The thought of ruling Kenettra with Enzo at my side—Enzo, who had saved me from certain death, who brought my powers out with a mere touch of his hand on my back, whose own fire awakened my ambitions—thrills me. So why am I here, this close to a boy who is not my prince? Why am I reacting in this way to his touch?

On the other side of the fire, Violetta’s eyes flick momentarily away from Sergio and toward me. She catches my gaze, then tilts her head once in Magiano’s direction before winking at me. She smiles a little. Suddenly, I realize why she left me alone with Magiano like this. I can’t help sharing in her smile. When did my little sister become so sneaky? I’ll have to ask her later how she knew that Magiano would take advantage of our moment alone. Hiding a laugh in my throat, I turn back to Magiano.

He is observing the ruined half of my face.

A cold wind hits me, and I suddenly blink away the haze of warmth and amusement that had enveloped me just moments earlier. My defenses go up. I lean away, and an edge returns to my voice. “Why do you look?” I mutter.

I half expect Magiano to tease me, spitting back one of his sarcastic phrases. But he doesn’t smile. “We are drawn to stories,” he says in a soft voice, “and every scar carries one.” He lifts a hand and places his palm gently against the ruined side of my face, covering the scar.

I look down, embarrassed now. Instinctively, I reach up to brush some of my hair over my face—only to remember that I no longer have long locks.

“Hiding it makes you more beautiful,” Magiano says. Then he takes his hand away, exposing my scar again. “But revealing it makes you you.” He nods at me. “So wear it proudly.”

I don’t know what to say to that. “We all have our stories,” I reply after a moment.

“You are the first I’ve ever met who is willing to take on the Inquisition,” he continues. “I’ve heard plenty of idle threats in my lifetime against those soldiers, and made plenty myself. But you meant what you said, when you wanted revenge against them.”

For an instant, I see an illusion of blood dripping down my hands, staining the ground. It is Enzo’s blood, and it is bright scarlet. “I suppose I’m just tired of them being the ones standing over us, as we beg in vain for our lives.”

Magiano gives me a smile that looks sweet … and sad. “Now you are the one who can make them beg.”

“Do I frighten you?” I ask softly.

He seems to think about that. After a while, he leans back and looks skyward. “I don’t know,” he replies. “But I do know that I may never meet another like you again.”

His expression reminds me of Enzo, and all of a sudden, that is who I see before me, my prince who mourned his own lost love. He is close enough now that I can see the slashes of color in his irises.

He is not Enzo, I remind myself. But I don’t want him to be. With Enzo, my energy yearned for his power and ambition, all too happy to let him take me into the darkness. But with Magiano … I am able to smile, even to laugh. I am able to sit here and lean back and point out the constellations.

Magiano glances at me again, as if he could tell who is on my mind. That strange little twist reappears at the edge of his lips, an unhappy note that mars his joy. It is there, and then it is gone.

I want to say something to him, but I don’t know what. Instead, he smiles, and I swallow, mimicking him. After a while, we both return to admiring the stars, trying to ignore the kiss that lingers in the air between us.

Dear Father, did you receive my gift? Please let me come home. I no longer recognize this place, and my friends have become my enemies.

—Letter from Princess Lediana to her father, the King of Amadera

Adelina Amouteru

The next day, clouds start to gather in low blankets along the horizon. They build in height as the day goes on. By the time afternoon starts shifting to dusk, and the dirt and grasses of the Kenettran countryside make way for the first rivers of outer Estenzia, the sky is covered in a thick layer of gray, making twilight look more like midnight. There is a spark of lightning in the air, something sharp and tense that promises a storm. The tension grows as we approach the city, until the sky finally opens and a cold, heavy rain starts to drench the land.

I pull the cloak lower over my head. Wind whips at my back.

“How long will this storm last?” Violetta calls out at Sergio through the rain.

Sergio rides up beside us. “At least a day. I can never really tell. Once I set them in motion, they take on a life of their own that not even I can stop.”

We all pause as we reach the first small village clustered outside the walls of Estenzia. Our chances of running into Inquisitors after this point are high. I swing down from my horse, pat its neck, and lead it toward the buildings. Behind me, the others do the same. Time to give up our steeds and go on foot.

Or, more specifically, go by canal.

We leave our horses tied in front of a tavern, and then continue on our way. The village gives way to another, bigger cluster of homes, and then soon the walls fencing in Estenzia loom out of the mist of rain, black silhouettes against a gray sky. Lanterns start flickering to life in the villages behind us. My weathered boots squish against the soaked ground. My hooded cloak is already useless against the rain, and we keep them on only to hide our features. I’d rather save my energy for when we are close enough to the city itself.

Here, the land starts splintering into fragments, disjointed islands clustered close together and connected by canals. Already, the storm has started to flood some of the canals, washing untended gondolas up to the shores. Magiano stops us here, where several gondolas have piled on top of one another at a canal’s corner. Dark canvas covers their tops, and their oars snap back and forth haphazardly in the current, absent their gondoliers.