I jump back just as a creature darts from between the broken shards. It’s a tiny thing—flesh-colored, with what seems like hundreds of legs. Its jaws seek my feet. I jump again as it lunges forward.

When the creature snaps at me a third time, I stamp on it hard with the heel of my boot. I manage to catch its back half. It writhes, trying to bite me, but I pull out my dagger and stab it, crushing its body against the floorboards.

My energy roars in my ears. The battle all around us has fed me to an uncontrollable level. The color of the ocean around us shifts, turning from dark gray to bright silver and then to a brilliant turquoise, lit from within, the illusions fed by my growing power.

I look up to see Michel, swinging from the rigging toward me. I weave an illusion of pain around him. He shudders for an instant—but then I feel him push back with his own strength. He is an artist. He taught me illusions. And now he seems able to see through mine.

“You monster!” he shouts at me. And I know from the pain in his voice that he has already learned of Gemma’s death.

Magiano lands near the helm. He points a dagger up at Michel. The rigging rope Michel is swinging from suddenly unwinds, vanishing, only to reappear on the deck’s floor. Michel’s swing turns into a fall. He plunges towards the deck. Lucent catches him at the last second.

In anger, I lash out toward Lucent with all my strength. My gaze flicks to her hurt wrist—I focus on that, weaving an illusion that increases her pain tenfold. Lucent falls, uttering an anguished cry.

Maeve leaps down between us, and my illusion wavers for a moment from the distraction. The queen’s glare is one of ice and fury. She draws her sword and her gaze intensifies. “Leave her,” she snaps, then rushes toward me.

Sergio’s blade saves me—he appears from nowhere and meets the queen mid-swing. I stagger backward, then look up at the sky. There, Violetta continues to circle on the balira’s back. She meets my stare for an instant.

The distant boom of cannons distracts all of us. The Beldish warships have drawn closer, and Beldish soldiers have us surrounded. Maeve leaps away from Sergio suddenly and calls down at Teren.

“You are outnumbered!” Her eyes fix on me. “The Beldish do not believe in abominations,” she says to me. “We revere your malfettos in the Skylands. You are an Elite, the children of the gods. Just like me. There is no reason for us to fight.”

A long time ago, I might have listened to that. Not an abomination. An Elite. But I am the White Wolf, and I am too powerful to be swayed by the Beldish queen’s words. I look up at her, suddenly disgusted by her olive branch. What a trick. She doesn’t want peace—she nearly killed me. She wants to win, and she will take over Kenettra under the disguise of friendship. Not all Elites are the same. Not all Elites can be allies.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I tilt my head in Enzo’s direction. “Enzo,” I shout. My power surges with his.

“He will not bow to you, White Wolf,” Maeve barks at me. Still, I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. “He knows the truth. He is one of the Daggers, one of us now.”

Not if I can help it, I think, clenching my jaw. Through our tether, I reach out with my threads of energy and seek out his heart. I will control you.

Enzo approaches me. Daggers are in both of his gloved hands, and his face is a mask of anger. “You are a traitor, Adelina,” he growls.

My strength wavers under his words. My heart—my bond, I can no longer tell the difference—cries for his nearness, yearns for him. “I kept myself alive,” I call out over the chaos.

“You kept so many lies,” Enzo seethes.

The energy of the tether between Enzo and myself now shifts, pivoting the balance of power. The tendrils of my energy that had been wrapped so securely around Enzo’s heart a moment earlier now start to loosen. Something pushes back against it. I claw for control, but suddenly Enzo’s energy surges back at me, seeking my heart. It is the same surge I’d felt when he’d first returned, when we were alone together and his strength overwhelmed mine.

“I love you,” I cry out at him. “I didn’t want to see an enemy nation use you for their own gain. They are taking your throne—can you not see that? Your Daggers are traitors!”

I stop when Enzo’s power hits me again through the tether. It makes me cringe in pain. His fists tighten. An anguished expression haunts his face. “You nearly killed Raffaele at the arena,” he shouts back. “You killed Gemma. Are you not using others for your own gain? Your new Elites? This war, your aim for the throne? Me?” His voice breaks a little, and beneath his rage is a deep pain. “How could you?”

His words stir the whispers in my mind. They are angry now, and so am I. “And who did I learn that from?” I snap. “Who taught me to use others for my own gain?”

Enzo’s eyes fill again, pooling with darkness. “I loved you once,” he shouts. “But had I known what you did to Raffaele in the arena—had I known what you’d do to Gemma, I would have killed you myself when I had the chance.”

The words stab me, one by one. I feel a wave of grief, even as my anger continues to beat against my heart. How easily he turns away from me. How quickly he forgives his own Daggers’ betrayals. I grit my teeth through my tears. “I’d like to see you try!”

Enzo’s eyes are fully black now. I feel his energy overpowering mine, wrapping me in heat. I try to move my limbs, but I can’t. No.