This is our chance to get into the city.
As the boys flip the first gondola over and Sergio helps Violetta into it, I stare at the city walls. The rain blurs them so that they look like little more than a fog of gray—but even in this downpour, I can make out the dense rows of dilapidated shelters huddled underneath the walls.
“What is that?” I ask Magiano, nodding toward the shelters.
He wipes water out of his eyes. “Malfetto slave camps, of course,” he replies.
My heart seizes. Malfetto slave camps? The camps wrap all the way around the wall, disappearing only when it curves out of our line of sight. So, this is what Teren has been busy doing. I wonder what kind of slave labor he has forced upon the malfettos, and how long he will allow them to live. There is no question that he is only biding his time. A dark tide swells in my stomach, bringing a scowl to my lips.
I will fix this, once I rule Kenettra.
“Come on,” Magiano urges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He beckons me into the back of the gondola with Violetta. As I accept his outstretched hand, his eyes meet mine and hold me there for a heartbeat, unsure. His hand tightens. I cling to him, the heat rising fast in my cheeks. The kiss that had lingered between us last night is still here, and I don’t know what to do with it.
Magiano leans closer, as if about to take that kiss again. But he stops a hairsbreadth from my lips. His eyes lower, gentle for a moment. “Watch your step,” he says, guiding me into the boat.
My response is an incoherent murmur. I lower myself in carefully. The boat dips in the water as I crawl underneath the dark canvas and lie in the boat’s belly. It is already rapidly filling with water, but I’m able to keep myself up enough to breathe. Violetta’s boots are a foot away from mine, so that both of our heads are facing the ends of the gondola.
“When we get close enough,” I say up to him, “I’ll veil us. Stay close and keep an eye out for the rest of us.”
Magiano nods. Then he and Sergio give my gondola a push, and the boat jerks forward, taking me with it.
The storm intensifies as we draw closer to Estenzia. I stay low in the boat, keeping my head out of the water. I can barely see anything but the stone lining the edges of the canals, but now and then I get a glimpse of the approaching walls. Ahead of us is the start of the camps. Now we are close enough to see the dots of white scattered throughout the rows of crumbling tents—Inquisitors, their cloaks weighed down in the storm, hurrying back and forth along the camps’ dirt paths. I risk a glance behind me. There is a long distance between our gondola and the one behind us. If everything went well, Magiano and Sergio should be following us. I reach out with my energy, searching for the beating hearts of excitement, anticipation, and fear in them.
I find them. And I pull.
A net of invisibility weaves across me first, erasing me from the gondola and melting me into the wet wood, the pooling water in the boat’s belly, and the dark canvas. I do the same to Violetta, and then I grit my teeth and reach for the others behind me. It is an imperfect illusion. I can’t know exactly what the inside of their gondola looks like, and as a result, I can only make an estimate. If Inquisitors look too carefully into their gondola, they will see the figures of two hiding Elites underneath the texture of the boat’s bottom.
It’s the best I can do.
As we draw near the camps, Inquisitors come into sharp view along the banks of the canal. One of them notices our gondolas floating with the current toward the city walls. “Sir,” he calls to one of his companions. “More stray boats. Should we pull them ashore?”
Another Inquisitor peers at my gondola first. I cringe, reminding myself to keep a tight hold on our illusions.
“Empty,” the second Inquisitor says. He makes a distracted gesture with his hand and starts to turn away. “Ah, just let them float by and come help me with these malfettos. The gondoliers can find their boats piled somewhere in the canals after this storm’s over.”
I can’t move much without risking detection, but as the Inquisitors turn away, I lift my head enough to see down a path among the shelters. At the far end, I catch a glimpse of disheveled, frightened malfettos lowering their heads as the soldiers pass them. The sight of them makes my stomach churn. For a moment, I wish I could do what Raffaele does.
We keep moving. The walls loom closer, until I can see their individual stones washed dark by the rain. By now, night has fallen completely. Aside from the few scattered torches and lanterns holding up against the rain, I can hardly see anything. In front of me, Violetta stirs underneath our shield of invisibility.
“The gate is up,” she says back to me.
I look ahead. The gate is indeed drawn up, allowing the canal to swell, and beyond it I can see the start of inner Estenzia, the cobblestone streets and archways of buildings. The city’s celebrations are subdued by the rain, and broken paper lanterns litter the streets. Brightly colored flags hang limp and soaking from balconies.
Two Inquisitors walk where the canal meets the gate, their eyes trained on the water, but aside from them, we are alone.
We are not as lucky with this second pair of Inquisitors. One of them leans over the edge of the canal as we sail by. His boot stops our gondola with a jerk. I bite my tongue in frustration. In the darkness and rain, he can’t see that the gondola looks empty. He nods to his partner. Behind us, the second gondola carrying Magiano and Sergio comes to a stop.
“Check that one,” the first says to his partner. Then he turns back to ours, draws his sword, and points it down into the boat—right at Violetta’s crouched body. He lifts the blade. Violetta tries to press herself away, but it will be useless if he stabs down all along the length of the boat.