The Midnight Star

by Marie Lu

  “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. H
e 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.

  Another assassination attempt.

  I clutch the dagger in one hand and struggle to the top deck. An icy wind blasts me with rain. I freeze and look up at the sky to see clouds hovering so low that they seem like they might touch the crow’s nest, clouds so black and ominous that it feels like I am peering up into the gaping mouth of Death herself.

  “Adelina!” a drenched Magiano shouts from near the bow of the ship, where he hangs on desperately to the rigging of the sails. He’s pointing in the direction where Raffaele’s ship must be. Frantic, I glance around the deck. It all looks like a blur—a mass of gray crew fighting the tempest, water everywhere. I whirl around, as if my would-be assassin is behind me.

  “Teren!” I shout back at Magiano. “He’s gone! He’s—”

  The moment the words leave my mouth, I spot him. Under the glow of a streak of lightning, I see Teren making his way toward Magiano. Teren’s wrists are still bound in chains, and as he moves, they clatter noisily. A gasp escapes me. No. I shout again and prepare to strike with my energy, but a huge wave smacks the side of the ship and I stumble at the impact. A rope snaps loose from somewhere and hits Magiano viciously in his side—on his never-healing marking.

  Magiano doubles over in agony and loses his footing. His hands grab for the rigging. I leap onto the deck right as Teren reaches it. Teren is going to kill him. The thought speeds through me like lightning—and my powers well up, roaring to the surface as I face Teren.

  But Teren seizes the rope—and swings it toward Magiano with all his strength. Despite his pain, Magiano manages to catch it. He swings back toward the mast and hits the spar with a soft thud—narrowly avoiding going overboard. He crumples on the deck, clutching his side.

  I wipe water from my vision. Did Teren just save Magiano’s life?

  At the same time, another wave crashes against the deck, flooding it. It washes one of my Inquisitors into the sea. I stumble and fall on my knees. Before me, Teren loses his footing and tumbles. I rush forward. Somewhere in the gale, Magiano calls out to me. “Adelina—don’t!” he yells.

  The water sweeps Teren overboard. We need him is all I can think. We need Teren if we want to live. I reach the railing and look down to see Teren clinging to the side of the ship. His chains clack in the wind. He glances up and catches sight of me.

  Let him drown, the whispers say. Let the Underworld take him. Let him sink. He deserves it.

  I hesitate, trembling from the effort of listening to the voices. He does deserve it. For a moment, the thought crowds my mind and the whispers crow as if they’ve won. Teren’s face shifts and moves, rippling with an illusion out of my control, shifting from a human face to that of an unrecognizable demon, the monster underneath his skin.

  Then I remember why we are here. I reach down, close my hand tightly around his wrist, and pull as hard as I can. Teren climbs slowly, making his way up one step at a time. His eyes reflect the lightning and the torrential rain. When he is back on board, I think, we will need to secure his quarters more strictly.

  “Look out!” someone shouts. I glance up just in time to see Magiano leap in my direction. But it’s too late—an instant later, a wave hits the side of the ship like a battering ram and I’m flung free of the railing. All I see is a rush of black sky and ocean. Magiano is still standing along the deck, his arm outstretched toward me. Then he vanishes from sight as rain and ocean spray streak past. I look down to see the dark ocean rushing up at me.

  The Underworld has come to claim you, the whispers scream.

  Then I hit the water. And the ocean consumes me.

  Said the man to the sun, “How I wish you could shine your light on every day of my life!” Said the sun to the man, “But only with the rain and the night could you recognize my light.”

  —Domaccan poem, translated by Chevalle

  Adelina Amouteru

  The world is deafening and silent. Light and dark. I think I see Caldora in the depths, her long, monstrous fins carving through the water. The thunder sounds muffled from underneath these black tides. I float for a while, unsure of where I am or whether I am even alive. The current tosses me, I am down, and my heartbeat thuds in my ears. I struggle to breathe.

  I surface with a gasp. Rain and seawater pours into my open mouth. I choke, coughing, and search for the ship. It’s behind me, looming. I try to swim in its direction, but another wave swallows me and I’m tossed over and over. I manage to pull myself up again, only to see the ship edging farther away.

  “Magiano!” I cry out. “Violetta!”

  But my voice is lost in the tempest. Another wave pounds me and I’m submerged in the depths once more.

  I will not die here. Not like this. The thought becomes a drumbeat that fills me with rage, and the rage gives me strength. I force my limbs to keep churning, force my head above water one more time. The storm roars its fury overhead—lightning flashes between the clouds, and sheets of rain pummel me. I’m swallowed by another wave and every time I surface, the ship looks farther away. I start to lose feeling in my limbs. The energy of the Underworld seeps under my skin and down my throat. Monsters seem to swim in this sea, their massive black silhouettes framed by deep blue, which seems to extend down forever.

  Will he miss me? I picture Magiano’s face, contorted in fear as he watched me go overboard. Is he safe?

  Will Violetta miss me?

  Then, a hand. The fingers are rough, nails dig into my flesh, the grip so hard that I think my bones will break. I open my mouth to cry out, but the effort is soundless in the sea. Through the darkness, I catch a glimpse of wild, white, mad eyes and a flash of blond hair. Teren. It is Teren in the water, fighting upward alongside me, pulling me by the arm.

  We break through the surface into the center of the storm. I gasp, choking on seawater—through a blurry haze of rain, I see our ship careening several dozen yards away. On the masts, Magiano is pointing for the others to
search the waters for us. I’m here. I try to wave, but the sea swallows my arm.

  “Not invincible after all, little wolf?” Teren shouts.

  Illusions darken the world all around. I am struggling to breathe in the Inquisition Tower, and Teren has his sword pressed against my throat. He’s going to kill me; he’s going to cut me open with his blade. A wild surge of terror lodges in my throat—and I panic, struggling to get away from him.

  Teren growls and only tightens his grip on my arm. I’m vaguely aware of the ocean surrounding us. Another wave crashes against our bodies, and seawater pours into my mouth. I splutter. He’s drowning you, the whispers shriek. Anyone else would have lost his grip in a sea this fierce, but Teren—still imbued with his powers—manages to stay locked on me like a shackle.

  “Let go of me,” I choke out, clawing blindly at Teren. The sharp tang of blood suddenly fills my nostrils, and I realize that it is from his wrists, spreading a film of scarlet around us. Somewhere ahead, the silhouette of our ship looms. We are getting closer.

  “I wish I could,” Teren spits, dripping venom. “There’s nothing I’d like to see more than you in the Underworld, Adelina.”

  His words spark my fury. He never intended to finish this journey with you. Teren grips my arm again so hard that I scream in pain. He is pulling us both toward the ship, his face set in grim determination.

  Then I hear him shout, “But I won’t.”

  But I won’t. My fury wavers, turning into bewilderment.

  We are very close to the hull of our ship now, so close that Magiano has caught sight of us. I can hear his shout over the wind, his arm pointing down to where we are. Teren waves back at them, and as the crew bustles along the deck, I feel a sudden lift from the water below. A whirlwind pushes it away, and for an instant, a crater forms in the sea around us. The wind urges us both upward. Startled, I glance in the direction of Raffaele’s ship, which yaws behind our own. Lucent is up on the masts, arms pointed in our direction. The wind strengthens, and the world blurs as we are lifted up, up, up above the railing of our ship’s deck, a funnel of seawater raining onto the ship as we go.