Nobody is even looking at me. Ale is staring determinedly at his feet.
“Are you really going to follow him?” I gesture at Ale. “Look at him. He can’t defend you. He’s not even defending you now.”
“Emanuela,” Ale whispers to the floor.
“What?” I say.
“Just…” he says.
Everybody is looking at him now. Ale hates it when everyone looks at him. He’s trembling so hard that I can see it from here.
“What, Alessandro?” I say. “Tell them why I’m wrong. Tell them why they should trust you.”
He tries to say something, but he can’t get the words out. There are tears welling up in his eye.
He’s terrified. He can’t do this. He knows he can’t do this. And I can see the way people are watching at him. Like maybe they’re starting to doubt.
I’m burning up inside with something ugly and victorious. This is who Ale is without me. This is going to be what the rest of his life is like—small and pitiful and meaningless.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’m going to bring back our water. And then, I’m going to bring us more. Forever. And I’m going to do it without ever putting any of you in a tower again.”
The silence is profound. I can tell that no one believes me. But they will.
I start forward. “Come with me to the—”
“We’re not going anywhere with you.”
I stop. Ale’s mamma has joined him in the aisle. She faces me and draws herself up to her full, impressive height. Even in the dim cathedral light, her face pale and drained, she’s very beautiful. Once or twice in my life, I’ve looked at her and imagined my children having her elegant cheekbones.
“You shameful, vile creature,” she says. “You’ve destroyed our whole city. And you’ve destroyed him.”
“Mamma—” Ale whispers.
“I never wanted him to marry you,” she says. “Never. Not from the moment that slimy father of yours approached us.”
At the mention of my papá, my stomach turns, sudden and violent.
“Alessandro was so devoted to you,” his mamma says. “He has so much love in his heart. And you… you have nothing at all.”
I blink, and I see her blood.
“This is how you repay him for giving his life to you?” she says. “You drag him into the catacombs and—and mutilate him? Look at him. He’s ruined.”
I glance back to see Ale’s hand dart to the bandage over his eye. The hurt on his face is unmistakable.
“Are you done?” I say. “Because I’d like to move on to saving us all—”
“Do not speak to me that way,” she says, advancing on me. “You’re not our ruler.”
“Don’t come any closer,” I say.
“You will never be our ruler,” she says. “You don’t have any power. You don’t have any magic. You’re just a soulless coward who thinks she’s an exception to every—”
I blink.
And the cathedral is full of screams.
I stumble back, blinking frantically.
Ale’s mamma is no longer standing in front of me. She no longer exists. She’s just blood and guts and skin, splattered all over the aisle and everyone nearby.
No. I was just going to control her blood. Just a little bit. I was going to show everyone why they should listen to me.
I look at Ale, and he looks at me. Her blood is all over his face.
And then people are pouring out of the pews. They fill up the aisle and scramble for the chamber doors.
They’re running away.
They don’t realize what they’re doing. I’m going to save them. They need me.
I race after them. I catch up to a woman and grab the back of her dress.
And then, all I see is blood.
The woman is gone. I don’t know where she went. I try to find someone else, and I can’t find anything but blood.
There’s so much blood.
There’s too much blood.
And then there’s nothing at all.
I open my eyes, and I see the arches of the cathedral ceiling high above. I sit up, and my head spins. There’s a sore spot on the back. I think I fainted.
It smells sickly and sweet. It’s so dark and so quiet. I don’t know where everyone is, but I vaguely remember them running away from me. It seems my encounter with them didn’t go quite as I’d hoped.
Ale.
I leap to my feet.
They must be following Ale out to the catacombs. I have to stop them. I have to show them that I really can bring back the water.
I turn around, and I trip over something.
It’s a pair of pants, soaked in blood and almost unrecognizable as clothing. I follow the blood down the aisle, trying to find the place where it ends. But it’s not ending. It’s stretching on and on and on.
Slowly, I lift my eyes.
The double doors at the front of the cathedral are still closed. Scattered all over the aisle and in the pews are piles of bloody, abandoned clothes.
For a very long moment, I can’t make myself comprehend it. My people were running away from me. It almost looks like they all died in here. But that’s not possible.
I didn’t mean to kill them. So they can’t be dead.
Then I taste the blood in the air, and it hits me all at once.
I run, bursting out the cathedral doors. I stumble down the steps.
Everyone in my city was in there. Ale was in there. They can’t be dead.
I was going to save them.
I’m alone in the cathedral square, underneath the bright red veil. All around me, the black manors are empty and silent. I’ve never heard a silence like this. It makes even my breath seem so loud. Too loud. It’s coming so fast, but I can’t seem to get any of it into my lungs.
They can’t be dead. This is my city. These are my people. One little dose of magic can’t possibly be enough to kill them all so quickly.
I hear a noise behind me and turn, but everything goes black. I scream.
“Emanuela! Emanuela!”
Somebody is wrestling with me.
“It’s a blindfold,” he says. “I’m just blindfolding you. That’s all.”
I break out of his grip and stumble back. I touch the fabric over my eyes.
“Ale,” I whisper.
He’s still here. I can’t see him, but I can feel his presence.
I don’t know how he could have possibly survived.
“Ale,” I say. “I…”
The truth of it is sinking in, all at once.
“I can’t control it,” I say. “Why can’t I control it?”
Nothing. But he’s still there. I know he is. I can feel him looking at me.
“Ale,” I say.
“I’m going to touch you again,” he says.
“All—all right,” I stammer.
And a moment later, I’m in his arms. We’re moving, but I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know what’s happening. But I don’t have it in me to worry about it. There’s only one thing I can think about.
I can’t control it.
I wanted the most powerful magic I could have. But it’s more powerful than me.
I smell the catacombs when we descend into them—dust and stale air. Ale gently sets me on the ground. I lie there on my side, curled up. The taste of blood is all in my mouth and throat, and I don’t know if it’s ever going to come out.