by Maya Motayne
Alfie’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like that explanation of it. “In a way, I suppose.”
“If everyone’s magic is a different color, what color is yours?”
Alfie was surprised into silence. Whenever he told anyone that he could see magic, they always asked about their own, not his. It felt like a secret.
“That’s private,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “What’s mine, then?”
“Dark, deep red. A bit like sangria.”
She grinned triumphantly at that, as if she’d just won a bet with herself, then said, “Okay, well then, do your magic color paint thing on me. You said you thread your magic through and rip seams, right? Then stop talking and rip my maldito seams.” Alfie felt his face color. Finn’s eyes rolled heavenward. “You’re such a delicate thing. I mean break Kol’s magic.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” He palmed his face as if he could mop up the flush with his hand. “Propio magic is different. There is no seam to rip, even if I match my color to it. It’s seamless, edgeless. It’d be like trying to find a corner in a circle. It’s not possible. I can manipulate anyone’s regular magic, but I cannot touch propio magic, entiendes?”
Finn slumped. “You could’ve gotten to that point faster.”
“You could’ve listened slower.” A beat of silence drummed between them before he broke it. “Since the mobster blocked your magic you’ve tried to change yourself, but have you tried to change someone else?”
Finn shook her head. “Why would I? She blocked my propio. I can’t access any of it.”
“Did Kol know you could change other people?” he asked. Propio magic always had a catch of some sort. A limit. Maybe the mobster had to be aware of the ability to block it. Maybe Finn could still help him.
Finn thought for a moment. “No.”
“Then try it,” Alfie said. She looked at him. “Try it on me.”
“Will you shut up and let me go if I try?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Yes.”
She stepped closer, pursing her lips before placing a hand on his cheek. It was a gentler touch than he’d expected and he found himself flinching in surprise.
“Stand still.”
“I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t expect you to touch my face.”
“What did you expect me to change? Your leg?”
Their shadows moved jaggedly around each other on the ground. Alfie bit his tongue and fell silent. The girl shut her eyes and moved her palm over his nose.
A tingle swept over his nose. Finn’s eyes lit up. “Wépa!” she said. “I can still do it!”
Alfie looked over his shoulder at her cracked mirror and recoiled. She’d given him more of a beak than a nose. “So you’ll help me, then?”
She turned back to her bag. “Never said that, but glad to know I’ve still got it.”
A sound of frustration parted his lips. “Do you really think you can escape this? Him?”
“When you were barely out of your silk diapers I was escaping, surviving. I can do it again.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. “I’ll do it again.”
“Finn—”
“Prince,” she snapped. “No one makes me do what I don’t want to do, so stop trying.”
He shook his head. “I am not telling you. I’m asking you to help me. Help me end this together. I get rid of this dark magic and you get rid of that man. Please.”
That word seemed to sting her. She rounded on him, her eyes shining. “Please? You think please means a maldito thing to me?” With her this close he could see that she was shaking. “You want me to face him? Then you’ll have to do what he did. Put your hands on me, hold a dagger to my throat! Tell me I am nothing and if I don’t do as you say that’s what I’ll stay till the day I die! Make me do what you want!” She shoved him with both hands as if trying to provoke him, to prove that he was capable of what she claimed. “I’m well past please, Prince. I’m leaving before he finds me; if you’re smart you’ll do the same.”
Her words cracked against him like a slap, and Alfie thought of how the man in the Brim had commanded her, each word from his mouth a crippling blow. A new guilt formed like a stone in his stomach. If it weren’t for him releasing the magic, Ignacio wouldn’t be able to hurt her the way he could now. He’d brought this upon her and now he was asking her to help him fix it. Shame bubbled within him, and he didn’t know what to say to make it right.
Alfie swallowed hard. He didn’t know her well enough to delve into these matters, of that he was sure, but even if she refused to help him and they never crossed paths again, he wanted her to know something. “I think please means more to you than you think.”
She gave a sharp, angry sound, like a laugh turned inside out, as she stuffed more clothes in her bag, her back to him. “Then you’re even more foolish than you look.”
“When I said please in the palace, you held Luka in your lap so I could heal him. You helped me.” Finn froze, and something in the rigid way she stood called to him for comfort, but it wasn’t his place to touch her. He didn’t know what she wanted, and she’d already been made to bear so many things she didn’t want. He would not add another. “You told me you wanted more time to say ‘Not today,’ to stop letting terrible things happen without trying to stop them. I believed you then and I believe you now, even if you don’t. So I’m asking you one last time to come with me, but the decision is yours. Tell me no again and I will leave and never come back.”
Silence stretched between them. Alfie’s heart beat in his chest like a bird in a cage.
“No.” She did not turn to look at him. She only said the word.
The word sailed through him like a stone through a windowpane. He wanted to beg her to reconsider, but he’d promised he wouldn’t and in this world where all he knew had gone up in smoke, the strength of his word would anchor him to what once was. He would not break it, even if it meant doing this alone. Dying alone.
But he deserved this, didn’t he? When he’d met this girl, he’d thought himself above her. He’d thought her propio meant she was someone selfish and reckless. But he was wrong. She was a girl who cloaked herself in the lives of others to save her own. It was he who had been the reckless one, he who had put this world in danger. Shame poured through him, thick and slow. Alfie walked to her door and pulled it open.
“Espérate,” she said, her voice frayed at the edges.
He turned and she was looking at him with wide eyes that spoke of fear and something more, as if she’d recognized something in him that she could trust. Alfie was struck with the memory of being a frightened little boy and Dez coaxing him to jump into the pool, promising to catch him. He’d looked at Dez just like this when he’d caught him in his arms.
“Fine.” She scrubbed a hand across her eyes. “I’ll help you. Under one condition. I get the vanishing cloak for good, and a chest of gold at least my weight.” She glared up at him, her chin raised high as if daring him to argue. But today, he wouldn’t dream of it. His parents would kill him, but at least the kingdom would be saved.
“Deal,” he said. Then he turned toward her wall and tossed the doorknob at it. “We’ve already wasted enough time. We’ve got to get back to the palace.”
She stared at the doorknob. “So this is how you get around? How you got here?”
Alfie nodded. All his life he could carry only himself through his doors of magic, but with the dragon in his hand he was certain it would take both of them. This horrid magic had already done the impossible; why doubt it now?
“Oye!” A gruff voice sounded from the hall. “What the hell did you do to my door?”
“That’d be the landlady!” Finn grabbed a fistful of sheathed daggers from beneath her bed and shoved them into her bag. “Hurry up! Open your wall tunnel thing!”
Alfie turned toward the door. “I could fix it—”
Finn pulled him back by the shoulder. “No need, let’s go.
”
“You’re behind on rent and then you break the maldito door too!” the landlady shouted.
Alfie shot Finn a look.
Finn shrugged. “If I help you stop this magic, then the whole city owes me. Let’s go!”
His hand shaking in fear of what was to come from using this magic again, Alfie twisted the doorknob. The tunnel of magic opened just as the gray-haired woman threw the door open behind them. Shouting a stream of obscenities, the elderly woman stormed in with a sandal in hand. It was a testament to the strictness of his mother that even though Alfie had faced a dark magic earlier today, the mere sight of a sandal about to be thrown still struck fear in his heart.
“Shit, go!” Finn cursed.
Alfie held the dragon tight in his hand and asked it to carry Finn with him safely. Pain reverberated through him violently, like the taut string of a guitar plucked until the string snapped free. He stepped into the magic, Finn gripping him like an anchor of flesh and bone.
Over his shoulder, Alfie watched the landlady throw her sandal as the wall began to close behind them.
21
The Hourglass
When Luka woke late in the afternoon after his night of drinking, he felt strangely bright-eyed. Strong, even.
He stretched his arms over his head before folding the plush blankets over and wriggling out of bed. Luka snorted when he saw that he was still wearing what he’d worn to the dinner party the night before.
“Typical,” he said. Drunk Luka was never a fan of changing into sleeping clothes. He was a mess, but at least he was a consistent mess. Luka remembered nothing of last night beyond the dinner party, but maybe that was for the best.
He marveled at how full of energy he felt, like a child who’d gorged himself on sweets. “This is the greatest wine hangover I’ve ever had,” he declared, his voice still rough with sleep.
Then Luka remembered what had driven him to the wine in the first place.
Alfie. Stupid Alfie and his lies. His dangerous games for illegal goods. His dabbling in Englassen magic.
The sudden burst of energy he felt simmered, falling from a roaring flame to a spark.
Luka gritted his teeth. No, he was done letting Alfie’s nonsense drag him down into anger and frustration. He and Alfie needed to talk. Now.
Luka burst out of his bedroom doors and darted down the long, winding hall, his bare feet cold against the tiled floor. He nodded at the guards and servants, who scarcely spared him a second glance regardless of his disheveled attire. Luka walking about wearing last night’s clothes was hardly a spectacle.
When he reached Alfie’s double doors he raised his fist to knock. Then he chided himself with a sharp exhale through his nose. As if Alfie deserved such courtesies! Luka burst into Alfie’s room and shut the doors behind him.
“Alfie,” Luka began, his voice sounding annoyingly hesitant. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “We need to—”
The room was empty. The bed was made and littered with the overly formal clothes Alfie had no doubt been choosing between for last night’s dinner party.
Which meant he hadn’t gone to bed last night. Luka’s stomach tightened.
With the ball tomorrow, Alfie should be here. He always spent the days before a ball pacing in his room, carving out the time and space to commit to his anxiety. He didn’t even go to the library on days like this. If he wasn’t here, then he was likely somewhere he shouldn’t be.
Luka massaged his temples with his hands. Was this a sign? Did this mean he ought to just tell the king and queen what Alfie had been up to?
He sighed at the thought. He’d never been a maldito snitch and he didn’t really want to start now. But if Alfie was still dabbling in dangerous games for illegal goods, telling his parents could save the prince’s life; it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?
“Coño,” Luka cursed the empty room. He didn’t want to go to the king and queen without giving Alfie one last chance. That was the trouble with loving one’s brother. It made you allow the stupidest things.
An idea sparked in Luka’s mind. He darted to Alfie’s armoire. Behind layers of finely made clothes was a box of cambió game materials. Luka pulled the hourglass out, balancing it on the soft of his palm. Its base filled his palm and it was scarcely longer than his hand.
He flopped onto Alfie’s bed and set the hourglass on the bedside set of drawers.
“If this hourglass runs out before you get here,” Luka said, watching the sand pour, “then I alert the guards that you’re missing and tell the king and queen everything you’ve been doing. It’s up to you, pendejo.”
Now it was a game of chance. If Alfie wasn’t home when it ran out, then he would tell the king and queen everything. It was a fair deal, he decided. There was still a chance for Alfie to come home and listen to Luka for once. But as he waited, he couldn’t stop himself from dwelling on the tangle of dark questions that slithered like snakes between his ears, hissing the worst. What if he’s at one of those illegal games right now? Is he even alive? What will you tell the king and queen if he isn’t?
He clapped his hands over his ears. The act of it was somehow comforting, though it did nothing to muffle his thoughts. He shot upright and stared at the hourglass, his eyes darting between it and the wall. The wall that Alfie always came home through.
“If you’re dead, I’ll kill you,” Luka said to the wall. He was an optimist, so he usually took silence as affirmation. Alfie always took silence as an opportunity to fill the quiet with self-doubt. Today, Luka found himself doing the latter, his mind overflowing with images of where Alfie could be—somewhere dark fighting for his life or lying still, already having lost it.
Sweat gathering at his temples, Luka watched the hourglass. The sand dribbled slow as honey. There were still so many long minutes to wait.
He got up and paced, his eyes still glued to the hourglass. He strode across the room to Alfie’s armoire and thumbed through his clothing to distract himself. With nothing else to do, Luka tried on one of the prince’s shirts. As he pulled it over his head, it ripped at the shoulder where Alfie was slimmer. Luka quickly wriggled out of it, rolled the shirt into a ball, and stuffed it in the back of the armoire. As he shoved the torn shirt in, his fingers brushed against something warm and familiar. Behind the rows of clothing was Alfie’s fur-lined winter cloak. He’d lent it to Luka when they’d traveled to Uppskala last year. Luka smiled at the memories of going ice rafting in the winter kingdom’s rapids and dining on the freshest, most delicious fish that either of them had ever tasted. They’d even watched the famed northern lights while sipping mugs of mulled wine and chatting up the good-looking Uppskalan nobles who came their way. Things had been so different then.
Before Dez had died, Alfie had still been Alfie—a little too sullen for his own good, but his laugh came easy. He could let himself be reckless, be free. Now, to Luka, it felt like Alfie was too cautious to laugh, let alone live his life. Before everything had happened, Alfie had loved going traveling with Luka and trying new things. It was something Luka liked to call adventuring, and though Alfie was hardly as bold as him, he’d tagged along with Luka on more journeys than he could count.
Of course, Luka knew why Alfie was so keen on getting out of the palace after he’d finished his bruxo studies. The prince had always had a hard time watching his father fawn over Dez. Alfie had spent his adolescence training intensely under Paloma in hopes of catching his father’s attention, but Dez had always been the apple of the king’s eye. Whenever Alfie wanted to escape his feelings of inadequacy by having some fun, Luka saw no harm in lending him a hand. Luka’s fingers dropped from the winter cloak, guilt knotting tight in his stomach.
Maybe if he’d just talked to Alfie about all this instead of taking him adventuring every chance he got, then maybe Alfie wouldn’t be going out at night looking for trouble instead of facing what was to come. Luka had taught him the bliss of escapism and avoidance and now it was coming back to bi
te him in the culo.
Luka shut the armoire and turned back to the hourglass. It wasn’t even halfway done yet. With every grain of sand Luka felt his breath catch, a grislier scenario of where Alfie could be blooming in his head.
Luka threw his hands up. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted. With long, hurried strides he made his way to the doors and threw them open. The two guards stationed beyond Alfie’s doors turned to look at him.
“Are you and the prince in need of something, Master Luka?” one said.
Luka stared at him and looked over his shoulder. The sand poured on. He looked back at the guard. “No. Not yet.”
The guard regarded him strangely. “Yes, Master Luka.”
Silence stretched between them. “But in a few minutes, yes.”
The guard looked even more perplexed. “In a few minutes what, Master Luka?”
“I don’t know!” Luka found himself shouting. “But I will know in a few. Damn. Minutes!” He slammed the doors shut in their confused faces, made his way back to Alfie’s bed, and threw himself face-first onto it.
“Gods!” he said, his voice muffled by the bedsheets. “Hurry up.”
He resolved to not look at the hourglass again until he had counted to one hundred, but by the time he reached eighteen he’d peeked at it before ramming his face back into the dark of the bedsheets. When he reached thirty he began counting by twos. By forty he was counting by fives. By seventy he thought, screw it all to hell and looked. The hourglass still wasn’t even close to empty.
He took it in his hands and shook it, urging the sand to flow down.
“Go down, you son of a—” The hourglass shattered in his hands as if it were made of brittle ice. Luka yelped as the glass and sand flowed through his fingers and onto the floor. The glass should’ve burrowed in his flesh; instead it bounced off his skin, leaving him unharmed. He shook the sand off his hands.
“What the hell kind of cheap hourglass . . . ,” he said. He looked at the mess on the floor. “Well, technically the sand’s run out now, hasn’t it?”
