Raffaele nods once.

This is his manipulation at work again. He never means exactly what he says. “What do you really want, Messenger?” I say sharply. “Speak plainly. We are at war. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that you and the Tamourans are releasing me out of the kindness of your hearts.”

In the silence, one of the kings turns to Raffaele and raises a bejeweled hand. “Well, Messenger,” he says, his voice echoing in the chamber. “Sa behaum.” Tell her.

Raffaele walks closer. “Adelina,” he begins slowly, “we are releasing you because we need your help.”

Of everything I thought he might say, it was not this. I can only stare at him in disbelief. Then I start to laugh and the whispers join me. You really must be going mad.

Something about Raffaele’s expression finally makes my laughter subside. “You’re serious,” I say, tilting my head in a mock imitation of his familiar gesture. “You must be desperate to think that I would work with you and the Daggers.”

“You won’t have much choice. Your sister’s life depends on it, as do ours.” He nods at me. “As does yours.”

More lies. “Is this why you told me about her? Why you wanted me to see Violetta with you? So you can use her against me?” I shake my head at him. “Cruel, even for you.”

“I took her in,” Raffaele replies. “What did you do?”

As always, his words strike true. This is what you wanted, Adelina, the whispers coax me. You wanted to find Violetta, for your own reasons. Now you have.

Raffaele continues in the silence. “Your sister once took some documents of mine from the royal Beldish ship. Do you remember what they said?”

He’s referring to the parchments Violetta had shown me on the day she left my side. That all Elites are doomed to die young, destroyed from within by our powers. As always, the thought of his theory chills me. I am reminded of Teren’s stubborn wound, of Sergio’s constant thirst. Of my own illusions, spiraling steadily out of my control. “Yes,” I say. “And what do they have to do with me?”

Raffaele looks to each of the rulers in turn. They nod once in silence, giving him some sort of unspoken permission. As they do, Tamouran soldiers approach me from where they had been standing guard around the edges of the chamber. I stiffen as they draw nearer. Raffaele tilts his head at me, then starts walking to the chamber’s entrance. “Come with me,” he says.

Enzo shifts where he stands, as if he would accompany us too—but he stops as Raffaele shakes his head. “His power affects yours far too much,” Raffaele says to me. “You need to stand alone for this.”

Others follow in his wake. I’m pulled to my feet by soldiers, unchained from the floor, and guided along. We exit the chamber and enter a hallway, then leave the recesses of the palace and head down in the direction of the shoreline. The pressure on my chest eases, and I sag in relief as walls and hills come between the tether binding Enzo to me. It is a dark night; the only light comes from two slivers of moonlight I can see peeking through the clouds. The storm Sergio had raged over the oceans has dispersed by now, but the scent of rain still hangs heavy in the air, and the grasses are wet and glistening. I crane my neck, searching. Somewhere out there on the waves are my ships and Sergio. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder where Magiano has been taken.

We keep going until we finally hit the shoreline. Here, Raffaele comes over to us and murmurs something at the soldiers. They pull me forward toward the water. I have a sudden feeling that they intend to drown me in the ocean—that is what this whole ritual is about. I struggle for a moment, but it’s no use.

I stagger forward. To my surprise, Raffaele comes to my side. We are standing on wet sand now, and I look on as the waves head toward us. The water and sea foam rush up the beach—I suck in my breath as cold water runs over my feet. Raffaele lets it rush across his legs too, soaking the bottom of his robes.

Instantly, I feel it again. I’d gotten only a quick flash of the ocean’s strange darkness during the battle, and then I’d left it behind. But now, with the world around me quiet enough that I can concentrate, I can feel the death in the water. The ocean pulls away, then rushes forward again. Again, it soaks the bottom half of my legs. Again, I gasp at the cold energy swirling in the depths.

Raffaele looks at me, his eyes shining different colors in the night. “You, more than anyone, should be familiar with this energy.”

I frown. The feeling turns my stomach, nauseating me with its wrongness—but at the same time, I realize that I look forward to each surge of the ocean, hoping for another dose of this dark energy. “Yes,” I say automatically, almost against my will.

Raffaele nods. “Do you remember the day when I first tested your powers?” he asks. “I recall your alignments well. Ambition and passion, yes . . . but most of all, fear and fury. You remain the only person I’ve met birthed from both of the angels that guard the Underworld. Your energy is tied to the Underworld more than anyone I know.”

This power I feel in the water—this is energy from the Underworld.

Raffaele’s expression is grave. “The Elites exist only because of an imbalance between the mortal and immortal realms. The blood fevers themselves were ripples in our world caused by an ancient tear between those realms. Our existence defies the natural order, defies Death herself. Queen Maeve bringing Enzo back has only accelerated the process. There is a merging of the two realms that is slowly poisoning everything in our world.”