But that means … I read further, looking at a brief note about Michel at the bottom of the parchment. The faster I read, the more I realize what he is saying. He is saying that, someday, Michel will die because his body will bleed from pulling objects through the air. That Maeve will succumb to the poisons of the Underworld. That Sergio’s body will starve from being unable to retain water. That Magiano will go mad from mimicking other powers.

“This is impossible,” I whisper.

Violetta’s voice trembles. “Raffaele is saying that all of us, all Elites, are in danger.”

That we are doomed to be forever young.

I’m silent. Then I shake my head. The parchment’s edges crinkle in my grip. “No. But that makes no sense,” I say, turning my back on Violetta and walking close to the windows. From here, we can make out the commotion down below, the noise of thousands of uncertain civilians and anxious malfettos, none of whom know what rule under an Elite will be like. “Our powers are our strengths. How can Raffaele possibly know such a thing, just from one broken wrist?”

“It does make sense. None of our bodies were ever designed to wield powers like this. We may be the children of the gods, but we are not gods. Don’t you see? The blood fever left us tied to the immortal energy of the world in such a way that our fragile, mortal bodies cannot possibly hope to keep up.”

As Violetta speaks, the sound of her voice changes. The sweetness of it, which reminds me so much of our mother’s voice, is transformed into something eerie, a chorus of off-pitch voices that send a shiver down my spine. I lean away, wary. The whispers in my head shove a memory forward at me—I remember my sister and me, alone in a chamber, her power used against mine.

I think of Enzo’s burned hands. Then, of my uncontrollable illusions. My hallucinations and bursts of temper. My trouble recognizing familiar faces around me, twisting them into strangers. I know it is true, with chilling certainty. My power of illusion is destroying my mind as surely as Lucent’s power is breaking her bones.

No, something hisses in my mind. The hiss sounds urgent, the whispers more agitated than usual. She is lying to you. She wants something from you.

“We will all die,” Violetta says, again in her new, frightening chorus of voices. It sends a jolt of fear through me. Why does she sound like this? “We were never meant to be.”

“This cannot be happening to all Elites,” I murmur. My gaze goes back to her. “What about you? You’ve felt no effects.”

She only shakes her head. “I am not powerful, Adelina,” she replies. Her teeth flash. Did I see that? It seemed for a moment as if she had fangs. “Not like you, or Lucent, or Enzo. I take power away. I don’t even have markings. But someday I may manifest something too. It’s inevitable.”

I move away from her. She is dangerous, the whispers in my mind say, louder now. Stay away from her. “No. We will find a way,” I whisper. “We are chosen by the gods. There must be a way.”

“I have thought about this. The only way will be to remove our powers permanently,” Violetta says.

The whispers let out a deafening howl in my mind at that. The fear crawling along my spine turns from a trickle into a river. It roars through me.

What kind of life will that be, the whispers say to me, without powers?

I try to imagine my world without my ability to change reality. Without the addictive rush of darkness and fear, the sheer power to create anything at will, anytime I want. How can I live a life without that? I blink, and my illusions spark out of control for a moment, weaving for me an image of what my life once was—the helplessness I felt when my father held my finger between his hands and snapped it like a twig; the way I pounded weakly at my locked door and begged for food and water. The way I cowered under my bed, sobbing, until my father’s hands would seize me and drag me out, screaming, to face his bloody fists.

That is life without power, the whispers remind me.

“No,” I say to Violetta. “There must be another way.”

It takes me a moment to realize that Violetta is looking at me. Her face suddenly terrifies me. I push myself up from the steps and back away from her. “You will not touch me,” I whisper.

“Adelina, I’ve seen you deteriorating over the past months.” Violetta speaks now with tears in her eyes. Why do her tears look tinged with blood? I blink. My illusions. They must be getting away from me again … but the whispers in my mind force my thoughts away, filling my head instead with more of my own fear. “I’ve held back many times, I haven’t said nearly everything I wanted to say, all because I don’t want you to be angry with me. I’ve seen your powers spiral wildly out of control, have seen you terrified by illusions that aren’t really there.” Violetta glances to one wall of the chamber, where the gold of the pillars reflects our image. “Just look, mi Adelinetta,” she whispers. “Can you see yourself?”

I barely recognize the girl reflected back at me in the pillar. The scarred side of her face is hollow with anger. Dark circles line the skin under her good eye. There is a savagery in her expression, a hardness, that I do not remember being there before. Behind me float ghosts, fanged creatures with glittering eyes. I know immediately that these are the whispers in my head. They crowd the reflection in the pillar, until they start to claw their way out of it and onto the floor.

I look away from them and back to Violetta. Her eyes are still bloody.