Teren lets out a shriek as his power vanishes and Violetta takes over. I pull grimly. The threads of darkness tighten around him, strangling his nerves and making them scream. I pull as hard as I can, trying to redo what I did to Dante. To someone who deserves to die. The whispers take full control. “You do not command me,” I snap. Teren shudders on the floor of the ship as the battle rages on behind us.

My attention turns to Raffaele for a moment. There is no fear in him for what I could do. Not even after the way I’d tortured him at the arena. All I feel from him is sadness and, beneath it, a firm resolve.

“If justice is what you seek, Adelina,” he says, “you will not find it like this.”

I feel my own resolve waver. How can I find in my heart the coldness that I need for all else, but I cannot bring myself to move against Raffaele? Against the other Daggers? How does he soften my heart, after all he has done to me? I realize that I am crying now, too, and I don’t bother to wipe my tears away. As Teren writhes on the floor beside me, Raffaele takes Enzo’s hand and pulls him toward a balira. I don’t have the strength to reach out and stop them. All I can do is look on.

Teren struggles to his feet on the deck. I’m forced to tear my gaze away from Raffaele and Enzo. Violetta continues to hold Teren’s powers at bay, but he still manages to give me a glare full of hatred. “I’m going to cut you open, little wolf,” he snarls.

He attacks me. I barely manage to avoid his sword—he swings past my shoulder by a hair, then whirls in midair to send the blade cutting back toward me. I dart away. My hands clench into fists, and with my powers heightened, I fling an illusion across the entire harbor, making the water churn as if boiling. Then I look back at him and tighten my threads of energy as harshly as I can.

At this level of pain, Dante had already turned delirious. But Teren is still able to look at me. I blink, taken aback for a moment by how much he can withstand—even without his powers.

“Kill her,” he chokes to his Inquisitors. “Now!”

The Inquisition draws swords against me, but I am not afraid of them anymore. They are done being useful to me. Sergio steps forward, taking over the scene. He whips out two daggers at his belt and throws them with punishing speed. Each lodges in the chest of a soldier. Magiano mimics Enzo’s power, sending tall lines of flames surging toward a dozen others. They alight like fresh tinder in a fire. The men scream as their armor heats instantly from the flames, burning them alive. I watch the scene, letting my revenge happen.

“Stop!” I command.

Dead Inquisitors litter the deck. Those who are still alive cower as I approach. Teren stays where he is. Violetta has released his powers already, but he is still recovering from the pain I wrought upon him. I look on as he coughs, pushing weakly against the floor in an attempt to sit up. Then I glance at the surviving Inquisitors.

“You have hunted me and tortured me,” I say to the soldiers. “Now you have seen what I can do. And you have seen the power of my Elites. I have mercenaries at my back, seizing control of the palace. I have power that you cannot hope to defeat. I can be your enemy, and look on as you die.” I raise my arms at them. “Or, I can be your ruler, and bring you glory you could never have imagined.”

Silence. The Inquisitors look warily at me, and for the first time, I see expressions on their faces—reminders that behind their fearsome armor and white cloaks are just men, still capable of being terrified and conquered. I blink, startled by this realization. I have spent my entire life thinking of the Inquisitors as things, soulless creatures. But they are just men. Men can be swayed, and I have the power to do it.

“Why are you fighting me now?” I say. “Because your Lead Inquisitor tells you to? He is no better than an abomination himself.” I smile bitterly at them. “More importantly, he has met his match.”

The Inquisitors shift, hesitant and fearful, exhausted.

“Follow me,” I continue, “and I will lead you to Beldain. We will take their country and have our revenge. We can seize Tamoura, in the Sunlands, and far beyond. We will expand our empire in ways no one could have imagined. Give up this pointless campaign against malfettos. You fear our powers. And I know you want to live. If you follow me, I will shower you with everything you’ve ever desired.” My expression hardens. “It is that, or death. You don’t have much time.” I nod at Magiano, and he twirls a dagger in one hand. “So. What will it be, my Inquisitors?”

They do not move against me. And I know, in this moment, that I have their answer.

I gesture to Teren. “Chain him well,” I command. “He is no longer your Lead Inquisitor. He is not your king.” I lift my head. “I am.”

For a moment, I think they will ignore me. I’m so used to it.

But then, they move. And they—the Inquisition, the white cloaks, the enemies of all malfettos—obey me and move against Teren.

Teren seizes the cloak of the first Inquisitor in his fist, but he is still too weak to stop him. They pull his hands roughly behind his back. “What are you doing?” he spits at them as they tie him down. “You cowards, you believe her—you fools.” He snarls a string of curses at them, but they ignore their former leader. I smile at the sight.

Fear motivates, more than love or ambition or joy. Fear is more powerful than anything else in the world. I have spent so long yearning for things—for love, for acceptance—that I do not really need. I need nothing except the submission that comes with fear. I do not know why it took me so long to learn this.