The Midnight Star

by Marie Lu

  “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.

  I am not ready to die.

  This realization strikes me hard. The terror I’d felt while crouching against the rampart makes me quake uncontrollably, haunting my senses. No, I am not ready to die, and there is only one way I can prevent that from happening.

  As the sun starts to rise, I watch as Raffaele bends over Enzo’s body, the two of us mourning the prince we both loved.

  Dearest Mother, I am afraid, for there is something he isn’t telling me. It is not to do with our debt, I think, nor his conversation with the king. But it leads him on terrible midnight tantrums.

  —Letter from Ilena de la Meria to her mother, the Baroness of Ruby

  Adelina Amouteru

  First, I have conditions.

  I will go with Raffaele and the Daggers on their journey—if I can bring my own crew and my own ship. Sailing alone on a vessel with them is out of the question.

  Magiano must be released, alive and unharmed.

  Violetta stays with me.

  These are my terms.

  Tamoura agrees to stand with us in exchange for a truce. I am not finished with my conquests yet, although with Violetta back and our lives at stake—with my life at stake—my attention has shifted away from throwing my army at the Tamourans. It might be nice to have an ally for a change.

  Raffaele and the Golden Triad agree to all of these terms. So, a day later, Tamouran soldiers move me from my cell to the bathhouse, where two maids wash me and bind my hair in silks. Then I am taken to a real bedchamber in the palace, where I curl up in the bed and don’t move again until the following afternoon. My hands stay chained, clutched near my chest, as if to fill the new gap there. Enzo had been tethered to me for so long, and the strength of that connection was so persistent that its absence now makes me dizzy, like I’m falling through the air.

  In my drowsy, half-awake state, I can see a ghost of Enzo walking alongside us, an illusion that disappears the instant I try to focus on him. Enzo is gone, returned to the Underworld where he belongs. When will Violetta join him? the whispers ask me. Or Magiano? When will you?

  Finally, days later, Raffaele arrives surrounded by soldiers. They release me. My wrists feel strangely light without chains weighing them down. We walk side by side through the palace corridors without saying a word. Something seems different in the energy between us now . . . whether it’s a barrier lifted or a tension eased, I’m not sure. Make no mistake—we don’t trust each other, not by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps Raffaele is playing with my emotions, as he often has. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing.

  Of course he is, the whispers snap at me. Don’t be a fool. He will wait until your back is turned.

  But, for once, I have an easy time ignoring the whispers. There is something about shared grief that simplifies things, that cuts through the discord. Even if Raffaele might be manipulating me, the change may be genuine. I remember what he had once told me.

  Adelina, I loved him too.

  And so had I.

  I keep a fair distance between Raffaele and myself as we
walk. He seems to do the same, and we don’t look at each other as we make our way down the long steps of the Tamouran palace’s main gates, where horses are waiting for us. From there, we ride underneath a cloudy sky that threatens more rain.

  Several of my Kenettran ships have docked at the western bay of Alamour. There is a wide expanse of plains here, dotted with desert shrubs and low grasses, the sharp cut of rocks lining the horizon where the city begins. The rising sun paints a red haze across the landscape, making the sea’s foam turn red and orange. By the shore, the banners of my ships flutter in the wind. I feel the burden in my chest lighten at the sight, and the whispers stir happily. I’m no longer a prisoner. I am a queen again.

  The procession slows as we draw close. Now I can see my own troops lined up along the shore, waiting for us. The white robes of the Inquisitors look orange and cream in this early light too—and in front of them waits Sergio, still adorned in the dark red armor of the Roses. At the sight of me, they straighten.

  Not many paces away from my own troops are Tamouran soldiers, led by one of the three kings and flanked by Michel and Lucent. Then, I see Violetta. She is far from me, surrounded by a patrol of Tamouran soldiers. One of them, an enormous bearded man, carries her in his arms. She is awake this morning, and more alert than when I first saw her. Her eyes are trained on me.

  I can’t turn away from her gaze. What is she thinking when she looks at me? A strange surge of relief rises in my chest, followed quickly by a slash of anger. I’d spent the better part of a year leading my troops into other territories, imagining what it would be like to find Violetta hiding amongst strangers. Now I’ve found her, and she stares warily at me. She has the ability to wrench away the Daggers’ powers, but she chooses not to. Dark markings travel along her neck, disappearing under her robes. The sight of them reminds me of what is happening to her, of why we are all standing here. It makes me shiver.

  Violetta studies me. For an instant, I think she’s going to reach out to my powers and yank them away, as she once did. I feel a sudden wave of panic—but then she looks away. She doesn’t say a word.

  I let out a small breath. She’s afraid of you, the whispers say, but I look away too.

  Then I notice Magiano. He had been shrouded under a heavy robe, waiting with the Tamourans—but now he sees me and swings down from the horse he’d been sitting on. A smile breaks unbidden onto my face, and I turn my own horse instinctively in his direction. Beside me, Raffaele watches silently, no doubt sensing my emotions. But I don’t care. Magiano is here. Even from a distance, I can see the upturn of his lips, the familiar joy on his face.

  Our processions finally meet. Raffaele nods at the Tamouran troops, and they allow Magiano to step forward right as I swing down from my own saddle. I keep my hands folded in front of me as he approaches. We stop short of touching each other. Magiano looks tired, like all of us, but otherwise well. His long braids are loose today and blowing in the breeze.

  “Well, Your Majesty,” he says, the teasing lilt back in his voice. “It looks like they caught you.”

  “And you,” I reply, unable to restrain my own smile.

  Raffaele walks forward first, completely unprotected, and nods at Sergio. “Hello, Rainmaker,” he says.

  Sergio gives him a cold look. “A pleasure to see you again, Messenger.”

  Raffaele glances at us, then back at him. “The Tamourans have decided to release your queen. We have some things to discuss.”

  That night, as our fleet remains docked, Raffaele joins Sergio, Magiano, Lucent, and me for a meeting in my royal quarters. “We are going to need to take this journey together,” Raffaele tells us. His expression is dark, but his voice stays serene and calm. “But we cannot do that if we don’t trust each other.” His face hardens again. “Trust will come slowly, for both sides. We give some; you give some.”

  “And who goes on this journey?” Magiano says, leaning forward as if to protect me. Lucent responds to his gesture with one of her own, turning herself toward Raffaele.

  “Every Elite in the world aligns with the gods in some way,” Raffaele replies, folding his hands behind him. Orange candlelight flickers against his robes. “The group of Elites who go with us must comprise all twelve of the gods. Missing even one alignment will not give us the combination of energy needed to reach beyond the mortal world—the touch of immortality could overwhelm us. It would be fatal.”

  The gemstones. The way Raffaele tested each of us. The memory flashes back to me—how he circled me slowly, watching my energy light up nightstone and amber, diamond and roseite and veritium. What had he found with my sister? He must have tested her by now too. He’d also tested Sergio long ago, when he was still a member of the Daggers. Who will go with us?

  Raffaele looks at me. His eyes, jewel toned and bright, honey gold and emerald green, seem to see straight through me. “I remember yours quite vividly, Adelina,” he says. “Fear and fury. Ambition. Passion. Wisdom. Five of the twelve.” He nods at me. “Your sister also aligns with fear.”

  Fear. I am not at all surprised. Fear is indeed something Violetta and I have shared since we were children.

  “In addition to that, she aligns with joy and empathy—with happiness and sensitivity.”

  Joy. Sensitivity. I think of Violetta’s childish twirls, her ringing laughter, the way she used to carefully braid my hair. She is all of these things; I don’t doubt Raffaele for a second. My heart aches as I think of her. Violetta is resting now in her own quarters on the ship. She still hasn’t said a word to me.

  “What are yours?” Sergio asks Raffaele, unable to keep his dislike out of his voice. “You’ve never mentioned them.”

  Raffaele gives him a slight bow of his head. “Wisdom,” he replies. “And beauty.” Of course. Sergio grunts, unwilling to acknowledge Raffaele’s words as he continues. “Including Lucent’s alignment to time, we comprise nine of the twelve gods. Sergio, your alignments already overlap these, as do Michel’s. So we need to find others with the three remaining alignments, to death, war, and greed.” He pauses to look at Magiano. “I would like to give you the same test that I gave the Daggers.”

  Magiano crosses his arms, suddenly indignant, but then he relents at a glance from me. Raffaele gestures to him. He reluctantly rises from the table and goes to stand in the middle of the floor. “I suppose you won’t believe me if I just guessed my alignments for you,” Magiano mutters.

  Raffaele retrieves a satchel containing a series of raw, unpolished gemstones, just as he’d once done with me. He quietly places all twelve of the stones in a circle around Magiano. Magiano stands still, his body stiff. I can sense a note of fear over him, a cloud of wariness at Raffaele’s intentions, but he doesn’t move. When Raffaele finishes, he walks around Magiano once, seeing which of the stones respond to his energy. After a while, three of the stones start to glow.

  Diamond, a pale white. Prase quartz, a subtle green. And sapphire, a blue as deep as the ocean.

  Raffaele starts to call on each of the gemstones in relation to Magiano, the way he had called forth memories from my past when he tested me. Was this why Magiano had such a penchant for sapphires, why he attempted to steal an entire treasury’s worth of them in the past, why he wanted the Night King’s pendant so badly?

  Magiano shudders slightly as Raffaele accesses the first of his memories. I wonder what Raffaele sees, and for a moment, I wish I could see this glimpse into Magiano’s past too. Magiano reacts to each of Raffaele’s tests, but stays calm throughout the exercise. They finally reach the last stone, the pale green prase quartz.

  Suddenly, Magiano jerks away and steps out of the circle. He is shaking all over—the tiny note of fear hovering over him has exploded into a shower of sparks, enough to stir my own power. Raffaele withdraws his hand.

  “Get away from me,” Magiano snaps at him.

  I’ve never seen him so upset. He brush
es past me without a glance, pushes past the table, and goes to stand before the porthole overlooking the midnight ocean. I frown, and my heart seizes for him. His reaction reminds me so much of when Raffaele finally called on fear and fury in me, unleashing a storm of energy and ugly memories. What had he unearthed in Magiano?

  “Careful, Messenger,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Raffaele. “Our alliance is not so solid that I wouldn’t kill you for harming him.”

  In the silence that follows, Raffaele sighs and folds his arms again. He returns my look. “I cannot control how he responds to his alignments. Magiano aligns with joy and ambition. And greed. He needs to come with us, if he’s willing.” He doesn’t mention anything more about the test, or Magiano’s reaction to it.

  I let out a short breath, relieved that I will have Magiano with me on this trip. I start to ask what Raffaele must have seen, then stop short. I’ll approach Magiano about this later. Joy, ambition, greed. Ten of the twelve now.

  “We need an alignment to Moritas and to Tristius,” Raffaele replies. “To death, for the mortality of mankind, and to war, for the eternal savagery of the heart.”

  War and death. I know immediately that we won’t find these traits in the Elites among us, if they don’t already exist in me.

  “Queen Maeve,” Lucent says in a quiet voice, glancing sideways at Raffaele. “She will align with Moritas.”

  An uncomfortable silence. I can tell by everyone’s expressions that we all know Lucent is right, even without Raffaele’s test; Maeve, whose very power connects her to death itself, is undoubtedly a child of Moritas. But will she travel with our group, with me, who destroyed her fleet not too long ago?

  “And war?” Raffaele answers. “What of that?”

  Lucent shakes her head. “That, I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, I realize something. It hits me so hard that it makes me gasp. Raffaele glances in my direction. “What is it?” he asks.