A part of the Night King’s private fleet. That means that whoever runs that ship must have decided to turn his back on the Night King the instant he heard of his death. Or …

“It could be a trap,” Violetta chimes in, finishing my thought. “How do we know they don’t plan on getting Adelina aboard, only to kill her or drag her before the Night King’s loyal men?”

“We don’t,” Magiano replies. He tosses both of us a bundle of clothes. “But we don’t really have a choice. You both must realize that his loyal mercenaries and soldiers are combing the city right now. Merroutas is a small island. They will find you, if you don’t flee.”

It is only a matter of time before soldiers come searching ruins like these. I rise to my feet, take the message from Violetta, and tuck it inside my head wrap. “If we leave now, how will interested mercenaries find us? How will I round up my men?”

“You’ll figure something out. Send a dove by sea,” Magiano says, crossing his arms. “Now get ready. Think and move at the same time, my loves. I didn’t choose to come along just to get captured. Can you at least cover us in invisibility while we head to the docks?”

“No,” I reply. I’m so tired this morning. Invisibility, already difficult, is the hardest to do in chaotic crowds. There is too much to imitate, and with that image constantly shifting, we would look like moving ripples. We would also bump into others, which would just startle and draw attention. Even with Magiano’s help, we’re better off saving our strength for when we might need it most.

“Fine. Whatever you can do. Even a song and dance would be better than nothing.” Magiano pauses to grin at me. “And I’ve seen you dance, my love.”

I blush and look away. It was the first time I’d ever danced for someone other than Raffaele. “Subtle disguises,” I suggest, pushing his comment out of my mind. “I’ll weave different features across our faces.” He laughs at the color in my cheeks, but seems to decide against teasing me further and instead just motions for us to hurry.

By the time we’re ready and heading into the city, the sun has burned away the gray drizzle and the sky blazes blue.

I ride with Violetta on the same horse. She has pressed herself tightly against me, and her warm, delicate body is trembling slightly. Her attention darts from the busy streets to the buildings and roofs, where soldiers are lined up with swords drawn. The Night King’s blue-and-silver banners still hang from the balconies, but the streets are crowded with confused people and clusters of malfettos. It’s a sight I’m familiar with—people who revere the power of the Young Elites, clashing with those who are calling out about how dangerous they are. Malfettos, hiding in the corners.

I look back at Magiano. He rides with his head held high, his eyes constantly scanning the throngs. His lute sits in his lap, like he might decide to play it. He nods up at the Night King’s banners on the balconies, then leans toward me from his saddle. “I don’t know about those colors,” he murmurs. “Don’t you agree?”

“What do you mean?” I murmur back.

“Make your mark, Adelina,” he urges quietly.

It takes me a moment to understand him. I look back at the banners. The Night King’s blood still lines the inside of my nails in tiny flakes. In my mind, I see those same banners draped across the walls of his estate. If the Night King’s mercenaries have any doubts about who killed their leader, let me reinforce my presence to the entire city. I gather my energy and start to weave.

People in the crowd startle. Their faces turn up to the balconies, and they lift their hands in the air to point. Above them, the tops of the blue-and-silver banners start to turn white, as if new flags were unfurling over them. The illusion tumbles down over each flag, one after the other, until it stretches all the way down the street, covering the Night King’s emblems of the moon and crown, replacing them with solid white banners. I let the illusion of the fabric shimmer in the light, so that as the banners ripple in the wind, they change color from white to silver and back. The energy within me pulses, and the whispers in my mind coo with glee.

“Oh, Adelina,” Violetta says behind me. Even she sounds awed by the sight. “They’re beautiful.” And I smile to myself, wondering whether she remembers when we used to attend festivities as children, and how we’d admire the king’s banners on the buildings. They are my banners now.

Magiano doesn’t say anything. A small grin plays at the corners of his mouth. He watches the reaction of the crowd—the startled murmurs, the whisper of a name across their lips.

The White Wolf. It’s the White Wolf.

Finally, we are forced to a halt. Before us, there is a blockade of soldiers barring the width of the street, forcing people to turn around and take a new route. One of them sees me and nods apologetically. “I’m sorry, mistress,” he says, making a circular motion with one hand. “You’ll have to go back. You can’t pass through here.”

“What’s going on?” Magiano calls out to him, gesturing at the white banners.

The soldier shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say,” he replies. “Please turn around.” He raises his voice to the rest of the crowd. “Turn around!”

Magiano makes a show of grumbling under his breath, but he puts a hand on Violetta’s shoulder and steers us around. “There is always another door,” he says, quoting The Thief Who Stole the Stars with a smile.