What if the Beldish queen was a Dagger patron? If she’s now in Kenettra, what are the Daggers up to?
“We may have some explaining to do when we reach port again,” the mercenary continues. “I guarantee you word about the Night King’s death will have spread to Kenettra by then, and Inquisitors will be checking every ship that docks today.”
From under his shirt collar, I catch a glimpse of a faint gray marking. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” I decide to answer. “Thank you for your help.”
“Never thank a mercenary,” he replies. He glances at Magiano, who is busy squeezing water out of his braids. “I was paid.”
“You didn’t really think I stopped by the Night King’s court to only steal a single diamond pin, did you? I picked up some bags of gold on my way out.”
The mercenary crosses his arms, then introduces himself. “Sergio.”
“Adelina,” I say.
Violetta smiles when he looks at her. “Violetta,” she says. “The sister.”
She manages to coax a smile, even a laugh, from him. “No need for humility,” he replies. “Magiano mentioned your power.” At that, Violetta blushes pink.
Magiano nods at him. “You must be one of the Night King’s former men. Yes?”
Now I notice the many knives strapped to Sergio’s belt, the dagger tucked into his boot. Battle scars on his arms. “Yes,” Sergio says. “I was one of his mercenaries. You’ve heard the stories, I presume. Ten thousand of us, so they say, although we really number closer to five hundred.” He smiles again. “We just manage to give an impression of many men.”
“Why are you helping us?” I ask.
“No point in serving a dead man, is there? I’m sure several of his men are fighting over his vacancy right now, although I’ve no interest in ruling an island.” He tilts his head in Magiano’s direction. “He tells us you are the White Wolf, and you’re looking for allies. Is it true that you ran the Night King through with his own sword?”
And you loved it so, the whispers in my head say without warning, their little voices full of glee. I swallow hard, forcing them down. Even though my powers are still weak, I answer by conjuring an illusion of a shadow before us, transforming it into a faint semblance of Sergio. I note the look of awe on his face before I pull the illusion away. “Yes,” I reply.
Sergio regards me with renewed interest. “I’m not the only mercenary on board,” he says. “A dozen others among the crew are as well. Some of them even think you are ruling Merroutas right now.” He pauses and I notice a slight shift. “The Night King kept us in decent coin, though. What can you pay?”
Magiano looks on with a small smirk. “Ten times what he gave you,” I reply, making myself as tall as I can. “You’ve seen what I can do. I think you can guess at how powerful I can make my followers, how much I will reward them for their loyalty.”
Sergio lets out a low, mock whistle, then glances sidelong at Magiano. “You never told me she was rich.”
“I forgot.” Magiano shrugs.
“And you think her words carry weight?”
“I’m following her, aren’t I?”
The corner of Sergio’s mouth tilts up. “So you are.”
Beside me, Violetta is concentrating on Sergio in a way that can only mean she’s studying his energy. “You’re an Elite, too, aren’t you?” I ask.
He nods once, casually. “Perhaps.”
“You create storms.”
He stands a bit straighter. “I do.” He pauses to glance outside the tiny porthole, where the rain is still coming down. “It’s proven useful enough to the Night King, stealing from stray vessels and in turn destroying pirates that try to take from him. Still, storms require time to begin and end. We’ll have rough seas tonight.”
The boy who could control the rain. It must be him. Raffaele had never explicitly told me what happened to him, only that the Daggers refused to keep him. I thought they killed him—but here he is, alive.
“I’ve heard of you,” I say.
He snorts once. “I doubt that.”
“I used to work for the Daggers too.”
He stiffens immediately at the mention of the Daggers. My heart leaps a little. I was right. “You’re the boy who could not control the rain,” I press on.
Sergio takes a step back and regards me with a suspicious look. “Raffaele talked about me?”
“Yes, once.”
“Why?” Sergio’s entire demeanor has changed—all traces of amusement have disappeared from his face, replaced with something cold and hostile.