The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(31)
Author: Marie Lu

I stay quiet, unsure of what to say. My thoughts blur together into a frantic river. How little can I tell him, to keep Violetta safe? What will satisfy him? I take a deep breath, then gather all the courage I can muster. “I’ll tell you nothing, if you can’t prove you have her.”

Teren’s smile widens, and he regards me with a more interested look. “A bargainer,” he murmurs. He waits a long moment before he leans back in his chair. He reaches into the space between his sleeve and his armguard. “I thought as much.”

As I look on, he pulls something out and tosses it onto the table. It lands with a clink.

I peer closer. It’s a sapphire necklace that Violetta likes to wear. But it is even more than that—tied to the necklace’s silver chain is a long, thick lock of Violetta’s dark hair.

My heart jumps into my throat.

“Before you begin,” Teren says, cutting through my thoughts, “I want to make something very clear.” He leans forward. His eyes pierce me. “My word is always good, so do not make a habit of testing it. You will want to tell me the truth. I have many, many eyes in this city. If you lie, I will find out. If you deny me what I want, I will hurt her. Do you understand?”

He has her here. I press my hands hard into my dress to keep them from trembling. “Yes,” I whisper. I don’t dare question him further.

“Now. Since it seems like you are at a loss for where to begin, let me help you along with some questions.” He leans on his knees with his elbows, and taps his hands together. “What have you been doing with the Elites, up until now?”

I take a deep breath. I need to stall this for as long as I can. “Resting, mostly,” I reply. I’m surprised at how level my words are. “I was unconscious for many days.”

“Yes, of course.” Teren almost looks sympathetic. “You had many injuries.”

I nod in silence. “They don’t trust me yet,” I decide to say. “They . . . they wear those silver masks. I don’t know their names or identities.”

Teren is not so easily fazed. “What do you know?”

I swallow. The air feels so heavy. I must tell him something. As if in a dream, I feel the words emerge. “They visit me occasionally at the Fortunata Court,” I whisper.

Teren smiles. “Do they operate from there?”

“I’m not sure.” I can hear my heartbeat. The darkness growing in my chest makes me dizzy. I sway in my seat, hungry to use the power. I wish I had Enzo’s abilities, I suddenly think, and the wish makes the ambition in me surge. I wish I had the power to burn this entire tower to the ground.

“Tell me, Adelina,” Teren says, watching me curiously. “What are they planning?”

With a great effort, I push the rising darkness down. I cannot use my powers on him. I’m too weak. Besides, what would a bunch of shadows do? I clear my throat. What can I tell him, what will do the least harm? “They are planning something for the Tournament of Storms,” I manage to say. “I don’t know what.”

Teren considers my words. Then, he claps his hands once, and a moment later, an Inquisitor opens the door. “Sir?”

Teren waves him over. He whispers something in the other man’s ear that I cannot hear. The man casts me a wary look. Finally, Teren pulls away. “Tell the king immediately,” he says.

The other Inquisitor bows low. “Of course, sir.” He hurries off.

“Is that all?” Teren asks me.

Raffaele’s gentle face appears in my thoughts, and with it comes a stab of guilt. I’ve given him so little. Please, let this be enough to satisfy him. “That’s all I know,” I whisper. “I need more time.”

For a long moment, Teren doesn’t move.

Just as I start to think that he’ll demand more from me this visit, he relaxes and looks away. “You came to me today,” he says. “And that is a useful start. Thank you for your information. For keeping your word, I shall keep mine. Your sister is safe.”

Tears spring to my eye, and I slump in relief.

“She is safe—for as long as you continue to satisfy me.” His eyes swivel back to me. “When will I see you again?”

“Two weeks,” I say hoarsely. “Give me two more weeks.” At his silence, I look down. “Please.”

Finally, he nods. “Very well.” He rises. “You may go.”

And that is all.

Teren guides me out of the tower through a small back entrance hidden behind a gate and an alley. Before he lets me go, he takes my hands in his. He bends down to brush his lips against one of my cheeks. “You’ve done well,” he whispers. He kisses my other cheek. “Keep it up.”

Then he leaves me alone, and I wander back through the city’s streets on trembling legs. I am a traitor. What have I done?

I wander, lost in a daze, until I realize that I’ve made my way back in the direction from where the earlier festivities had been going on. Here, silent streets make way for noisy revelers again, and before I know it, I turn a street corner and find myself engulfed by a cheering mob. My fear and exhaustion make way for a touch of curiosity. What’s all the commotion? There’s no way I can make it back to the Fortunata Court without going through all these people.

Then I turn another corner with the crowd, and we enter the largest public square I’ve ever seen.

The piazza is surrounded on three sides by water canals. People fill the space where they can, but most of it is completely fenced off with thick lengths of rope. Looping around the piazza is a dirt track, which several Inquisitors are inspecting. A line of people dressed in elaborate silk costumes and ornate masks parade along the edge of the track, standard-bearers and trumpeters and arlecchinos, aristocrats and their valets, all waving at the cheering onlookers. My eye wanders the crowd, which now looks roughly partitioned into segments of people waving either red, blue, gold, or green silks in the air. People crowd onto the balconies lining the square. Each balcony has colorful flags hanging from it, muted by the dark sky.

A horse race. I’d witnessed several before in Dalia, although none were quite this big of a spectacle. I glance around the piazza, looking for a good route back to the court. The Daggers’ mission today must have to do with this.

I look up to the balconies. Now I pick out the royal seats—on a building situated at the front of the racetrack is a balcony that gives a perfect view, its iron railings decorated with gold and white silks. But the king and queen aren’t there. Maybe their royal seats are just for show.