The Midnight Star (15 page)

I am the wind, calm and fierce and deep.
I am the soul of life, the howl of storms, the breath of sleep.

—Imodenna the Great,
by Sir Elias Mandara

W
hen we board our ship, Teren is still wearing his chains. We trust him only to the extent he has agreed to accompany us, but we know that won't keep him from trying to attack us in our sleep. So he remains our captive, surrounded by guards at all times. As we sail from Estenzia's harbor, he is the only one who remains belowdecks, chained in his bunk. I stand at the bow of the ship and try not to think about his presence under our feet. Sailing beside us is Raffaele's Tamouran ship, gliding in unison through the waves. Magiano climbs up the mainmast and swings down with his usual ease. From the shore, I can still see Sergio on the pier with a troop of Inquisitors at his back, watching us go.

He'd kissed Violetta right before we left. It was the first time I'd ever seen him finally act on the subtle feelings he's
always expressed around my sister. Now Violetta is at the stern, her eyes trained on his speck on the pier. Sergio, with his mercenaries' help, is going to command the army while I'm gone. Still, I can't help but worry. What if he fails? What if I return to my hard-won empire only to find out that there had been an uprising—or that he's turned his back on me?

Everyone turns their back,
the whispers sneer gleefully. Their poison caresses my thoughts.
Best if you turn yours first.

“We sail northeast,” Raffaele says the first night as we gather around the dining table. He had crossed over to our ship on a connected gangplank to meet with us. Violetta stays close beside him, while I try to keep as much distance between us as possible. “It will take several weeks if we follow the shortest route, as the northern terns migrate.”

“How do you know where to go?” I ask. “You mentioned the origin of the Elites. Where is it?”

Raffaele runs a finger along the table, drawing an invisible line that represents the border of the Skylands and the sea, and then points to a spot far north of the shore. “Northern Amadera, deep in the ranges.” He glances at each of us in turn. “The Dark of Night.”

“Like in the myths?” Magiano says through a mouthful of dried meat. I've heard the tales before too, and now I raise an eyebrow at Raffaele.

Raffaele nods, strands of his silken hair slipping over his shoulder as he goes. “There are four places where the spirits still wander,” he replies, quoting some ancient tome. “The snow-covered Dark of Night, the forgotten paradise of Sobri
Elan, the Glass Pillars of Dumon, and the human mind, that eternally mysterious realm where ghosts shall forever walk.”

“They say the Dark of Night is a remnant of the gods,” Lucent adds. “It is sacred land. Priests make pilgrimages there.”

“If you study the chronology of the myths,” Raffaele continues, “the first mentions of the Dark of Night coincide with the fall of Laetes from the heavens. It is known as a sacred place, yes.” He nods at Lucent. “I believe it was created by the tear between the immortal world and the mortal. It is a place of eternal night, not meant for mortals. The priests you mentioned, Lucent, visit the lands around it. But they do not actually
enter
the Dark of Night. There are no tales of what is inside this place.”

A land of myth, our destination based purely on Raffaele's predictions. “You believe it's the place where only Elites can enter,” I reply.

Raffaele nods. “It is a land of gods.”

“And will Queen Maeve meet us along the way?” Magiano asks. He is sitting beside me, his hand touching the edge of mine. “As soon as we enter the Skylands?”

Raffaele looks at him. “We will meet her at the passage between Beldain and Amadera.”

“After our last confrontation?” Magiano makes a
tsk
sound. “Are you sure she'll want to join us? Hard to believe the Beldish queen will let us pass through her territory unharmed after we destroyed her entire fleet—let alone sit on a horse beside us for weeks.”

“It is in Maeve's best interests to see us succeed,” Raffaele replies coolly.

While Magiano shrugs, I stare at the map. Kenettra is a small nation in this view, as are the other Sealand nations. The Sunlands, including Domacca and Tamoura, seem to stretch endlessly. Even more vast than all of them is the sea, the great divide between the living world and the Underworld.

The extent of my own power suddenly feels insignificant. Our journey will fail, and we will pay for it with our lives.

The next dawn, we sail into the dim light of a dark morning. The ocean has taken on an uneasy color of jet. From the porthole of my quarters, I can see clouds piling on top of one another until it looks as if there were never any such thing as the sky and hear a low growl of thunder echoing from somewhere far away. Had Sergio been on board, he could have told us about this oncoming storm—and done something about it. But this is not a storm of our choosing. This is something the gods have created.

My stomach sinks as the ship pitches on the waves. A tingle of fear runs down my spine and the whispers stir.
The Underworld is calling you home, Adelina.

By the time I make it up the ladder and onto the top deck, the heavens have turned even darker. I look out onto the horizon to see that lightning streaks along the edge of the sky. Thunder continues to rumble. Magiano is helping two of the crew tie down barrels and secure the cannons. His robes are
coarse linens today, a heavy cloak wrapped tightly around a dark tunic, pants, and boots, and his braids are tied up in a high knot. “We are still ahead of the storm,” he says when I approach him. “But its arms extend far. If we're lucky, we'll be able to sail around before the worst of it hits us.”

I scan the horizon for any hint of land, but I see nothing except the churning of dark clouds. This tempest is different from the storm we'd faced while battling the Tamourans, where I could conjure images that struck terror into the soldiers we were fighting. But what use are illusions when the enemy we're facing is nature herself? From the water, I hear another echo of balira wails. There is a pod swimming some distance away from us, heading in the direction opposite the storm.

“Where is Violetta?” I ask. “Have you seen her this morning?”

“She hasn't come up here.” Magiano nods back toward the ladder. “You should stay belowdecks too. I can take it from here. It may get violent.”

Perhaps she's dead,
the whispers cackle.
Good riddance. Now you can finally be free of her torment.

Fat drops of rain have started to fall. I shake my head, trying to push away a blur of uncontrollable illusions, and turn around to head back down the ladder. As the air becomes heavier, the whispers grow louder, escalating until they shout in my ears. The fear of my crew hangs in the wind, feeding my energy until I feel like my chest might burst. In the corner of the ship, my father leans against the wooden
railing and stares at me with wild eyes. I swallow and look down. My illusions cannot overwhelm me now, not here.

The early raindrops turn into a torrent. From the crow's nest, one of our crew cries out, “Tie yourselves down!”

As I stumble toward the ladder leading below, I catch a glimpse of Raffaele's ship pitching against the waves, nearly lost in the spray. I can barely even stay on the ladder itself. On the lower level, lanterns swing in the narrow corridors and I think I hear shouting coming from the floor beneath me. I pause. The whispers in my head are restless—but this sounded real. Still, I can't bring myself to be sure about anything. I walk farther down the corridor until I reach my door. Here, everything seems muffled and distant, aside from the howl of the wind outside and the crash of ocean against wood.

I make it to Violetta's door, knock once, then step inside.

She stirs on her bed, but does not look up at me. One glance is all I need to know that she's feverish, her eyelids fluttering, her dark hair damp and matted against her head. Her markings stand out prominently along her neck and arms, blue and purple and black. She mutters something under her breath. Even in unconsciousness, she shifts uneasily when thunder rolls outside.

She is getting worse,
I realize as I stand over her. Raffaele had thought that perhaps my nearness would slow her deterioration . . . but now she looks even frailer than when I first saw her in Tamoura. I look on for a moment as she turns in bed, her forehead slick with sweat, and then I sit down and brush her hand with my fingers.

What if she can't even make it to the origin, to help us complete our journey?

You're wasting your time here,
say the whispers.

A loud thud shakes the floorboards. I startle and look back at the door. It sounded like it came not from above deck, but from our corridor. I wait to hear the passing of Inquisition boots, of a group of voices—but instead, the ship falls back into silence again.

I frown. For a moment, I want to ignore it, but then I rise and leave Violetta's side. I step back into the hall of swinging lanterns.

No one else is in the corridor.

I clutch my head and steady myself against the wall. Everything around me seems to be moving, and despite my attempts to concentrate, the walls blur into the floor and the floor blurs into the air, the lantern lights smearing together into faces and shapes. The whispers turn into screams. I press a hand against one ear, as if that might shut them out, but it only makes it worse, blocking out the sound of the crashing ocean and emphasizing my illusions gone mad.

Think of Magiano.
I remember his hand on my wrist in that dark hallway at the palace, the light reflected against his skin in the bathhouse. Then I force my breathing to steady. One, two, three. The hooked claws in my mind still, if only for a moment, and the floor and walls sharpen again. The sound of waves and shouts of men return from above deck.

Then, another thud.

It comes from the deck below. Where we are keeping Teren.

A sense of dread creeps into my stomach. Something has happened—I can feel it. I hesitate for an instant, wondering if my illusions will spiral out of control again. The world seems steady enough, though, and the whispers have lowered into a rumble. I make my way toward the lower-deck ladder, then start heading down. The ship pitches violently, making me trip on the last rung. A muffled thunderclap sounds outside. The storm is quickly worsening.

The end of the corridor is pitch-black, and as the ship rolls, an extinguished lantern tumbles along the planks, its glass broken. I reach out tentatively with my power. There's fear here, the fear that comes with pain. As I walk closer, I realize that there are two shapes lying on the floor, one of them motionless, the other moaning softly. The guards stationed to watch Teren.

Teren's door is swung wide open.

My heart leaps into my throat in terror.
He is loose,
I think, right as a deafening clap of thunder shakes the ship. I whirl around and hurry toward the ladder. The back of my neck tingles, panic rising as I wonder whether Teren is hiding in the shadows. But I know he's no longer down here.

I climb up the ladder in a rush and run along the corridor of our other quarters. “Violetta?” I shout as I go. “Magiano! Teren is gone!”

No one answers. As the ship careens, making the lanterns along the walls swing wildly, I rush to the ladder leading
to the deck and start climbing. Where would Teren go, in a storm like this? We can't lose him. We need him on this journey. We—

I hear the
whoosh
of a blade through the air before I even see it. Something—fate, my instincts—saves me, and I duck at the last instant. A dagger buries deep into the wood of the ladder. I look back to see one of my Inquisitors charging at me, teeth bared.
A rebel.

I throw my arms up and fling an illusion of invisibility over myself. I vanish from sight and dart out of his way. The Inquisitor stabs down at empty air, then blinks in confusion and whirls around. He is afraid now too, and his terror feeds my strength. “Show yourself, demon!” he shouts.

My heart pounds against my ribs. So—another rebel—just like the one who had attacked me during our battle. I grit my teeth and throw an illusion of pain at him. But my concentration flickers, and I shudder into existence for a fraction of an instant. It is enough for the Inquisitor to see me. He swings another dagger at me again, even as he howls in pain at my illusion.

I scramble past him and start climbing up the ladder. Had he been one of the guards I'd placed outside Teren's door? Had he released him, thinking Teren would kill me? Had he been loyal to Teren during his Lead Inquisitor days?

The man swings at me again. I react blindly, grabbing the dagger embedded in the wood, and then I whirl around and lash out at him. My blade strikes flesh. The man's eyes bulge,
and his mouth drops open. He stares at my scarred face for an instant, then collapses at my feet.