heard.â
Raffaele turns his attention to Violettaâs door. He can hear it now too, a low moan that makes his heart clench. It does not sound like Violetta at all. He glances at Michel, who shakes his head. âI donât want to see,â he mutters, his voice soft. Raffaele recognizes the fear in his eyes, the wish to avoid the image of what he is hearing.
âStay here,â Raffaele says gently, putting a hand on Michelâs shoulder. Then he nods at Lucent and steps into the room.
Violetta is awakeâor she seems to be, at first glance. Her dark waves of hair are soaked with sweat, strands plastered against her forehead, and her arms are bare and pale against her nightgown, her hands desperately clutching her sheets. Her eyes are open, Raffaele notes, yet she is unaware that he and Lucent now stand beside her in her room.
But what holds his attention the most are the markings covering her arms.
This girl, the Elite who was once unmarked, now has markings that stretch all across her skin. They look like bruises, black and blue and red, irregular maps that crisscross her arms and overlap one another. They stretch up toher neck and disappear down her nightgown. Raffaele suppresses the gasp in his throat.
âShe doesnât seem fully conscious,â Lucent says. âShe was fine yesterdayâshe was walking around, talking, smiling.â
âShe was tired,â he replies, running a hand in the air over her body, thinking back to how weary her smile had seemed. The threads of her energy tangle, weaving and unweaving. âI should have sensed it last night.â
But even he could never have guessed how drastically this could happen, how Violetta could go to bed an unmarked Elite and appear this morning as if she had been beaten. Was this triggered by her wading into the poisoned ocean?
It is all coming to pass.
The thought floods his mind even as he tries to ignore it.
It is the same phenomenon that is hollowing out Lucentâs bones, that had killed Leo by turning his venomous power back on himself, and that will eventually happen to the rest of us. A side effect directly related to her power.
For Violetta, whose ability had once protected her from markings like the othersâ, is now facing the oppositeâher power has turned viciously on her.
Raffaele shakes his head as he studies her energy.
She will die. And it will happen sooner than for any of us.
I have to tell Adelina. There is no other choice.
He straightens and takes a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is calm and unwavering. âBring me a quill and parchment. I need to send a dove.â
And they say she loathed everyone in the whole wide world,
except for the boy from the bell tower.
âLady of Dark Days,
by Dahntel
Adelina Amouteru
I t is only early afternoon, but a cold drizzle has settled over the city, bringing with it a layer of mist that dampens the light. Sergio has retired to his chambers, complaining of dizziness and thirst, his lips parched. I step out into the city streets alone, clad in a white hooded cloak shielding my hair from the elements. Iâm completely hidden behind an illusion of invisibility. The rain dots my face with tiny pinpricks of ice, and I close my eye, savoring the feeling.
Iâve made it a habit to visit the bathhouse after my visits with Teren, so that I can wash away the flecks of his blood on my skin and cleanse myself of the memory of his presence. Even so, the look in his pale eyes lingers long after I leave his cell. Now I point my boots in the direction of the palaceâs bathhouse. I could reach it from the corridors withinthe palaceâbut out here, the grounds are peaceful, and I can be alone with my thoughts under a gray sky.
A pair of men are standing across the bridge that leads to the palaceâs entrance, their eyes fixed on the main gates. They are whispering something to each other. I slow my steps, then turn to watch them. One is
Raffaele turns his attention to Violettaâs door. He can hear it now too, a low moan that makes his heart clench. It does not sound like Violetta at all. He glances at Michel, who shakes his head. âI donât want to see,â he mutters, his voice soft. Raffaele recognizes the fear in his eyes, the wish to avoid the image of what he is hearing.
âStay here,â Raffaele says gently, putting a hand on Michelâs shoulder. Then he nods at Lucent and steps into the room.
Violetta is awakeâor she seems to be, at first glance. Her dark waves of hair are soaked with sweat, strands plastered against her forehead, and her arms are bare and pale against her nightgown, her hands desperately clutching her sheets. Her eyes are open, Raffaele notes, yet she is unaware that he and Lucent now stand beside her in her room.
But what holds his attention the most are the markings covering her arms.
This girl, the Elite who was once unmarked, now has markings that stretch all across her skin. They look like bruises, black and blue and red, irregular maps that crisscross her arms and overlap one another. They stretch up toher neck and disappear down her nightgown. Raffaele suppresses the gasp in his throat.
âShe doesnât seem fully conscious,â Lucent says. âShe was fine yesterdayâshe was walking around, talking, smiling.â
âShe was tired,â he replies, running a hand in the air over her body, thinking back to how weary her smile had seemed. The threads of her energy tangle, weaving and unweaving. âI should have sensed it last night.â
But even he could never have guessed how drastically this could happen, how Violetta could go to bed an unmarked Elite and appear this morning as if she had been beaten. Was this triggered by her wading into the poisoned ocean?
It is all coming to pass.
The thought floods his mind even as he tries to ignore it.
It is the same phenomenon that is hollowing out Lucentâs bones, that had killed Leo by turning his venomous power back on himself, and that will eventually happen to the rest of us. A side effect directly related to her power.
For Violetta, whose ability had once protected her from markings like the othersâ, is now facing the oppositeâher power has turned viciously on her.
Raffaele shakes his head as he studies her energy.
She will die. And it will happen sooner than for any of us.
I have to tell Adelina. There is no other choice.
He straightens and takes a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is calm and unwavering. âBring me a quill and parchment. I need to send a dove.â
And they say she loathed everyone in the whole wide world,
except for the boy from the bell tower.
âLady of Dark Days,
by Dahntel
Adelina Amouteru
I t is only early afternoon, but a cold drizzle has settled over the city, bringing with it a layer of mist that dampens the light. Sergio has retired to his chambers, complaining of dizziness and thirst, his lips parched. I step out into the city streets alone, clad in a white hooded cloak shielding my hair from the elements. Iâm completely hidden behind an illusion of invisibility. The rain dots my face with tiny pinpricks of ice, and I close my eye, savoring the feeling.
Iâve made it a habit to visit the bathhouse after my visits with Teren, so that I can wash away the flecks of his blood on my skin and cleanse myself of the memory of his presence. Even so, the look in his pale eyes lingers long after I leave his cell. Now I point my boots in the direction of the palaceâs bathhouse. I could reach it from the corridors withinthe palaceâbut out here, the grounds are peaceful, and I can be alone with my thoughts under a gray sky.
A pair of men are standing across the bridge that leads to the palaceâs entrance, their eyes fixed on the main gates. They are whispering something to each other. I slow my steps, then turn to watch them. One is
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