by Maya Motayne
“Let’s go on, then,” she said. They stepped back under the cloak and walked down a twist of corridors, passing the towering doors of the library before they finally stood before Paloma’s door. Alfie stared at it, his hand frozen before the knob, his stomach twisting in anxiety.
He’d never been invited into Paloma’s rooms, let alone snuck into them unsupervised. To barge into her private quarters felt wrong, but his people were being reduced to ash. He had no time to waste on worrying about breaking rules of decorum.
Alfie opened the door and they darted in. He felt like he should clap a hand over his eyes to stop himself from even looking at the room. A narrow bed sat in the far corner, and shelves of books were neatly organized against the walls, their spines in different shades of leather. There was a dark wood desk where rolls of parchment and quills awaited her attention. He knew Paloma’s schedule—she would be in the library at this hour, leaving her room empty.
Finn pulled the cloak off them. “What are we looking for?” Her face was taut, no hint of the usual smirk.
“A black book with gold Englassen script.”
The thief turned to the nearest shelf, scanning the spines with keen eyes. Alfie went to the shelf beside the bed and searched. His hands passed over basic books of magic that Paloma had used to teach him as a child. Every book seemed to represent a moment where she’d encouraged him to become a better prince, a better person, and the longer he stayed in this room the more he felt himself disappointing her. Alfie clutched the collar of his shirt and tugged. Finn’s movement on the other side of the room caught his eye.
Without looking away from the shelf, he said, “Put it back.”
She sighed and put Paloma’s small silver mirror back on the shelf. No time for jokes, but still time to steal, it seemed. He was about to chastise her, but then he spotted it. There, wedged between thick volumes of magic.
Alfie’s guilt wavered, his fingers itching to turn the pages. He knew they should leave and head back to his room in case Paloma decided to come back, but Alfie could not wait. He needed something to give him hope that he could fix this.
He frantically thumbed through the book until he found the chapter that spoke of sealing magic. He’d been reading it just as Paloma snatched the books from him. He was keenly aware of Finn’s bored eyes on him. She was picking her nails as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
He read that the entity needed to be sealed into an object of great value to the sealer, something he hadn’t noticed during his first read. He looked down at the dragon on his chest. It was the most precious thing he owned. He did not want to use it to trap the magic in fear that it would break, but he hardly had a choice.
The spellwork needed only a single word of magic; the book described the spoken magic as the simple word for closing in Englassen. To use it in his own language, the word would be cerrar. It was easy enough to remember.
Just beneath the illustrations came a warning that chilled him to the bone.
Sealing an entity with one’s blood must be done only in the most dire of circumstances. To seal with one’s blood is to tie oneself to the sealed entity. The longer that the being is sealed, the more it will draw upon the sealer’s energy, his very life force. The consequences can be lethal.
The sweat on his palms soaked the spine of the book.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Was this why the diviner could see no future for him? Because he’d been fated since childhood to give his future away to this vile magic?
“Prince.” The thief sighed, leaning against the desk. “We don’t have all day.”
Alfie wiped the sweat off his forehead, his throat dry. “No, we don’t.”
Whatever needed to be done, he needed to do it quickly. The ball was tomorrow night and he needed to be here to present himself as the future king of Castallan. Not to mention, his family would certainly notice if he was missing for very long. He would have to handle this today. Now. While his family still slept and relaxed after last night’s festivities.
A voice sounded from outside the door. Paloma. Finn and Alfie froze where they stood, their eyes wide. If she walked in now to see him and a stranger in her private rooms, Alfie would be done for.
“Where’s the cloak?” he whispered.
Finn swiveled around.
His eyes narrowed. “You lost the cloak?”
“I didn’t lose it,” she hissed back. “I put it down, is all.” She got on her hands and knees and groped at the ground like a blind man searching for his cane.
“You idiot,” Alfie growled before dropping to his knees and joining her in the search. If they got caught because this fool didn’t have the foresight to hold the maldito cloak, then maybe he deserved whatever punishment Paloma doled out.
“Where did you see it last?”
She shot him a look. “It’s invisible.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Here!” Finn murmured before yanking Alfie up to his feet and tossing the cloak over them. As it had before, it stretched to envelop them both, just barely.
Paloma stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She held a book in her hand and leaned against the door for a moment to read on, engrossed. Alfie and Finn stood stock-still. They were in the middle of the small room; if she walked forward she might bump into them. But if they tried to move in this silence she might hear them. Finn made to move sideways; Alfie grabbed her by the shoulders and shook his head.
No, he mouthed, hoping she would listen to him for once.
You wanna get caught? she mouthed back.
He raised a single finger to his lips. They needed some noise to muffle their movements.
Paloma snapped the book closed before walking to her desk. Alfie held his breath and leaned sideways as she moved past them. Her dueña’s robes nearly brushed against his leg.
When she reached to pull the chair before her desk back, Alfie looked at Finn and nodded. While the chair scraped against the floor, Alfie pulled Finn close and moved them to the only hiding space he could see in the tight room—the thin bar of space between two bookshelves. They stood chest to chest between the shelves.
Finn glared up at him, her eyes seeming to say, Really? This is the best you could do?
But before Alfie could scowl down at her, Paloma was opening a drawer in her desk and pulling out a round mirror the size of a dinner plate.
A scrying mirror. He’d never seen her use one of these before. Paloma was such a private figure that he never imagined her being close enough to someone to have a scrying mirror. Whose mirror did hers pair with? Finn prodded him with her finger and raised her eyebrows as if asking him to explain why he was so interested in an ordinary mirror. He supposed she’d never seen one before. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing found outside the wealthiest parts of the city.
He cocked his head toward Paloma and mouthed, Watch.
Paloma sat at her desk and leaned the mirror on an easel before her. Alfie could see it over her shoulder. Finn rose on her tiptoes, her chest pressing against him so she could get a better look. Finn was what some would call generously built. He hadn’t accounted for that when he’d chosen this hiding space, not that he could simply conjure up another. In the space of a heartbeat, his senses had narrowed to the place where the soft of her chest met him, pressing further when she took in breath. Alfie’s face reddened. He shifted backward, bumping into the bookshelf.
He screwed his eyes shut as the shelf gave a loud, whining creaaaaaaak.
Paloma’s back tensed. She turned and stared at the bookshelf. Finn was so close to him that Alfie could feel her breath catch in her chest.
Paloma squinted at the shelf before turning back to the mirror.
Alfie glared down at Finn and she raised her hands in surrender as if to say, Not my fault.
“Revelar,” Paloma said to the mirror.
Finn’s eyes widened as the mirror began to glow a soft blue. The glass rippled like a pond disturbed by a dropped
pebble. It cleared and stilled to reveal the face of a woman Alfie did not recognize. Alfie’s eyebrows rose. She had the blonde hair, blue eyes, and delicate features of someone from Uppskala. She wore blue, velvet robes trimmed with brown fur—she was Uppskala’s version of a dueña. Why was Paloma calling on a foreign dueña?
“Svana,” Paloma said. Alfie could see the top of the woman’s face over her shoulder.
“Paloma,” she said, her Uppskalan accent flowing thick and slow over the quick syllables of Castallano. “You wished to speak. What is it?”
Paloma took in a breath. “I woke in the night with a terrible feeling in my bones. Something feels wrong.” Paloma’s hands clasped the edge of the desk, her fingers curled tight. “I cannot explain it. But I just know—I know that it has to do with . . .” She went silent once more.
Tension tightened like a knot between the two dueñas.
“You cannot be serious. Do you think so little of the rings of protection magic that are in place? To free it would require dueños from each of the ruling five kingdoms.”
Rings of protection magic. Alfie’s hands curled into fists as he was transported back into that endless darkness. He could remember each ring he’d destroyed. He could smell the blood running down his fingers. His palms were slick with sweat, his breath hitching in his chest.
“I don’t know, Svana. I feel it,” she said. “Something is not right.”
Alfie’s stomach dropped. He’d never seen Paloma show even an ounce of fear. Anger and disappointment, yes, but never fear.
“Castallan’s pieces are safe, yes?”
Paloma nodded. “I checked myself. They are untouched.”
Alfie’s brow furrowed. What pieces were they talking about?
“You truly have not sensed anything?” Paloma asked, her voice strangely desperate. “Nothing that feels . . . wrong?” Silence. “Svana?”
Svana sputtered. “Perhaps, but that does not mean it has been freed. We have held it at bay for centuries. It will never get back to him. Never.” Svana’s voice came again, soft and insistent. Intimate. “How does the fable end, Paloma? After shadow and light join. Tell me.”
Alfie’s spine straightened. They couldn’t be talking about that fable—the story of how magic and man were made, of the evil god who’d been enamored with the dark.
Paloma gave a shaky sigh and spoke the words that Alfie feared. “The god who so favored the dark was cast out of the heavens, forbidden to return. The world’s finest bruxos worked together and parted him from the dark power he so loved, turning his body to stone. He and his black magic were never seen again.” Paloma spoke the words like a prayer, like something that held weight and truth.
Like something that was much more than a mere children’s myth.
“Our ancestors splintered him from his power, and so long as we keep it locked away, he cannot return. He will stay a nameless villain in a children’s story. This I promise you.”
Alfie’s teeth ground painfully against one another, the weight of what he’d done falling on him with unbearable pressure. He knew that what he’d released had to be something bad, but he hadn’t expected this.
He’d freed the very thing that could revive the god of the dark. According to legend, Sombra would sweep the world into Nocturna—an endless night, an unraveling of mankind into monsters who thrived on hatred, violence, and greed. Alfie’s heart sputtered in his chest. This could destroy not only his family’s reign, but the entire world.
What have I done?
“You’re right. I only needed to hear you say it.” Paloma gently touched the mirror with her fingertips. Alfie looked away, knowing this was not for him to see.
The two exchanged goodbyes, and Paloma tenderly wrapped the mirror in velvet before tucking it back into her desk. When she finally left, Alfie opened his mouth to speak but Finn held up her hands, counting down with her fingers.
After a long minute they wriggled out from between the bookshelves and took the cloak off. Alfie leaned over, his hands on his knees as he willed himself not to vomit.
“Prince,” Finn said. “Your teacher having a secret girlfriend can’t be what’s rattling you. People have secret girlfriends all the maldito time.”
Her words flowed around him like water around stone, muffled and blunted by the panic racing through his veins. She was blissfully unaware of what he’d just learned. What he’d done.
Alfie looked at her, his mind a tangle of panic. “We’re never making it out of this alive.”
Finn crossed her arms. “Must you speak in riddles like a troll under a maldito bridge? Tell me what’s going on!”
Alfie didn’t want to explain what Paloma’s conversation had made clear about what he’d released. He told himself it was because there wasn’t any time with this foul magic running free in his city, but he knew it was because he feared she would leave him to handle this on his own.
Alfie quickly explained what he’d seen when he’d released the black magic, how it matched with what Paloma had said and how it all related to the legend of “The Birth of Man and Magic.” What he’d released was the power that had been severed from that god, turning his body to stone. Her eyes went wide as saucers as he spoke.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Finn said, raising a silencing hand. “You released a maldito god?”
“No, not exactly,” Alfie said quickly, desperate to clarify. “I freed Sombra’s power, which could possibly bring him back if not stopped . . . ,” he said, his voice quieting as he went on.
“Oh good!” Finn glared at him. “I thought I had something to worry about. But it’s just an evil god’s power! No problem, then!”
Alfie crossed his arms. She’d all but begged to come with him. He knew he’d made a mistake, but he didn’t need this judgment when they were about to embark on the most dangerous mission of their lives. “Well, if it’s too much for you, you know where the door is.”
Finn scowled up at him. “I haven’t met a maldito thing that was too much for me. When I do, you’ll know it.”
Alfie rolled his eyes, though she was probably right. He tried to hide the relief that flooded through him. He wouldn’t have to do this alone, after all.
“After spending your whole maldito life in the library, all you can come up with is that you’ll try to trap the creepy smoke thing with some desk magic you’ve never even done before?”
Her words stung, pressing at the sore spot of his uncertainty. “This is not normal magic. It’s not as if there are endless tomes about magic that can speak and turn people into dust!”
She opened her mouth to argue but fell silent.
“Well?” Alfie pressed. “Do you have any ideas you’d like to contribute?” This plan was so far from perfect, it was laughable. But it was all they had and he wouldn’t have her tearing it down unless she had a better idea.
“So we track it down and trap it,” Finn said, shaking her head at the madness of it. “With whatever wild desk magic you learned from that book. Magic you’ve never performed.”
“It’s all I know that might work.”
Fear of chasing this magic with a half-baked plan raked its claws over him, but Alfie could not let that stop him. A pit curled and hardened in his stomach at the thought of the ball tomorrow. He’d done this terrible thing at the worst possible time—just before his parents would present him as the future of their kingdom at the ball and just after he’d finally promised himself to give up the search for Dez and become a king his family would be proud of. Guilt and shame stung him in turn. His parents’ and his kingdom’s faith rested on his shoulders. He could not fail them again.
Finn squared her shoulders. “All right, let’s get on with it, then,” she said, as if she were accustomed to resigning herself to the madness of a half-baked plan. Alfie felt his heart lift, if only for a moment.
If she was agreeing to try, then maybe it could actually work.
Or maybe she was just as wild as she seemed.
Alfie sw
allowed thickly. He’d released the power of a god, a power dark enough to make dueños the world over come together to trap it. A power that struck fear in even Paloma’s heart and, left unchecked, would plunge this world into darkness. Alfie plucked a pinch of black dust from his pocket; the silver earring found in the ash flashed in his mind’s eye. He would stop this thing from hurting anyone else, even if it cost him his life. He lay the dust on his palm.
“Encontrar,” he said.
The black dust in his hand gave a tug eastward toward the outer rings of the city, where the people of Castallan celebrated, unaware of what their foolish prince had done.
17
The Blue Thimble
Following the prince’s tracking spell was much less convenient than Finn had expected.
Under the vanishing cloak, she and Alfie had snuck out of the palace, hopping onto the back of a carriage that had come to deliver goods for tomorrow’s Equinox Ball. According to the prince, it was clear that the black dust they were using to track Sombra’s magic was not on the palace grounds because the dust in his hand would heat up as they got closer to it. But once the carriage entered the next ring of the city, the Bow, the dust grew warmer, so she and the prince dismounted and searched on foot. They’d skulked through the Bow’s quiet neighborhoods, where noblewomen sauntered out of their brightly colored haciendas in their long, belted skirts and glimmering lace capes, along with noblemen in their freshly polished leather boots. The dust had gotten warmer but not warm enough. They’d moved on to the next ring, the Brim, where the dust grew hotter still. The prince, thinking it might have gone to the Pinch, steered them closer to the gate leading out of the Brim and into the poorer ring, but the dust fell cold as they approached. So they turned back into the maze of the Brim, moving through the nests of shops, searching in vain for that vile, smoky magic. Hours had passed, morning turning to afternoon, before Alfie felt the dust surge with heat in his palm.
“Espérate,” Alfie said. “It’s getting much warmer now. We’re close.” He swallowed thickly and Finn couldn’t blame him. The thought of Sombra’s magic curling close to her, as if it were hunting for something just beneath her flesh, had left her covered in goose bumps since the encounter. They walked on, down a more secluded lane of market stalls, the prince’s spell leading them like a compass.
