touches it to the edge of my good eye. I frown as he works, trying to imagine this strange, invisible energy.

His brush pauses for a moment. “When you close your eye, you see sparks of colors, do you not?” he says.

I close my eye to test his theory. Yes. In the blackness float sparks of faint blues and greens, reds and golds, blinking in and out of existence. “Yes.”

“You are actually seeing threads of energy.” He touches my hand carefully, and a chill of delight runs up my arm. “The world is made of countless threads that connect all things. These threads give the world both its color and its life.” He nods at the bedchamber around us. “Right now, in some small way, you’re connected to everything in here. The mirror, the walls, the air. Everything. Even the gods.”

His words stir my memory. I think back to the night of my father’s death. When I suspended everything around me, the raindrops and the wind, the world had turned black and white, and translucent threads had glistened in the air. During my burning, I’d seen the color drain from my execution stand before it all came rushing back.

“Most people don’t have enough energy to manipulate their connections to the world. We weren’t meant to. But when the fevers affected you and me, something changed in us. Suddenly it linked us to the world in a way that our bodies were never meant to be linked.” Raffaele turns my hand so that my palm faces upward, then runs his slender fingers along the inside of my wrist all the way to my fingertips. My skin tingles at his touch. I suck in my breath, blushing. “Every Elite is different, and pulling on threads in specific ways will do specific things. The Windwalker, for example, can pull on the threads in the air that create wind. Enzo pulls on threads of heat energy, from himself, from the sun, from fire, and from other living things. From the Sunlands come reports of an Elite who can change metal into gold. Another rumored Elite, Magiano, has escaped the Inquisition Axis so often that the word magic evolved from his name. There are countless ways energy manifests in us. I can only imagine what undiscovered Elites out there can do, those beyond the Daggers and beyond who I know exist. There are even rumors of an Elite who can bring people back from the dead.”

I wonder, for a moment, how many others exist outside of the Dagger Society. Are there rival societies? “And you?” I say.