The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(42)
Author: Marie Lu

The next morning, I lie in bed and anticipate my father coming in again with a smile on his face. Today is the day, I tell myself. This time, I am determined to please him, and his kindness will be able to coax something useful out of me. But he doesn’t come. When I finally get out of bed and find him, he ignores me. He has given up his quest to find me useful. Violetta sees me in the hallway. The distance between us feels overwhelming. Her eyes are large and dark, pitying. Her face, as usual, is perfect. I look away from her in silence.

My two weeks have come and gone.

Throughout it all, I haven’t found a single chance to visit Teren at the Inquisition Tower. Maybe I’ve been avoiding it on purpose. I don’t know. All I know is that my time is now up, and he will be expecting me. I know what will happen if I don’t show my face soon.

And tonight is my first official mission with the Daggers.

Their plan for tonight, as far as I understand, goes something like this:

The Spring Moons, Kenettra’s annual celebration of the season, is made up of three nights of festivals and parties, one night in honor of each of our three moons. Each night, a huge masquerade ball will take place at the water’s edge in Estenzia’s largest harbor. At midnight, six ships laden with fireworks will put on a dazzling display of lights over the water.

But the Daggers are going to set fire to the ships before that can even happen, destroying the fleet in a spectacular explosion of fireworks. It will be a display of power, defiance against the king, to show his weakness. And I’m going to help them do it.

“The city is quickly turning into a powder keg,” Raffaele explains to me as we head out from his chambers. Tonight he’s a vision in green and gold robes, part of his face hidden behind an intricate gold half mask, his cheekbones and brows dusted with glitter. “If the king wants to burn us at the stake, then the Daggers are going to respond.” He smiles at me. It is an expert expression—secretive, shy, trained. “The people are tired of a weak king. When Enzo seizes the throne, they will be ready for the change.”

I listen, distracted by my own thoughts. For a moment, I fantasize about myself in such a position—instead of being trapped by the whims of others, what would it be like to have others bowing to me, obeying my every command? What must it feel like to have that kind of power?

It’s the first time I’ve stepped out into Estenzia at night. Soon, gondolas arrive on the canal that the court’s street lines, and the court’s consorts split into groups as we step into our individual boats. I join Raffaele and two others in the same boat, the seats creaking as I gently lower myself in. My movement sends ripples across the water. We pull away, gliding off to the harbor. I gape at the city.

No nights are as lovely as the nights of the Spring Moons, and no city is as breathtaking as Estenzia, which has transformed into a wonderland of light.

Lanterns hang along all the bridges, their glow bouncing off the water’s surface in waves of orange and gold. Gondolas drift through the waterways, and music and laughter ripple through the masked crowds that have gathered out in the warm evening air. Overhead, the three moons hang large and luminous in a near-perfect triangle. Baliras glide past them, their glittering, translucent wings illuminated by moonlight. This close view of them is still a startling contrast to the faraway figures I’d seen before I’d arrived in Estenzia, and the sight of their long, ray-like bodies passing before the moons takes my breath away.

Farther out at the harbor, the silhouettes of six ships with their fireworks sit on the water.

Inquisitors, some on horseback and some on foot, patrol the bridges. They are the only ones not adorned with bright, glittering colors and sparkling masks, and their white and gold figures look harsh against the festivities. They are everywhere tonight, adding to a uniform tension in the air. I turn my face carefully away from them. The city is a powder keg, Raffaele had said, and we are going to light it tonight.

By the time we arrive at the main harbor, the celebrations are in full swing. The statues of the angels and gods that line the square are all covered from head to toe in flowers. A few masked revelers, already drunk this early in the night, have climbed on top of the statues to wave at the cheering crowds. I inhale deeply, catching the scents of ocean, sweet and savory pastries, roasting pig and fish.

Raffaele waits until the others have left our gondola. Then he steps gracefully out and offers me a hand. I join him on land. The other consorts eventually scatter, each of them joining clients waiting for them along the edge of the harbor. Raffaele guides me through a section of the crowd. Then he squeezes my hand once. “Go,” he whispers. “Remember the paths back down to the catacombs if you lose yourself during the mission.”

Then he’s gone, making his way through the crowd. For a beat, I’m all alone, lost among swirling colors. I look around; my heart pounds. I’ve grown so dependent on Raffaele’s guidance that his absence always leaves me short of breath.

A sudden hand on my waist makes me look to my side. It’s Enzo.

If I didn’t know to meet him here, I wouldn’t have recognized him tonight. His hair is covered beneath a mask that transforms him from a young prince into a forest fae with glittering horns twisting up over his head, the structure adorned with dangling silver strings that gleam in the light. All I can see of his face are his lips and, if I look past the shadows the mask casts, his eyes. Even through his disguise, I can sense him taking in my new appearance, my elaborate Tamouran headwrap and my gold reveler’s silks, the glittering white porcelain hiding the scarred side of my face. His lips part slightly, ready to say something.

Then he bows to me. “A lovely evening,” he says. I return his smile as he kisses me gently on the cheek and offers his arm. I gasp at the brief flush of heat from the touch of his lips to my skin.

He leads us through the throngs. He keeps a respectful distance between us, our only contact being my arm looped through his . . . but even so, I can feel the warmth radiating from his robes, a soft, pleasing feeling, reaching for me. I force myself to stay calm. Through my mask, I focus on the silhouettes of ships at the harbor.

We enter an area full of dancers. Here and there are other consorts, swirling with their clients and patrons and other onlookers in a sea of glitter, laughing uproariously as they move in time with the beat of drums and serenade of strings. I catch a glimpse of Raffaele with a richly dressed noblewoman on his arm, but neither he nor Enzo acknowledges each other. Inquisitors watch the scene from atop their steeds.