Nocturna

by Maya Motayne

  When they sat, the queen looked over Alfie’s shoulder toward the library doors, her eyes beseeching. “Luka, please. Don’t you want to say hello?”

  At the mention of his cousin and best friend, Alfie jumped out of his seat. They’d been raised in the palace together and only ever referred to each other as brother. His childhood was colored with memories of Luka, himself, and Dez leaving a trail of mayhem in the palace corridors. He hadn’t noticed Luka standing at the library doors, but now his presence was unmistakable, and uncharacteristically cold. Luka leaned against the doors, his arms crossed and his eyes hard. Alfie’s stomach tightened. To see Luka without a smile on his face was rare enough, but to see him looking so angry didn’t feel right.

  “Alfie,” Luka said, his voice curt. He turned his gaze back to the queen. “I’ve acknowledged him. May I be excused now?”

  The queen extended a hand toward him. “Luka . . .”

  Luka narrowed his eyes. “Why should I say hello when he didn’t bother to say goodbye?”

  Alfie flinched and stepped forward, but Luka raised his chin as if daring him to come any closer.

  The king rose and squeezed Alfie’s shoulder, giving him a stern look that said, Leave it.

  “Luka, you may be excused.”

  “Gracias,” Luka said, his eyes ghosting over Alfie as he nodded at the king and queen in deference before turning on his heel and disappearing out the library doors.

  Alfie took another step forward, intending to follow, but his father held him back.

  “Give him time to cool off,” the king said. “He took your leaving quite hard.” He gave Alfie a pointed look. “That situation is yours to remedy, but first we must talk.”

  When Alfie’s mother nodded in agreement, Alfie sat back down, his eyes still trained on the doors. Knowing that Luka would try to stop him from leaving, Alfie had taken the coward’s way out and boarded his ship without a word. He knew he deserved Luka’s anger, but the hurt in his eyes still stung Alfie like a slap to the face.

  The king’s voice pulled Alfie out of his reverie. “There is so much to say, so much we must do to prepare you for the throne.”

  Alfie bristled. This was not the first time his parents had spoken of preparing him to become king. It’s what had driven him onto his ship and away from home. Still, each time they mentioned him replacing Dez, it was a new wound, raw and stinging.

  “We have not forgotten about Dezmin. We never will.” The queen turned away from Alfie, her voice catching. Alfie’s chest ached at the sight, but then she met his gaze again with a blazing look. “But we must put our people before our grief. You have taken your time away, but now you must prepare. You are the crown prince, first in line for the throne. You must accept this. For your kingdom’s sake, if not your brother’s, entiendes?”

  Alfie gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, “I understand.”

  “We are on the verge of making history. In only a few months we will meet with our greatest enemy for the first time in generations and make peace,” the king said, motioning up at the mural. “Putting the feud between Englass and Castallan to rest and becoming allies will prove that we have risen from the ashes of this kingdom’s past of slavery to become an unquestioned world power. But Dez’s death,” the king said, his eyes shining. “It has made us appear unstable, unable to protect our own. It raises questions about our political standing and what we offer as an ally. So we must prepare you and present you as a prince who is ready to become king. First to Castallan and then to the world. We will begin in two days’ time by hosting a dinner party with the highest nobility of Castallan in honor of your return. The Equinox Festival is four days from today and, as always, we will host a ball to celebrate—the perfect opportunity to present yourself to the entire kingdom as its future ruler.”

  Alfie’s heart clenched like a fist at the thought of being presented as Dez’s replacement. Even if Dez were truly gone, the world would surely laugh at a prince without a future being responsible for the future of an entire kingdom. Why couldn’t they see that he could not do this?

  “But, Father,” Alfie finally said, wringing his hands in his lap. “My mind has not changed. I still believe that Dez may be alive. We do not know for sure if—”

  “Alfehr!” his father thundered. Alfie’s spine straightened against his chair. The queen put a hand on her husband’s shoulder while the king took in a shuddering breath. “I will not have you entertaining these fantasies. You cannot continue to ignore the truth and your responsibilities in favor of a delusion.”

  “But—” Alfie began, but his father silenced him with a look.

  “Those who were discovered to be part of the coup that took Dez from us have been apprehended and imprisoned in cells in the Clock Tower for the rest of their despicable lives. The families of the three who led the operation—Marco Zelas, Alonso Marquez, and Maria Villanueva—have all sworn fealty and renounced their kin who went against the crown. There is no stone left to turn. No route left to explore. Por favor,” he said, his voice so beseeching that it hurt to hear it. “Let your brother rest in peace.”

  Alfie looked down at his lap and gritted his teeth again to stop himself from arguing. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the flask of tequila hidden at his hip, to mute the turmoil burning in his chest. He was the only one who’d been with Dez when he had been taken. They had been in the Blue Room, a parlor in the east wing of the palace, discussing how to best ask their parents about taking a long trip abroad with Luka for Dez’s twenty-third birthday, before his time would be swallowed by learning the ways of a king.

  As they strategized, the double doors of the room flew open and a girl who looked barely older than Alfie stepped in. Her name was Xiomara Santoro, he’d learned after his brother was lost to him forever, and it was a name Alfie could never forget. Behind her, two guards were slain on the floor, blood pouring from their open necks. Dez pushed Alfie behind him, protecting him, until the very end.

  In the space of a breath, the girl raised her hand and splayed her fingers. The ground beneath Dez opened into a darkness so complete that it seemed unnatural, unreal. Alfie had watched Dez fall into the hole, his eyes full of fear, his hands reaching up to Alfie and Alfie reaching down a moment too late. Before he could leap in after Dez, the hole closed. By then, a group of guards had the girl pinned to the ground while Alfie fell to his knees, speaking every word of magic he could to break open the floor and find that dark void the girl had conjured with her monstrous propio. But it came to nothing. Under interrogation the girl had admitted the names of those who’d enlisted her to kill the royal family. His brother was gone because a group of nobles had wanted to take the throne for themselves. The whole kingdom wore its grief like a veil. The marketplace was full of paintings and baubles in memory of the fallen Prince Dezmin. Nobles from every corner of the kingdom were lining up to prove their loyalty to the royal family, afraid to be sent to languish in the Clock Tower with those found guilty of treason. Castallan had become a raw, exposed nerve, flinching at the slightest touch, raising its hackles at any sign of trouble.

  Still, he could not give up hope. Something within him knew that Dez was still there, waiting to be found.

  “I’m sorry,” Alfie said, the lie acrid on his tongue. “I will not speak of it again.”

  The queen reached over and took Alfie’s hand in hers before giving the king a pointed look. “You look tired,” she said. “Would you like to rest and discuss this tomorrow?”

  His throat dry, Alfie rose from his chair. “Sí, I would.”

  “Mijo, remember this,” the king said before Alfie could speedily leave the room. “My great-grandfather was the first free king of Castallan. In time, you will be the fifth. You are the grandson of men who lived in chains, men who were not allowed to learn the language of magic. Do not disappoint them.”

  Alfie’s shadow curled nervously at his feet. “I won’t. I’ll make things right, I promise.”

  Quee
n Amada gave a resolute nod, her eyes still wet. “We know you will.”

  And he would, but not in the way his parents were hoping.

  2

  The Thief Without a Peso

  Finn had never been a fan of puppet shows. Just the thought of them made her shadow twitch at her feet.

  Yet in the boisterous maze of the marketplace, something had drawn her to this one. She stood behind the crowd of children watching, her arms crossed. The show had everything she remembered from the ones she’d seen as a child—a villain swathed in black with a deep, booming voice, a princess in a sparkling dress with sweeping eyelashes glued to her too-large eyes, a valiant prince vowing to save her.

  Even as a child, before everything had happened, the idea of strings digging into joints, of painted smiles and unblinking eyes, of a grinning master just behind the curtain wielding all the power made fear trickle down her spine. She’d wanted nothing more than to race up to the stage and hack at the strings, watch the puppets collapse and fall still. Better never to move at all than to move at the will of someone else. Maybe, even then, she’d had the foresight to know what was coming for her, to know what master was lurking just behind the curtain, waiting to bind her with his strings.

  Don’t you miss it, Mija? a voice in her head purred. Don’t you miss your father? You’re not faring too well without me, are you? Maybe you were better off strung up. . . .

  Finn shook her head free of the voice, every syllable digging under her skin. She couldn’t get swept away by memories. Ignacio wasn’t here to twist her with his words until she couldn’t tell the difference between his demands and her own thoughts. He wasn’t here to tell her to listen, to obey like a dutiful daughter, to thank him for taking her in when she had no one. Her life was her own now.

  “Out of the way!”

  Before her a boy shoved a small girl who’d been standing on her tiptoes in front of him trying to watch the show. The girl fell, her knees hitting the ground with a sad thunk. But she didn’t cry, rise, and hit the boy back as Finn expected. No, she stayed on the ground silent for a long moment before finally standing and shuffling to the side, away from the boy’s view. The girl folded her thin arms around her middle, as if trying to make herself smaller. As if she’d been knocked to the ground so many times that it was where she belonged. Finn knew that feeling all too well.

  She’d never been a fan of it either.

  Finn slid through the crowd of children and crouched in front of the boy, blocking his view.

  “You want a closer look at the show?” she hissed with a smile. He opened his mouth to protest, revealing rows of gapped, chocolate-stained teeth, but Finn was too quick for him. She passed her hands over her face and transformed herself into the villain of the puppet show—a monstrous man with a red, sinister mouth too wide for his face and eyes as black as ash.

  “Close enough for you?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

  The boy gave a strangled yelp and ran away. As he turned, Finn pulled the pouch of pesos out of the back pocket of his trousers. She didn’t usually steal from children—even she had her limits—but by the spotless soles of his shoes and the crisp cut of his clothes she knew his parents would replace it without batting an eye.

  Finn passed her hands over her face again, returning it to its previous state. The little girl with the scuffed knees stared at Finn, mouth open. Unlike the boy, she hadn’t screamed at the sight of the transformation.

  “Well,” Finn said to her. “You’re braver than you look, muchacha.”

  Finn took in the shabby state of the girl’s clothes, the thinness of her arms, the dirt under her fingernails. Or maybe this girl had seen more than her fair share of monstrous things already. Finn could understand that. Finn winked at her before rising and putting her hands on the girl’s narrow shoulders. With a gentle push, she moved the girl to where the boy had stood.

  “Aquí, front and center, where you belong.”

  Finn began to walk away, but then stopped, thinking better of it. Though her empty stomach protested, she took the girl’s hand and dropped the stolen coin purse into it. “Get yourself something sweet.”

  As the girl gazed at the purse with a look of wonder, Finn stepped back and melted into the crowds ambling through the marketplace of the Brim.

  The Pinch and the Bash—the poorer, outermost rings of the city—were porous, the divide between the two arbitrary and silently understood. After all, the poor hardly needed a distinction between one level of misfortune and the next. The Brim was the third of the city’s five rings, a bridge between poverty and luxury. People of all classes met to spend their pesos here, from sauntering noblewomen in long, belted, ruffled skirts and brightly colored silken blouses to dirt-dusted farmhands in their patched trousers.

  The next ring, the Bow, however, was a ring where nobles lived just beyond the Brim. The adobe brick barrier had gated entry points where guards stood sentry to keep out the riffraff. Past the Bow was the final ring of the city—the Crown. Beyond its towering walls, the verdant palace grounds sprawled and rolled, a cocoon of greenery surrounding the palace of colored glass where the royal family lived their lavish lives. Finn sucked her teeth at the thought of those pampered rulers with their silk parasols. She’d much rather be here in the Brim where all the action was.

  Finn walked on, passing a stall of jewel-toned gowns and skirts. She watched a woman tug a dress over her clothes. When she twirled, it changed from bloodred to a rich blue.

  “For that price you get three colors, you want more the price doubles!” the vendor said.

  Finn grimaced as happy shoppers stumbled in and out of her path, making it difficult to move through the market as easily as usual. It was a bit too crowded and jolly tonight, with the air of a festival. Earlier she’d even seen water charmer performers dancing in the streets, winding ribbons of dyed water through the air like bolts of colored silk. Something was going on.

  When she saw a vendor handing out free flowers to every passerby, she was done guessing. What kind of fool would hand out for free what you could sell for pesos?

  “What the hell is going on tonight? Why are you giving out freebies?” she asked, coming to a stop before his stall.

  The old man only smiled before pressing a white moon blossom into her hand. As soon as the white bud emerged from the cloth parasol canopying his stall, it bloomed to drink in the moonlight.

  “Haven’t you heard?” he asked, his eyes alight.

  Finn squinted at the useless flower in her hand, but the man’s excitement made her think twice about letting it fall to the ground. “No. Clearly.”

  “The prince!” he said. “The prince has finally returned!”

  Finn gave a snort at that. “The dead prince?”

  The old man’s eyes widened. He blinked twice before answering. “No . . .”

  “Then it’s not that interesting of a story, is it? Keep your flowers and your sanity, old man.”

  When she tried to hand him back the flower, he waved her off with a smile, his mood irritatingly undampened. With the blossom in hand, Finn turned on her heel and followed the throng. That was the annoying thing about the capital city. People here were obsessed with the royal family. The prince coming home wasn’t going to fill their bellies or get them somewhere warm to sleep, yet the whole city was aflutter. So what if some pampered pretty boy came home? It wasn’t as if a prince could survive out in the real world for long. Of course he’d come running back home to his mamá.

  “Stupid, maldito prince,” Finn cursed.

  And wasn’t this the prince without a future? No usual announcement when the prince turned five of “The diviner has spoken. He will make a fine leader blah blah blah” nonsense like the other royals. The diviner hadn’t seen a maldito thing about this boy. So if these pendejos thought this prince was anything to celebrate, they were out of their minds.

  As she moved through the marketplace, her stomach gave a persistent growl. The pouch of pesos she’d give
n that little girl surely could have bought her a meal or two.

  “Shut up,” she said to her cramping belly, as if admitting the mistake would appease it. But it only ached more. “I know it was stupid of me.”

  But then again, she preferred going into a job on an empty stomach. It made her sharper. She’d been spending too many pesos lately. But once she pulled off tonight’s thieving and sold the goods, she’d be set for another month or two.

  So long as she pulled it off.

  She dropped those nervous thoughts in the well inside her where she kept her fears, her anxieties—all the things she couldn’t afford to feel if she wanted to survive.

  “Focus,” she mumbled to herself. Worrying was for people who weren’t as good at this as she was. She would nail it tonight, like she always did.

  Her mind abuzz with doubt, she let herself get distracted by two kids, flame casters, blowing streams of fire from their mouths, trying to see who could keep it going the longest. After a long moment, the taller one bent over, his hands on his knees as he gasped, sweat rolling down his face. Finn couldn’t help but smile as they bickered about who was better, the losing boy arguing that he’d skipped lunch so he didn’t have the energy to properly compete.

  Overhead, the two-faced clock chimed from its tower, a sonorous reminder to every child that they ought to be tucked into bed by now. Finn glanced up at the great timepiece, its hands ticking in an endless procession of time lost and time to be gained. The stone tower held two clocks, one above the other. The scarlet clock face spoke of time in hours and minutes, its hands a glimmering gold. The one of blue-tinted glass charted the movement of the sun and the moon, its silver hands ticking ever closer to the upcoming equinox when night and day would share time equally, like a pair of lovers would share dessert.

  The Equinox Festival was the most celebrated holiday of the year. Finn could hardly wait. Ever since she was a child she’d wanted to experience the wonder of it in the capital city. She’d heard tales of fireworks that flew through the air in the shape of great birds spreading flaming wings, each spark manipulated by the finest flame casters in the kingdom. There would be music booming through the rings, bachatas and merengues that made it impossible to stand still. The bakeries would overflow with every manner of pastry she’d ever wanted to taste. It was why she’d decided to stay in the city for this past month instead of just passing through as she always did. She wanted to witness the spectacle, just this once.