The Young Elites Read Online Free Page A

I first came to know of my abilities, how I turned to face the end of my life with the blood of my father staining my hands. His ghost keeps me company. Every time I wake up from a feverish dream, I see him standing in the corner of my cell, laughing at me.
You tried to escape from me,
he says,
but I found you. You have lost and I have won.
I tell him that I’m glad he’s dead. I tell him to go away. But he stays.
    It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m going to die tomorrow morning.

Enzo Valenciano
    T he dove arrives late in the night. It lands on his gloved hand. He turns away from the balcony and brings it inside. There, he removes the tiny parchment from the dove’s leg, caresses the bird’s neck with one blood-flecked glove, and unfurls the message. It is written in a beautiful, flowing script.
    I’ve found her. Come to Dalia at once.
    Your faithful Messenger
    He remains expressionless, but he folds the parchment and tucks it smoothly inside his armguard. In the night, his eyes are nothing but darkness and shadow.
    Time to move.

They think they can keep me out, but it does not matter how many locks they hang at the entrance. There is
always
another door.
    —
The Thief Who Stole the Stars, by Tristan Chirsley

Adelina Amouteru
    F ootsteps in the dark corridor. They stop right outside of my cell, and through the gap in the door’s bottom, an Inquisitor slides in a pan of gruel. It careers into a black puddle in the cell’s corner, and dirty water splashes into the food. If you can call it such a thing.
    “Your final meal,” he announces through the door. I can tell that he’s already walking off as he says, “Better eat up, little
malfetto.
We’ll come for you within the hour.”
    His footsteps fade, then disappear altogether.
    From the cell next to mine, a thin voice calls out for me. “Girl,” it whispers, making me shiver. “
Girl.
” When I don’t respond, he asks, “Is it true? They say you’re one of them. You’re a Young Elite.”
    Silence.
    “Well?” he asks. “Are you?”
    I stay quiet.
    He laughs, the sound of a prisoner locked away for so long that his mind has begun to rot. “The Inquisitors say you summoned the powers of a demon.
Did
you? Were you twisted by the blood fever?” His voice breaks off to hum a few lines of some folk song I don’t recognize. “Maybe you can get me out of here. What do you think? Break me out?” His words dissolve again into a fit of laughter.
    I ignore him as best as I can. A Young Elite. The idea is so ridiculous, I feel a sudden urge to laugh along with my crazy dungeon mate.
    Still, I try once again to summon whatever strange illusion I’d seen that night. Again, I fail.
    Hours pass. Actually, I have no idea how long it’s been. All I know is that eventually I hear the footsteps of several soldiers coming down the winding stone steps. The sound grows nearer, until there is the scrape of a key in my cell’s door and the creak of a rusty hinge.
They’re here.
    Two Inquisitors enter my cell. Their faces are hidden in shadows beneath their hoods. I scramble away from them, but they grab me and pull me to my feet. They unlock my shackles, letting them fall to the floor.
    I struggle with what little strength I have left.
This isn’t real. This is a nightmare.
This isn’t a nightmare. This is real.
    They drag me up the stairs. One level, two levels, three. That’s how far underground I was. Here, the Inquisition Tower comes into better view—the floors change from wet, moldy stone into polished marble, the walls decorated with pillars and tapestries and the Inquisition’s circular symbol, the eternal sun. Now I can finally hear the commotion coming from outside. Shouts, chanting. My heart leaps into my throat, and suddenly I push back with my feet as hard as I can, my ruined riding boots squeaking in vain against the floor.
    The Inquisitors yank harder on my arms, forcing me to stumble forward. “Keep moving, girl,” one of them snaps at me,