The Midnight Star (11 page)

W
hen Raffaele checks on Violetta again that evening, she is awake, her fever lowered somewhat. Even though she had been unconscious while Adelina was in the room, it seems as if the presence of her sister had offered Violetta some semblance of comfort, however small. Something that helped her fight back against the deterioration of her body.

It is the opposite effect that Adelina seems to have on Enzo. Raffaele had left the prince pacing restlessly in his chambers. The dark energy surrounding him had felt elevated by Adelina's nearness, agitated and ready to strike.

“She'll never agree,” Lucent says to Raffaele as they and Michel look over the Tamouran ship at port, still bustling with sailors loading cargo. “And even if she does—how will we travel with the White Wolf? I can hardly stand being around her. Can you?”

“It's a shame I ever taught her how to focus her illusions,” Michel says. “You heard what happened in Violetta's chamber. She attacked the soldiers and all but tried to kill
you
.” He nods at Raffaele. “You said yourself that she is beyond help. What makes you think a voyage with her will work?”

“I don't,” Raffaele concedes. “But we need her. None of us link with fury, and we will not be able to enter the immortal world without each of the gods' alignments—not if the legends are at all true.”

“This could just be a waste of time,” Lucent says. “You're placing your bets on a theory of something that, according to myth, happened hundreds of years ago.”

“Your life depends on this, Lucent,” Raffaele replies. “As much as any of ours. It is all we can do, and we have very little time to do it.”

Michel sighs. “Then it depends on whether or not Adelina thinks
her
life depends on this too.”

Raffaele shakes his head. “If Adelina refuses, we will have to force her hand. But that is a dangerous game to play.”

Lucent looks ready to reply—but in that instant, a young guard hurries up to them. Clutched in his hand is a parchment, freshly arrived. “Messenger,” he says, bobbing his head once at Raffaele before handing him the paper. “A new dove. This is from Beldain, from the queen.”

Queen Maeve. Raffaele exchanges a look with Lucent and Michel, then unfurls the message. Lucent falls silent, and her eyes widen as she peers at the paper with the others.

Raffaele reads the message. Then he reads it again. His
hands tremble. When Lucent says something to him, he doesn't hear it—instead, it sounds like a muffled, underwater sound, coming from somewhere far away. All he can hear are the words written on the parchment, as clearly as if Maeve were standing with them and telling him herself.

My brother Tristan is dead.

Raffaele looks back toward the palace. A jolt of fear rushes through him.
No.

“Enzo,” he whispers.

And before the others can call him back, he turns toward the palace and runs.

Lost life by stab wound in sacrificing self for the sake of his child.
May he rest in the arms of Moritas,
adrift in the Underworld's eternal peace.

—
Epitaph on gravestone of Tau Sekibo

I
am alone in my dungeon cell. Illusions are useless if I have no one to affect but myself, and so I do nothing but curl up on the ground while soldiers stand on the other side of the wall, beyond my iron door. Out of my reach.

Unlike the dungeons of Estenzia, my cell is suspended high above the city in a maze of spiraling towers that funnel wind through their passages like maelstroms. A lone window sits high above me. Through it, weak slants of moonlight illuminate parts of the floor where I'm now huddled. I stay very still. The wind outside howls, taking on the tone of the whispers in my head. I try to rock myself to sleep. It has been far too many days since I last took my herbs to calm the whispers, so I can feel the madness creeping forward again, threatening to wrestle control from me.

I wish desperately that Magiano were with me.

Something creaks.
My prison door.
I raise my head to stare at it. The guards, they must be delivering my supper early. A sharp pain tugs on my chest. I frown as the door slowly opens—and then realize, somehow, at the last moment, that on the other side of the door are not the guards at all. It is Teren and his Inquisitors.

Impossible. He is my prisoner, trapped in Estenzia's dungeons.

My heart leaps into my throat. I scramble to my feet, stumble forward and attempt to close the door. But no matter how hard I throw myself against it, Teren edges in bit by bit, until I can see his mad eyes and blood-soaked wrists. When I look away and back at the interior of my dungeon cell, I see my sister's body lying in one corner, her face pale in death, lips drained of color, eyes staring vacantly at me.

I jerk awake. Outside, the wind is howling. I tremble against the stones of my prison floor—until I hear my door creak open again. Again, I rush toward it in an attempt to keep the Inquisitors out. Again, they push back. Again, I look away to see Violetta dead on the floor, eyes pointed at me. I jerk awake.

The nightmare repeats itself over and over.

Finally, I wake with a terrible gasp. The wind is still howling outside my prison door, but I can feel the cold floor beneath me with a solidity that tells me I must be awake. Even so, I can't be sure. I sit upright, trembling, as I look around my cell.
I am in Tamoura,
I remind myself.
Violetta is not in here with me. Teren is in Estenzia.
My breath fogs in the moonlit air.

After a while, I gather my knees up to my chin and try to stop shivering. In the corner of my vision, ghosts of clawed, hooved figures move in the shadows. I look out at the night sky through the barred window and try to picture my ships waiting for me out at sea.

Just agree to Raffaele's request. Agree to help the Daggers.

Indignation rises in my chest at the mere thought of caving to Raffaele's demands. But if I don't, I will stay helpless in this cell, waiting for Sergio to lead my army to storm the palace. If I simply say I will help them, they will have to agree to a truce and let me free. They'll free Magiano. The thought turns round and round in my head, gaining momentum.

Raffaele has betrayed you many times in the past. Why not use this as a chance to betray him? Agree. Just agree. Then you can strike them when they least expect it.

It seems too easy to be true, but it is my only way out of this prison. I look upward and try to gauge when the next rotation of soldiers will stand at my door.

The strings tug again, hard. A spike of pain shoots through me. I clutch my chest, frowning—this is what I'd felt in my dream, with the current yanking me down. But my nightmare has already ended. A sudden fear hits me, and I squeeze my eye tightly shut.
Perhaps I am still in one.

The tug again. This time it hurts enough to make my body seize. I glance toward the door.
The pull is from Enzo.
Now I recognize the fire of his energy, his barbs in my heart as surely as mine are in his.
Something is wrong.
When the tug comes again, the door creaks . . . and then, it opens.

The guards are not waiting there. Instead, it is Enzo, swathed in shadows. My breath catches in my throat. His eyes are pools of black, completely devoid of any spark of life. His expression is nonexistent, his features seemingly carved from stone. My gaze darts down to his arms. They are exposed tonight, a mass of destroyed flesh. My heart freezes.

Did Raffaele send him here? He must have told the guards to step aside and let him in. I stare at him, unsure what to do next.

“Why are you here?” I whisper.

He says nothing in return. I can't even tell if he's heard me. Instead, he continues to walk forward. His gait seems off, although I can't quite put my finger on why it looks strange. There is something . . . unrealistic about it, something stiff and uneven,
inhuman
.

He is gripping daggers in both hands.

I must still be in a nightmare.
Enzo narrows the black pools of his eyes. I try to push through our tether to read his thoughts, but this time I feel nothing except an all-consuming darkness. It is beyond even hatred or fury—it is not an emotion at all, but the
lack
of all emotion and life. It is Death herself, extending out through Enzo's vessel of a body and pulling me forward through the threads of energy that bind us. The touch feels ice cold. I shudder, pressing myself hard against the wall. But the cold claws of Enzo's changed energy continue to reach for me, drawing closer and closer—until they hook into me and pull tight.

My energy lurches. The whispers in my head burst free and roar in my ears. I cry out at the overwhelming sensation. The control I have over my energy starts to slip, and the whispers gradually take on Enzo's voice—and then, a new tone, one from the Underworld.

“What do you want?” I scramble backward against the floor, dragging my chains with me, until I can go no farther. Enzo approaches me until we are separated by nothing but his armor and my robes. His soulless eyes stare down at me as he sheathes his daggers. His hands clamp down on the chains that encircle my wrists and—in a moment that reminds me of the day he had rescued me from the stake—he heats the chains until they turn white-hot. They clatter to the floor. His lips curl.

“
You have something that is mine,
” Enzo murmurs, in a voice not his own. It resonates within my very core, and I immediately recognize it as the voice of Moritas, speaking through the Underworld.

She has come for Enzo.
The tug between us pulls taut again, making me cry out in pain.
She will kill me in order to take him back.

“Why don't you jump, little wolf?” he whispers.

And, suddenly, I feel a desire to step out of my cell, walk up the rampart, and fling myself from the tower.
No.
Panic flutters in my mind as my energy turns on me and Enzo gains control. An illusion wraps around me—I'm no longer on the top of this tower, but clutching the skeletal hands of the goddess of Death herself, hanging desperately on as I
float in the waters of the Underworld, trying not to drown. Cold hands pull at my ankles.

“You belong here,” Moritas says, her featureless face leaning down to me.
You always have.

“Don't let me go,” I beg. The words come out silent to my ears.
Magiano!
I cry. This must be a nightmare, but I can't wake up. It can't possibly be real. Perhaps he will be nearby and save me from my illusion as he always does.

Magiano, help me!
But he isn't here.

I blink, and now I am back in the prison tower, walking out of my cell's ajar door to stand on the wind-whipped steps outside. Enzo follows behind me as I continue forward. The hands of Death grasp my heart through our tether, and the ice of her touch burns me. Fires protected inside colored lanterns illuminate the path with spots of light. I squint in the darkness, then turn my face to where the stairs wind up and around my cell. I take a step forward, one after another. A narrow gap between the cells appears, where a thin rampart overlooks the night landscape and then the ocean beyond. I strain to see any sign of my ships, but it is too dark. The wind numbs my fingers. I approach the rampart and grip the ledge with both hands. The tether pushes me forward, urging me over the wall.

The whispers shriek over the wind.
Why don't you jump, little wolf?

“Enzo!”

A clear voice cuts through my illusion—the Underworld wavers, then vanishes in a whirlwind of smoke. I'm back at
the tower, crouched on the edge of the ramparts. Enzo turns around to see Raffaele standing at the stairs behind us, a crossbow in his hands. He is pale, his face drawn with fear, his lips tightened into a determined line. The wind whips his hair into a furious river, and his pale robes stream behind him in waves of silk and velvet. Had he woken, too, at the strangeness of Enzo's energy? His eyes dart in my direction before returning to the prince.

Raffaele lifts the crossbow higher. He isn't aiming it at me.

“Enzo,” he says again. His eyes shine wet in the night. “Leave her.”

In the past, Enzo would have wavered. His eyes would clear, the pools of dull darkness making way again for those I know so well, dark and warm, slashed with bright scarlet. But even Raffaele's presence this time does nothing to clear the death from Enzo's gaze. I feel nothing of Enzo at all in our tether.

Before I can think anything else, Enzo turns away from me, reaches for a dagger, and lunges at Raffaele. The hands of Death loosen from my heart for an instant, and I recoil in horror from the rampart. Raffaele pauses for the briefest of moments—then he clenches his jaw and fires his crossbow. The arrow strikes Enzo in the chest. He staggers, but doesn't fall. Raffaele puts his arms up to defend himself, but his instant of hesitation has cost him. Enzo's strength is far beyond that of any human. He grabs Raffaele by the throat and slams him against the wall. Raffaele lets out a choked cry. Enzo's dagger flashes in the air.

I don't think—I just act. I reach out through our tether and yank the threads of Enzo's energy tight. Then I pull them toward me.

Enzo lets out a snarl of irritation that barely sounds human. He turns his black eyes to me again. A thousand thoughts whirl through my mind. The threads of his energy that I'm holding are so cold, they seem to burn through my consciousness, pulled so taut that they seem ready to break. I think back to the moment when Maeve had summoned him back from the Underworld, how she had tied him to me. Now the tension of the strings of his energy cut at my mind.

This is not him.

Raffaele reloads, tightens his grip on his crossbow, and fires at close range. This arrow hits Enzo in the back. He fires again. Another arrow. Enzo hunches, finally slowed by the attack, but the expression on his face doesn't change. His attention turns back to me and, again, I feel the hands of Moritas through our tether.

I am not yours yet,
I think through the chaos, pushing defiantly against her. The darkness inside me crowds my chest, fighting Enzo's power—he shudders once at my touch. The steps around us turn black and are stained with illusions of blood, and the sky overhead takes on a scarlet tint.

But I cannot control him this time. Enzo's soulless eyes lock on mine—his daggers flash toward me.

Then, abruptly, he falls to one knee. His head bows. Behind him, Raffaele lowers his crossbow, and I see one final
arrow buried in Enzo's back, the one that has finally struck true. Blood drips on the stones beneath our feet. A low, labored gasp comes from him as his second knee falls, and the daggers clatter out of his hands. The tether between us trembles violently, and for an instant, I can feel the pain of his wounds as surely as if they were my own. I sink to the floor before him, unable to look away.

He is dying.

It doesn't matter anymore. The Enzo I once knew died a long time ago.

Enzo looks up at me. Suddenly, the blackness in his eyes seems to fade, replaced by the familiar warm brown of his irises, the red slashes, the glow of life. I see a hint of his old self there, fighting through the darkness of the Underworld to gaze at me one last time. It is the look he'd given me when we used to dance.

This is the real Enzo.

“Let me go,” he whispers. It is
his
voice. It is the voice that once comforted me, gave me strength. And as I try to take in his words, the final tendrils of the tether linking us unravel from around my heart, freeing me.

Enzo collapses. As the last bit of my life and my light leaves him, he seems to turn gray, as if he could no longer contain the colors of the living world. He turns his head weakly in the direction of the ocean. The black pools in his eyes finally vanish, and a name drifts from his lips. He says it so quietly that I nearly miss it. It is not my name, but the name of another girl, one he had known and loved long ago.

Then, he closes his eyes and sinks to the floor. His body grows still. I know, without a doubt, that he is gone.

Raffaele says nothing. He stays against the wall, eyes fixed on Enzo. Then, he pulls Enzo's body to him and leans over his head. The silence goes on. I walk forward in a daze, coming to a kneel beside them. Now I am close enough to hear Raffaele's quiet crying. He doesn't pay me any attention; in fact, it is as if I were not even here.

After a long moment, he pulls away and lifts his jewel-toned eyes to me, the colors washed green and gold with tears. We stare at each other. I can see the confusion in his gaze as clearly as he must see the same in mine.

You didn't have to save me.

I am numb. I don't know what to do. The absence of my link to Enzo is a yawning chasm, a hollowness I first felt when Teren took Enzo's life in the Estenzian arena. How long had he been a part of my world? How had my life been before he stepped into it? All I can think is that I am losing him all over again, except that I already lost him.