The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(47)
Author: Marie Lu

How will I ever find a chance to get away?

I pick out Enzo’s figure in the midst of the group. Raffaele is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he’s not attending this meeting, or perhaps he’s occupied. I try to explain away his absence.

“Adelina.” Gemma’s voice cuts through my maelstrom of thoughts. She smiles at me, then leads me over to the group. The strangers cast me curious glances. I look back at them. Only one looks familiar—the madam of the Fortunata Court, dressed tonight in an elaborate silk gown of blue and gold. “These are our noble patrons,” Gemma whispers as we take a seat on a divan. “They’re eager to meet you.”

So, these are the people who support Enzo’s claim to the throne. Gemma introduces me around the circle with her animated chatter, stopping to point out her father in particular. I smile and play along as the patrons each greet me in turn, their eyes lingering. At the other end of the circle, Enzo leans back on a divan with a glass of wine in one hand, his boots crossed on a low table and his face partially hidden behind a mask. He glances briefly at me and returns to his conversation.

“I’ve heard the king cannot cancel the Tournament,” one of the patrons says to Enzo. “It would make him look like a fool and a weakling to the people. He and the queen must appear by tradition.”

“Exactly the corner we wanted him backed into,” another replies.

“Can your illusion worker get us into the palace?” says a third. His eyes flicker to me, and I feel a jolt of anxiety. “The people are ripe for an overthrow now, especially after last night’s display. We could try making a move before the Tournament, even tonight.”

Enzo shakes his head. “My sister will not be with the king. Their apartments are on opposite ends of the palace. Adelina’s skills are not strong enough to hold an illusion for that long, at such close quarters. The Tournament is our best chance.”

The others break into frustrated murmurs. Michel sits back and holds up a glass of wine in apology to Enzo. “If only I could unravel living things. I’d happily march into the palace and unravel the royals off a cliff for you.” Scattered laughter.

Lucent rolls her eyes as she twirls a curly blonde lock of hair around her finger. “And I still say we all forget about saving this damned country, ship off to Beldain, and live like kings. Some nations know how to treat malfettos.” More laughter, while Michel affectionately mocks Lucent’s Beldish accent.

I just look on numbly, trying to play along.

“He will, someday,” Gemma whispers to me. I startle at her voice, then realize she must think I’m confused by the conversation. “Michel, I mean. He’ll figure out how to unravel living creatures. He says the energy of the soul gets in the way.”

The energy of the soul. If Michel were to see the energy of my own soul, what would he see?

The conversation filters back to me as I hear myself mentioned again. “And can she work her illusions well enough for the Tournament?” one patron asks Enzo.

“Yes, Your Highness—can she uphold her end of the mission?”

“We want a demonstration.”

“Adelina,” Enzo suddenly says, looking in my direction. The nobles turn to look at me too.

I blink, taken off guard. “Yes?”

“Create an illusion of a person for us.”

I hesitate, then suck in my breath and concentrate on the darkness in my chest. Gradually, I weave in midair a face that resembles Enzo, the same eyes and nose and mouth and hair, the thin scar prominent on the cheek. The nobles murmur among themselves. It’s still not quite right—there is a lack of refinement in the details, the glassy-eyed look of something that doesn’t seem quite human, the amateur texture of the skin. It wavers a little. Now and then, it looks translucent. It would not work for us at close quarters. But it will be enough. I hold the illusion there for a moment, then release it.

Enzo smiles at me. “When the Tournament of Storms comes,” he says, “the king and queen will announce the horse races, then watch from a close vantage point. If you can disguise Gemma, no one will notice her when she’s moving on the back of a horse. Can you get her close enough to strike?”

He’s announcing before all his patrons that I’m included in their final mission. My heart jumps at the thrill, then squeezes painfully at the memory of Teren’s words. “I can do it,” I reply.

The nobles look thrilled with me. Enzo smiles pleasantly with them and clinks glasses—but even here, in the safety of the cavern and surrounded by supporters, he has a wariness about him, the lingering unease of someone preoccupied with other problems.

I wonder if he can sense anything suspicious about me. Thank the gods that Raffaele isn’t here to notice the dark shifts in my energy. He must have a client tonight. The spiced wine eases some of the anxiety stirring in me, and I find myself holding my glass out again for the consorts to refill it.

“You seem less cheerful than you should be,” I say to Enzo in a low voice, when there’s a lull in his conversation with the nobles.

He glances back at me, seems to think about answering, and then glides around my comment. “Feeling festive, mi Adelinetta?” He nods as a consort fills my glass for the second time. My heart flutters fiercely at the way he says the affectionate version of my name. “Careful. It’s a strong wine.”

It’s true; the wine makes me bold, helps me forget. “I’m the White Wolf,” I reply. “Surely that deserves a second helping.”

Enzo’s lips tilt up in amusement, and I feel the roar of attraction rising in me. How will I tell him about the Inquisition? His eyes wander back to the other Daggers. “So it does.” He raises his glass in the air, and the nobles join him. “To the White Wolf,” he says, glancing at me. “And the beginning of a new era.”

Gemma leans over to me as I take a sip of my wine. “You like him,” she teases, jabbing me hard in the ribs.

I wince and shove her with my elbow. “Quiet,” I hiss. Gemma laughs with mischief at the expression on my face, then pushes away from me and hops up, barefoot, onto the divan. I let my breath out again, but I can’t help smiling. Of course she’s just messing around with me.

Enzo glances at her. She crosses her arms. “I’ve been practicing, Reaper,” she declares. “Watch this.”

She points at Enzo, then narrows her eyes. I watch curiously. “You!” she commands. “Fetch me a slice of melon.”