The Young Elites (The Young Elites #1)(52)
Author: Marie Lu

What happened?

Teren, a whisper in my head suggests. But that doesn’t seem right. Why would he want the king dead?

Without risking a gondola ride, it takes me a full hour before I can even sight the Inquisition Axis’s tower looming in the distance. Beyond it lies the palace—and if I’m not mistaken, the clusters of Inquisitors seem to be heading in that general direction.

By the time I’m in the same square as the tower, a cold sheen of sweat has broken out on my brow. I stop in the shadows of a nearby shop, then let down my invisibility illusion, remove my mask for a moment, and take a deep breath. This is easily the longest I’ve ever held an illusion in place, and the result is a wave of dizziness that leaves me swaying in place. When I was nine, I went into my father’s study and ripped apart a letter he had been writing to a local doctor, asking advice on medicines to subdue my temper. My father found out what I’d done, of course. He told Violetta to lock me in my bedchamber for three days without food or water. When Violetta found me nearly unconscious at the end of the second day, she begged him to release me. He did. Then he smiled and asked me if I’d enjoyed the rush of thirst and hunger. If it had woken anything in me.

The dizziness I felt back then, leaning against my locked door and shouting myself hoarse for my sister to release me, is not unlike how I feel now. The memory gives me some strength, though. After a few minutes, I swallow and straighten myself. My gaze focuses on the tower.

A short walkway leads from the main square up to the tower’s looming doors, and Inquisitors line this path. A large, round lantern hangs at the tower’s entrance, illuminating the door’s dark wood. I start to cover myself up again—then stop. Why should I drain my energy now? If I get to the door successfully with an invisibility illusion, I will still need to pull it open in order to enter. No way for me to disguise that.

So, instead, I walk up to the guards. The memory of the last time I did this, in a city gone wild with the qualifying races, comes back to me.

Two of them immediately draw their swords. I force myself to stare straight back at them. “I’m here to see Master Santoro,” I reply. “He asked for me personally.”

A flicker of doubt appears on one of the men’s faces at the mention of Teren’s name. My energy stirs at the emotion, strengthening. I frown at them. This time, I take advantage of their obvious unease. From my cloak, I produce the silver mask. “I have information for him on the Young Elites.” My voice is surprisingly smooth. “Do you really want to risk turning me away?”

The guard’s eyes widen in recognition at the sight of the mask, and my energy strengthens again as I feel myself winning control over this soldier, forcing him to do something against his will.

Finally, the first Inquisitor gestures for two of the others to seize me. “Let her in.” Then he growls at me. “You’ll wait until he returns.”

Teren’s not in the tower tonight. Their hands on my arms remind me of my execution day in Dalia. As they lead me away, I look over my shoulder as more Inquisitors run by on the streets. The energy of fear seems high tonight. It pulses through me, stimulating my senses.

We step inside the tower. They usher me into a small chamber branching off from the main hall, and here they seat me on the floor. Then they surround me in a circle, each of their spears pointed straight at me. Outside the door, more wait. I stare back at them, determined not to show them any hint of emotion. The dungeons should be somewhere below us, if this tower is anything like the one I was once kept in. Where is Teren keeping Violetta . . . if he has her at all?

I don’t know how long I’m in here, counting the minutes away. The Inquisitors stay unmoving. Is this what they go through in training—standing motionless for hours at a time? I can sense their unease around me, a persistent, underlying emotion that peeks through from the stern, unfeeling shell they try to pull over it. I smile at them. Their fear grows. My excitement grows with it.

Suddenly, from outside the windows comes the sound of shattering glass. Then, screams. I turn in the direction of the sound. The guards all hoist their swords at my movement, but I continue to look toward the windows. The sound of running feet, hundreds of them, then more voices, then chaos. A faint glow of yellow and orange flickers against the windows’ dark glass. The king’s death. Is this related? Do the Daggers know what happened? Does Enzo know I’ve run away yet?

The door bursts open. A new Inquisitor comes hurrying in, then whispers something in the ear of the closest guard. I try in vain to catch what he’s saying. Outside, more shouts and shrieks ring out in the night.

And then I hear it—a familiar voice from down the hall. My head jerks in its direction. Teren has returned.

He strides into my room, a swagger in his step, his head held high, and a cold smile on his lips. He pauses at the sight of me. I suck my breath in sharply. Suddenly my entire mission—all my powers—seem to pale in his presence.

“You came,” he finally says, stopping before me. “It’s about time. I was sure I’d have to kill you tonight.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You saved me the trouble.”

“I hear the king has died,” I whisper.

Teren bows his head once, but his words are stripped of empathy. “A sudden illness. We are all in mourning.”

I shiver. Are you, Teren? His matter-of-fact answer is confirmation enough that the Daggers weren’t the ones responsible. But just because the Daggers didn’t assassinate the king . . . doesn’t mean he wasn’t assassinated. A sudden illness sounds suspicious.

“You promised me my sister,” I say, my eye focused on his bloody cloak. “And her safety.” For a moment, I consider using my powers on him. But then what? All I can create are illusions. I can’t hurt him. Not even Enzo can hurt him.

“My word is as good as yours,” he replies, eyeing me pointedly. “But it may not be good for long.”

Whatever it is that Teren has ordered done to the city tonight, it has brought with it a cloud of terror. I study him, sensing the swirling darkness in his heart, the madness glinting in his eyes.

Collect yourself. Concentrate. I steel my heart, sharpening my fear into a razor-sharp blade. “Take me to my sister. Or I’ll tell you nothing.”

Teren tilts his head. “Demanding, aren’t we?” His eyes narrow. “Something has happened to you since the last time we crossed paths.”

In my chest, my alignment with ambition surges. “Are you interested in capturing the Young Elites, or not?”