Nocturna

by Maya Motayne

  Luka, wearing Alfie’s face (a sight Alfie would never get used to), opened his mouth to speak but fell silent. What could be said now, when death hung heavy over Alfie like a veil.

  Lies, Alfie thought. Comforting lies.

  “I’ll be back.” Alfie swallowed before his voice could splinter. “I promise.”

  “I know,” Luka said, his throat working. “Here, take this.” He handed Alfie a velvet drawstring pouch. Inside were two stoppered vials. “Some healing draughts in case you need them.”

  Healing draughts were not as specific or helpful as Alfie using healing magic on himself to fix a certain wound. They could not mend a broken bone or stop the blood from gushing from a lesion. What they did was give the body a burst of energy, a bit of help so that one had the strength needed to heal naturally. They might come in handy, but Alfie hoped they wouldn’t.

  “I will come home,” Alfie said, his hand still tight on Luka’s shoulder, as if he could leave the impression of the promise on Luka’s skin. “But if I fail, if I don’t come back, I need you to tell Paloma the truth and try to put a stop to this.”

  “Cállate. Don’t say that nonsense,” Luka said, his eyes shining. “If you die, I’ll kill you.”

  Alfie laughed before pulling Luka into a hug and clapping him on the back. He couldn’t bring himself to break the embrace, to let go. He gave Luka’s shoulder one more squeeze before pulling back, his eyes stinging. Behind them, Finn mounted her horse. When they left the stable she would pull up the hood of the vanishing cloak, and Alfie would lead her horse under the guise that he was bringing the horse for a friend.

  Alfie pulled a roll of parchment from his bag. “Take this,” he said to Luka. “I’ve magicked it to match mine,” Alfie said, pointing at another roll of parchment in his bag. “Anything that happens to one will happen to the other. What you write, I’ll see, and vice versa. So if you need me, we’ll have a way to talk.”

  Luka rolled his eyes before grabbing the parchment. “And to report on my very important research?”

  “Yes,” Alfie said, his lips quirking up at the sarcasm dripping from Luka’s voice. “That too.”

  Before going to bed, Alfie had tasked Luka with looking into any and all books on Sombra while he and Finn were gone in case Luka could discover any weaknesses that could help them when they had to face Ignacio once more.

  Alfie chuckled at Luka’s forlorn expression. “Would you really rather infiltrate a prison than read books in the library?”

  Luka stared at him. “Yes. Obviously. What do you expect me to find out? That Sombra’s magic is allergic to oregano?”

  Alfie snorted at that. “To be honest, at this point nothing would surprise me.”

  “Gods,” Finn mumbled from her unseen place on the horse. “No more maldito oregano.”

  The sound of pounding hooves drew Alfie’s gaze out the stable doors. A red-caped guard was leading his horse in a sprint to the stables.

  “Quick,” Alfie hissed at Finn. “Pull the hood up!”

  Finn disappeared before Alfie’s eyes just as the rider led his horse into a halt before the stable doors and dismounted in a hurry. At the sight of Luka and Alfie, his spine straightened.

  “Buenos días, Prince Alfehr,” he said, bowing low to Luka. “And to you as well, Master Luka.” He bowed then to Alfie.

  Alfie blinked at him for a moment before remembering that he was wearing Luka’s face. “Good morning.”

  The man peered about the stable. “Has the stable boy gone, Your Grace?”

  Alfie had asked the boy to leave for a bit, to give him some privacy to say goodbye and so that he, Luka, and Finn could speak freely.

  Luka nodded at the man. “Yes, but he’ll be returning soon enough.”

  The man nodded and hurriedly led his horse into the stable and into an empty stall well stocked with hay. He didn’t even bother to unsaddle the horse or water it before leaving it in its stall. A froth of sweat had gathered at the horse’s neck and the guard looked shaken as he made for the stable doors.

  “Are you all right?” Alfie asked.

  The man looked at him and Luka silently, as if considering the propriety of the answer to Alfie’s question. Then he sighed and seemed to think better of his hesitance. “Alas, you’ll surely hear soon enough, from me or otherwise. I have an urgent message for the king and queen. A pub in the Brim was found littered with bodies this morning. The likes of which I have never seen.” He swallowed thickly as he shook his head at the thought. “I must be off to deliver this message. If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed to each of them again and then the man was gone, dashing away from the stables and toward the palace, his red cape rippling behind him. Alfie could only watch, the thought of that pub searing his mind and thickening his throat.

  Though Finn was still shrouded by the vanishing cloak, Alfie could feel waves of tension roiling from where she sat.

  Luka looked at him, his eyes shining with concern at the mention of the pub. He seemed to want to say something, and Alfie knew Luka was fighting the urge to ask him to stay, to not risk his life. Instead, Luka shook his head and pressed his lips into a tight line. Alfie could not express how grateful he was for that, because he didn’t know if he could leave if Luka asked him to stay.

  Luka cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the spot where Finn sat atop her horse. “Make sure he comes back in one piece.”

  A snort came from where she sat atop the saddle, still invisible. “He’s too skinny to break into any more pieces.”

  Luka grinned. “I like her.”

  Alfie mounted his horse, his head swimming as he pulled himself up. But he kept himself from swaying as he settled on the saddle; he couldn’t let Luka know how much this magic had done to him so far. For all he knew, this was the last time they would see each other. He wanted to say goodbye to Luka, but the word wouldn’t come. Or if that word came, others would follow and he’d drown in it all. He was relieved when Luka beat him to it.

  “Later, sourpuss,” he said with a small smile.

  Alfie rolled his eyes at the childhood nickname, grinning all the same. “Hasta luego.” With a stone in his throat, Alfie took the reins of Finn’s horse and led it into a trot beside his own as they rode across the palace grounds.

  They rode in silence through horse paths carved through the rings for speedy travelers until Alfie finally led them to the gate out of the Pinch, San Cristóbal’s outermost ring, that led out of the city and into the surrounding countryside. Here, fields of sugarcane stretched far into the distance, with only a winding dirt road to interrupt the stretches of green. Luckily, the path was smooth, without climbing hills or rough terrain. It would be an easy enough journey. Until they got there.

  In the distance, a little over an hour’s ride away, stood the eyesore that they would infiltrate—the Clock Tower.

  There, the sugarcane fields gave way to dry, barren dirt. The land had been salted, made inhospitable to even a tendril of life. On the arid stretch of land, the prison was built in a foreboding tower of adobe brick, exposed to the baking sun and surrounded by a thick moat of water enchanted to boil. It housed only the foulest criminals. Their magic was blocked by written magic carved into their wrists and oral suppressants, making them magically impotent. Worst of all was the meaning behind the prison’s name. The ceiling of the great tower was a clock, its minute hand as long as five men. The clock ticked and tocked deafeningly to remind the prisoners of the endless time they had left in their cells. It was common for prisoners to be driven mad from the merciless clock that glared down upon them, an unstopping, ticking moon. It was a life that Alfie wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Then Alfie thought of the girl they were going to release from the prison. On second thought, he would wish it upon her.

  As the sun dipped closer and closer to the horizon, Alfie’s blood chilled in his veins. They had only six hours to sneak into the prison, get the prisoner out, and trap the magic. It would be an impossible plan if they had days
; with only hours it sounded absolutely absurd. Still, they would have to try. The magic’s goal of bringing back Sombra was far too horrific for it to be dealt with slowly. It needed to be captured and banished into the void as soon as possible.

  With the city gates disappearing far behind them, Finn removed her hood and took the reins of her horse. They rode at top speed down the curving dirt road slithering through the rustling sugarcane fields like a snake. The adobe brick tower loomed in the far distance, looking like a finger jutting up from the sugarcane to reach for the sky and claim it as its own.

  For a long hour they rode too fast to speak, their horses dashing down the flat road side by side. Alfie dug his heels into his horse, urging it on, but when a lather of sweat gathered at the horse’s neck and mouth, he signaled for Finn to slow to a halt.

  They slowed to a stop and Alfie dismounted, stroking his horse’s warm nose. The poor thing was exhausted.

  “Sorry, Peluche.” Alfie uncorked a canteen of water he’d strapped at the horse’s side and with a twist of his fingers a long ribbon of water flowed out. He carefully funneled ribbon water into the horse’s gasping mouth while Finn watched.

  She snorted at him from her saddle. “Of course you would name a horse ‘teddy bear.’”

  Alfie moved on to her horse, gathering water before it to drink. “I didn’t name him. My mother did.” His voice softened on mother. He thought of her face when he’d returned to the palace.

  “You came home,” she’d said. Would he make it home again after this?

  A loud munch broke him from his thoughts. Finn was chomping into an apple that he’d packed onto her horse’s saddlebag in case they got hungry.

  “What’s my horse’s name, then?”

  Alfie scratched her horse behind the ear and it leaned forward, pressing its head against his shoulder. He and Luka had trained with this horse as boys and it always acted like an overgrown kitten around them.

  “I named your horse when I was a boy. He’s called Gassy.” Alfie patted the horse’s flank, relishing the sight of Finn’s mouth pausing mid-chew. “I’m sure you’ll learn why before the journey’s up.”

  Alfie corked the canteen and swiftly mounted Peluche once more. “Let’s start slow now, give them a chance to recover before we speed up. We should get to the tower in half an hour, maybe less.”

  Still grimacing at the horse beneath her, Finn nodded and they eased into a trot.

  Finn was silent as they ambled down the path and he was grateful for that. He wanted nothing more than to run through the plan over and over again until they arrived—get to the prison, have Finn lay down the distraction while he waited nearby, then they’d get as close to Xiomara’s cell as they could before setting off the distraction. Once the guards around her cell left to investigate all the noise, they’d break in, get Xiomara under the cloak with Finn, and walk out of the prison. After they snuck Xiomara out would come the most difficult part. They would need to draw Ignacio to them, somewhere away from the city, kill him, seal the magic in the toy, and toss it into Xiomara’s void.

  He repeated it in his mind over and over, like a chant. The only sound around him was the bristle of the breeze-kissed sugarcane lining the road.

  Alfie touched his face, startling at the different features under his fingers. He would never get used to wearing Luka’s face. He couldn’t imagine what Finn’s life had been like, darting from identity to identity.

  “That’s the best part,” she’d told him last night, but to Alfie it felt like not quite a nightmare, but a strange dream he couldn’t wake from.

  “I can take it off you, if you want,” Finn said, motioning at his face. He hadn’t noticed she’d been watching him. “When I transform you into a dueño, I’ll want to start with a blank canvas anyway.”

  Alfie thought on it. They were far from the city anyway. It wasn’t as if he’d be spotted, and if she was going to take this mask off him to change him into a dueño later, why not have a break for a moment and wear his own face? “Yes, please.”

  As their horses ambled side by side, Finn looked at him intently and waved her hand. Alfie’s body tingled then and he felt himself shifting, his torso growing longer and slimmer, his nose drawing up slightly. Then it was over. He put his hands on his face and sighed into them. “Gracias.”

  She shrugged. Silence reigned for a long moment before she spoke again.

  “The way your brother died.” Finn gave a low whistle, shattering the silence. She shifted on her saddle, wincing as her backside bumped against it. “That’s something.”

  Alfie’s jaw tightened. He was shocked by her ability to bring up exactly what he didn’t want to talk about. He looked away from her and focused on the green fields around him, the pound of his horse’s hooves on the dirt ground. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was.”

  “I remember when I heard the news of the assassination,” she said. “I was in a city far from here and people were still weeping in the streets, as if they knew him.”

  The way she said that crawled under his skin. Whenever anyone spoke of Dez it was always with deep reverence and sorrow, but she said it so flippantly. “This bothered you?”

  She shrugged before leaning sideways in her saddle to skim her fingers over the heads of the sugarcane stalks. “It didn’t make sense. They didn’t know him. I didn’t know him. Why cry when his death doesn’t affect me?”

  Alfie squinted at her. “Of course who becomes king of Castallan affects you. You’re Castallano, you live here.”

  Finn snorted at that. “People like me, we’re ants, and rulers are just a big foot looming over us ready to squish us into the dirt. Doesn’t matter whose body the foot is attached to, the purpose is still the same. Now it’s just your foot hovering over my head instead of his.”

  “Is that how you really see us?” Alfie asked. “As something to hurt you?”

  She gave a dry laugh. “What do you expect me to see you all as? Protectors of the people? Get the stars out of your eyes, Prince. Do you think the kids living with nothing, the ones thieving and begging, see you as a protector? You with your polished desk and your fancy magic.” She gave another loud snort. “The rich are born rich and die richer, the rest of us die early. You’re no protector. You’re just another foot waiting to grind us into the dirt.”

  Alfie rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that there was poverty and unrest in his kingdom. That was everywhere. He wasn’t so naive as to think otherwise. But still, it was hard to swallow. When he heard Finn speak, every glorified idea he had about his kingdom cracked and crumbled—nothing but a gossamer shell to hide the flaws within. The motto of his kingdom, magia para todos, magic for all, suddenly rang hollow.

  But if he and Finn somehow stopped this dark magic, and he had the chance to become the king his parents wanted him to, then maybe he could change this? Maybe he could be a different king. Not a foot hovering overhead but a hand outstretched to pull his people up. He could make the motto of his kingdom true. If he lived long enough to become king.

  They fell into another silence then and he wondered if this was what the whole journey would contain—flares of anger followed by stretches of silence and on and on.

  “How exactly does the void thing work—”

  “Finn,” Alfie said, his voice low with barely suppressed anger. He knew they needed that criminal’s help, but he did not want to think about it, didn’t want to face it until he really had to. “Please. Leave it be.”

  She took his warning for bait. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to think about it,” he snapped. His fingers twitched on the reins, begging him to reach for the cool flask at his hip, to silence the anger that was rising in him like the tide. The anger that could turn him into someone he wasn’t. “It’ll only make me angry.”

  Finn cocked her head. “Why not be angry, then? It’s as natural a feeling as anything else.”

  Alfie sighed through his nose and reached sideways, letting
his fingers brush the heads of the sugarcane stalks, the tingle of their touch calming him slightly. Of course she would advocate for anger; it wasn’t as if she thought twice before acting on impulse. “I don’t like who I become when I give in to anger.” An image flashed in his mind of that day, of his hands gripping Paloma by the robes and throwing her against the wall. He bit back his disgust with himself. “That person is not me.”

  “Yes it is, estúpido,” she said. “Who you are when you’re angry is still you. It doesn’t have to be all of you, but it’s a piece of you all the same. If you deny that, you might as well deny your whole maldito self and be done with it.”

  Alfie bristled at her tone. She spoke as if she were asking him to switch shirts instead of telling him to give in to the part of him that he feared most.

  “Some things you can’t outrun.” Her voice came differently now, not soft, but lacking its usual sharpness—a blunted dagger. “Some things you ought to just run to. Get it over with.”

  Alfie thought of how she’d run from Ignacio only to be dragged back, reeled in like a fish, but the horror of that memory could not dull his embarrassment. To draw this tone out of her, he must seem pathetic right now. He didn’t want her pity or her maldito advice.

  “Well,” he said. “When I feel like denying my whole identity and running around in a mask instead, I’ll be sure to call on you.”

  “Fine.” Her eyes rolled heavenward. “You sure you can trust Bathtub Boy to cover for you?”

  Alfie still didn’t know where that nickname came from. “He’ll cover for me, and his name is Luka.” He swallowed thickly, wishing he could turn his horse back and head home. Luka had nearly died, and Alfie wanted nothing more than to protect him, to find whoever had targeted him and punish them as they deserved. His fingers twitching, Alfie reached into his own saddlebag and pulled out a mango and a small knife. His dagger glided over its flesh, peeling the fruit free. He popped a piece into his mouth, focusing on the burst of flavor instead of his desire to turn his horse around and gallop home.