“I’m not punishing you because you were disrespectful of the Beldish queen,” Giulietta calls out over the sickening sound of blades slashing Teren’s flesh raw. “I’m punishing you for disobeying me in public. For making a scene. For insulting the queen of a nation we cannot afford to fight again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Teren chokes out, as blood drips down his back.

“You do not make decisions for me, Master Santoro.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You do not ignore my commands.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You do not embarrass me in front of an enemy nation.”

The blades dig in deep. Teren blinks back the unconsciousness creeping at the edges of his vision. His arms shake against the marble floor. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says hoarsely.

“Stand up straight,” Giulietta commands.

Teren forces himself to do so, even as the gesture makes him scream. The Inquisitor whips the blades across his chest and stomach; his eyes fly open as they slash deep. This blow would have killed him instantly, if he were a normal man. For Teren, though, it merely brings him onto his hands and knees.

The whipping continues until the floor beneath Teren is slick with a film of his blood. The scarlet streaks across the marble make circular patterns, punctuated by Teren’s handprints. He concentrates on the swirls. Somewhere, high above him, he knows he can hear the gods murmuring. Was this punishment from Giulietta, or from the gods?

Finally, Giulietta holds up a hand. The Inquisitor stops.

Teren trembles. He can feel the demonic magic of his body laboriously bringing his broken flesh together again. These wounds will leave scars for sure—the cuts made too quickly over skin still not healed, over and over. His blond tail of hair hangs over his neck in sweaty strings. His body burns and aches.

“Rise.”

Teren obeys. His legs feel weak, but he grits his teeth and forces them to steady. He deserved every last bit of that punishment. As he stands up straight, he meets Giulietta’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, softly this time. The apology of a boy to his lover, not an Inquisitor to his queen.

Giulietta touches Teren’s cheek with her cool fingers. He leans into her gentle grasp, savoring it, even as he trembles. “I am not cruel,” she says again. “But remember this, Master Santoro. I only ask for obedience. If that is too hard, I can help. It is easier to obey without a tongue, and easier to kneel without legs.”

Teren looks into her deep, dark eyes. This is what he loves about her, this side of her that always knew what had to be done. But why did she not immediately give the order to punish Raffaele? He should be executed.

She has not, Teren thinks, with a painful surge of jealousy, because she wants something else from him.

Giulietta smiles. She leans closer, then presses her lips to his cheek. Teren aches at her touch, her warning. “I love you,” she whispers. “And I will not tolerate you disobeying me again.”

The Cliffs of Sapientus are said to have formed when the god of Wisdom cut the world of the living from the world of the dead, sealing his sister Moritas forever away. The jagged edges look the most majestic during sunset, when golden light hits them and paints long shadows across the land.

—A Guide to Traveling through Domacca, by An Dao

Adelina Amouteru

Enzo visits me in my nightmare tonight.

It is evening, and the lanterns in the corridors of the Fortunata Court are already lit. Laughter floats from the Daggers’ underground cavern, but Enzo and I make our way up the steps to the courtyard. Out here, the night is silent. This is the night after the Spring Moons, I remember through the haze of my dream. After we attacked Estenzia’s harbor.

Enzo and I kiss in the courtyard, oblivious to the light rain falling all around us. He walks me back to my chambers. But in my dream, he doesn’t bid me good night and then leave. In my dream, he comes inside with me.

I don’t know if my power is at work … but I can feel his locks of dark hair against my cheeks, can sense the ripples of heat that his touch sends through my body. His lips brush past my ear, then touch my jaw and my neck, working their way steadily downward. I sit on the bed and pull him closer until we are a tangle of limbs. This is where we first met, after all, when he came to sit beside me and offered me a chance to join the Daggers.

Now his face stays buried against my skin. Currents of heat rush through me until I think I might burn alive. His shirt slips to one side, exposing his shoulder. Is he really here? Am I really in the Fortunata Court, in all its former glory? My finger traces the ridge of his collarbone. He sucks in his breath as I tug off his shirt, then run my hands down his chest. He pushes against me. This is real. It must be.

This is what could have happened that night.

“I love you,” he whispers in my ear. And I am so enveloped in my dream, so lost in his trail of kisses, that for a moment I let myself believe it.

Enzo pauses. He coughs once. I turn my head enough to see the angles of his face in the darkness. “Are you all right?” I ask with a smile. My arms reach up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer.

Enzo stiffens, then coughs again. His brows twist into a knotted line, and he frowns. He pushes away from me and sits in a hunched position on the bed. His coughs come again and again, until he can’t seem to stop. Spots of blood stain the sheets.

“Enzo!” I cry out. I scramble to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. He waves me away and shakes his head, but he’s coughing so hard that he cannot speak. There’s blood on his lips, glistening in the night. His face contorts in pain. One of his hands comes up to grip his chest, and when I look, I notice with horror that a deep, scarlet wound is growing in the center, right over his heart.