The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(28)
Author: Marie Lu

I try to focus instead. “Where did he learn to fight like that?” I ask Raffaele as we watch Enzo circling the Spider.

“He was supposed to be king,” Raffaele reminds me as he jots down notes on a sheet of paper. He pauses to dip his quill in an inkwell sitting on the floor. “He trained with the Inquisitors as a child.”

Enzo waits for his opponent to strike first. For a long minute, nothing happens. The others call out jeers and encouragement from the edges of the circle. Then, suddenly—Spider lunges at Enzo, his wooden sword slashing forward toward the prince’s left side. My weak side. The move is so fast that I see nothing more than a blur through the air—but somehow, Enzo manages to predict the strike and darts out of the way at the last second. Fire sparks from his hands, engulfing him in a tight cylinder. Spider jumps back. Even with his speed, I can tell that the heat has singed the edges of his clothes. Enzo quells the flames at the same time as he dashes toward Spider, as if materializing from behind a veil of orange and gold. He strikes three times in rapid succession. Spider deflects the blows, one after another, then lunges back. The two of them rage on in a tense battle. The force of their hits echo in the cavern.

Finally, Enzo catches the tiring Spider off guard. He kicks Spider’s sword out of his grasp, grabs the wooden hilt, and points it back at his opponent’s neck. The other Daggers let out whoops, while Spider utters a growl of frustration. Duel’s over. I let out a shaking breath as both of them lower their weapons and step away from each other.

Enzo is dripping with sweat, his hair tousled and loose, his lean muscles straining. As far as I can tell, Spider is the only one who seems capable of working the prince so thoroughly. Enzo’s white linen shirt clings wet and translucent to his back. As he adjusts his gloves, he casts me a sideways glance and notices me watching. I try to avert my gaze. In my mind, I picture what Enzo might do to me if he finds out about my encounter with Teren. He will engulf me in flames.

Enzo gives me a polite nod without smiling, then approaches Spider to make sure he’s unharmed. Star Thief—accompanied today by two coyotes instead of an eagle—claps. The one called Architect runs gangly hands through his hair as he marvels at Enzo’s speed. Windwalker asks Enzo how he made his last move. Even Spider defers to him now as they exchange words I can’t hear.

I clear my throat and return my attention to Raffaele, who seems to be patiently finishing up his notes. “I hope you were concentrating during that duel,” he says in a casual tone.

I blush at his teasing. This is Raffaele’s way of introducing me to the concept of energy—trying to teach me how to see threads of energy in the air. I shake Enzo out of my head, focus on my center, and search for my alignments to darkness and ambition, curiosity and fear. I imagine myself leaving my body, rushing through the air, searching deep inside the souls of the sparring Daggers, practicing my analysis of their small, subtle movements, looking for glimpses of their energy in action, weaving my way through them to see the glittering threads of energy that make up their hearts and minds. My jaw tightens.

Nothing.

I sigh. I can’t face Teren like this. Powerless. “First you tell me that I need to master my abilities before I’m a Dagger,” I say, turning back to Raffaele. “How am I supposed to learn anything if I stay separate from everyone else?”

Behind Raffaele’s serene face, I notice a flash of something calculating. “The ambition is restless in you today. But the surest way to slow your own progress is to rush yourself into situations you’re not yet ready for.” A firm note enters his voice. “Patience.”

Careful, Adelina. You don’t want Raffaele suspecting you. “Why can I only call on my powers when threatened?” I whisper instead. From the corner of my vision, I see Enzo leave the cavern. My shoulders hunch slightly in disappointment.

“Think of this scenario,” Raffaele says. “A hundred years ago, when the Beldish tried to invade our northern isles, a doomed army of forty Kenettran soldiers managed to fight off four hundred Beldish men, buying us time to get our reinforcements there. Sometimes, your body gives you strength that you ordinarily wouldn’t have. Right?”

I nod. The Battle for Cordonna Isle is a well-known piece of history.

“Your specific power works the same way. When you’re pushed to extreme fear or anger, your body magnifies your energy tenfold, sometimes a hundredfold. It isn’t like this for everyone—certainly not for me, nor for our Star Thief, whose alignment with joy means that her strength scatters when she’s frightened or angry. But you?” Raffaele leans back and regards me thoughtfully. “Now we just need to figure out how you can use that strength without death clawing at your throat. Enzo would rather you not risk your life every time you call on your abilities.”

I lean back against the pillar. I almost want to laugh. If my life must be threatened in order to bring out my abilities, then I should be swimming in power by now.

Raffaele watches me with a small smile on his lips that sends my heart racing. Today he’s dressed in robes of pale gold, and his smooth face is unadorned except for some shimmering powder lining his eyes. How is it possible for such small things to accent his beauty so much? There is no one immune to his charms, I’ve noticed. He makes even the sarcastic Windwalker blush with a tilt of his head, and when he teases Spider, the hulking boy coughs in embarrassment in spite of himself. Over the past few days, I’ve occasionally glimpsed Raffaele down at the court’s entrance with clients. Yesterday, he was with a beautiful young lady. The day before, a handsome nobleman. It did not matter who the client was. I watched him ensnare them with nothing more than a smile and a sweep of his eyes. Every time, the client’s face looked stricken with desire. Every time, I could believe wholeheartedly that he was in love with them.

Raffaele picks up several smooth pebbles from the floor. He places them in a line before me. “Let’s start simple,” he says. “Use the darkness inside you before seeking it out in the world around you.” He nods down at the pebbles. “These stones are light gray. I want you to convince me that they are black.”

I turn my attention to them. Use the darkness inside you. I tell myself to focus on my fear and hatred, dragging my darker thoughts and memories to the surface. Then I reach for the threads of energy inside me. I can feel them, but they stay just out of my grasp. Beside me, Raffaele takes some notes on his paper. Recording my progress and shifts in energy, no doubt.