I raise an eyebrow at him. With my anger stirring, the whispers awaken. Ah, yes. You know that better than anyone, don’t you? “Is that a threat, Raffaele?”

My words bring on a stubborn silence between us. Raffaele shakes his head, then gives me a grave look. “You are looking for conflict in the wrong places, Your Majesty,” he replies.

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn back to the sea and try to control my emotions. Beside me, Magiano presses a hand against my arm. Steady, he seems to be saying. But even he cannot keep the whispers at bay forever.

Perhaps I’m getting worse, just like Violetta.

The port is crowded with ships from every city and nation, and their flags form a rainbow of colors on the bay, reflected in the waters. Our own flags are hidden beneath an illusion mimicking an Amaderan crest, and to my relief, no one seems to pay us any mind. As our two ships dock, I take a deep breath and look out at the bustling piers. The salt of the sea and the odor of blood and fish hang thick in the air. Gulls circle the sky above us, diving for entrails tossed into the water. Groups of men with heavy beards carry what look like sharp hammers swung over their backs and loops of rope around their shoulders. Women in fur pelts and coarse skirts huddle along the multiple piers, cooking stews over small fires. They hold out bowls in one hand and a single Amaderan silver in the other, shouting in a strange tongue I can’t begin to understand. The people here are large and sturdily built, so pale that freckles stand out starkly on their skin. Only Lucent blends in completely, while Teren seems passable with his pale eyes and blond hair. Even though my Inquisitors and companions are not dressed in Kenettran silks, we attract a few stares for our more slender figures and darker complexions.

You are in enemy land, the whispers remind me. Do you remember the tales of Amadera’s civil wars? When the Aristan people conquered the Salans, they took everything with them: their jewels; their honor; and their children, sometimes straight from the womb. What will they do to you, when they find out who you are?

Raffaele claims that Maeve will meet us here, but there is still no sign of the Beldish queen and her men. As we unload some of our supplies onto a waiting horse, I gradually weave differences into my appearance—lightening my skin, dotting the bridge of my nose with freckles, curling my hair, hiding my scars. Snapping at Raffaele doesn’t mean I don’t take his words to heart. If the Saccorists are here, then they will find a way to seek us out in town. When I finish with myself, I work on altering the appearances of Magiano, Raffaele, and Violetta.

“Leave the others,” Magiano says quietly to me as we prepare to leave the piers behind. He subtly gestures to where our Inquisitors and Tamouran soldiers wait. “We’ll go on from here to find Queen Maeve.”

He’s right, of course—having a patrol of soldiers behind us attracts far too much attention, even at a bustling port city. I nod my agreement. “We go alone,” I reply.

But as we move forward with the Daggers, I find myself fearing the open air at my back. The whispers only feed my paranoia, sending black silhouettes flickering in and out of the crowd. You are hunted here, little wolf. What does it feel like to be prey? Only the knowledge that Teren walks next to me reminds me that he is, at least, ready to defend me. Magiano is close too.

I grit my teeth and follow Raffaele. Let them come. I have slit throats before, and I can do it again.

Violetta is too weak to walk for long, so the first stop we make is to purchase a horse for her. She rests against its back with her eyes closed. I lighten her hair until the illusion of it looks red. She is sickly enough now that her skin is almost as pale as a Skylander’s. She doesn’t stir as we make our way deeper into the city.

Magiano sniffs the air as we pass tall buildings of limestone, their windows tiny and shrouded with curtains. “Do you smell that?” he says.

I do. It smells like cooking eggs, as well as something tangy and sour, like a shredded plant I’d once eaten at the ports in Dalia, Kenettra. My stomach rumbles. Suddenly I’m tired of the weeks of dried meat and stale bread on board the ship. “It smells like breakfast,” I reply, turning in the direction of the scents. “Something we could use a bit more of.”

Magiano smiles at me. As he does, his face suddenly changes into a different one—it is my father’s, dark and grinning, the harsh lines of his wrinkles deep and prominent. I gasp, then turn away and shut my eye. Not now, I scold myself as my energy flares in fear. I cannot lose control of my illusions in the middle of this crowded street.

“Are you all right?” Magiano whispers. When I gather the courage to look at him again, he has returned to being himself.

My heart beats weakly within my chest. I straighten my shoulders and try to forget the images. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m just impatient to find the Beldish.”

Nearby, Violetta frowns in concern, but she doesn’t say anything. Raffaele slows to fall into step beside me. He nods in the direction where the city eventually ends. “Your illusions,” he says. “Disguising us. It is exhausting you, isn’t it?”

The energy in my chest strains as we continue to move through the city. I wish there were not so many people here; the constant shifts of their movement and colors and shapes make it difficult for me to keep the illusion over myself and the others. “I’ll be fine,” I mutter at Raffaele.

“We are close enough to the origin that I can feel its slight pull. Remember, everything is connected to everything else.” He shakes his head and frowns. “Its energy will disturb all of ours. Be careful.”