by Maya Motayne
Finn watched him carefully. “You want to know who tried to kill him.”
“Yes, obviously,” Alfie said, kneading his temples. “But I have to handle the dark magic first.” Even if he did somehow get rid of the dark magic, it wasn’t as if he could just tell anyone that Luka had nearly been killed without also explaining the release of the dark magic in the first place. He had no idea what his next move ought to be on that front.
“Well, I’ve got a start for you. It was definitely done by poison,” Finn said matter-of-factly. “Poison left for you.”
The mango fell from his hand onto the dirt road. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she insisted. “I was in your room looking for the key to the vault.” She pulled a key out of her pocket, tossing it at him. It was his key. Alfie’s mind felt as if it were on the verge of bursting. “While I was searching a servant came in. I heard a bottle of something being shaken up. I wasn’t sure if it’d been poisoned or not, but after what happened to Bathtub Boy, I sure as hell am.”
His fingers were sticky with mango juice, but he couldn’t stop himself from putting his hand over his eyes. “My sleeping tonic.”
Luka had said that he’d drunk Alfie’s tonic. He hadn’t even thought of it. Part of him wanted to shout at Finn, to demand to know why she hadn’t dumped out the bottle and stopped all this from happening in the first place. But it felt pointless. It wasn’t as if she could be sure of what had happened when it had. She was a thief who owed him nothing. It seemed absurd to expect anything else of her.
His mind buzzed with an endless line of questions, each one nudging the others to be chosen next. Who had tried to poison him? Was it the same person who’d taken Dez from him? Would another assassination attempt happen again while he was away? Was Luka in danger of being poisoned while impersonating him for the day?
“You want to go home.” Finn’s voice rang quiet but strong. “Protect your family.”
Underneath her facade Alfie could see a flash of understanding. As if she’d once had people to protect. “I want to,” Alfie said. “But I can’t.”
His mother’s voice rang in his head, clear as a bell: You never think things through, Alfie. If you’re to be a king, you must think of your people before yourself. Always.
This magic threatened his entire kingdom, not just his family. And so he had to take responsibility for his actions. He must take care of the black magic first. Without delay.
Finn nodded at him, taking his flaring emotions in stride. He couldn’t understand how she could be so calm. She’d witnessed what he’d witnessed in the Blue Room. How was she so relaxed when he could barely stop himself from shaking?
“You’re not worried about that man?” he asked. “Ignacio?”
She flinched at his name, like a child would at a crack of thunder, but she recovered quickly, smoothing her face into nonchalance. “I don’t have much fear in me, Prince. I’m not going to waste it on him,” she said, her mouth curling into a snarl around that word.
She tossed him a smirk that almost covered the turmoil churning beneath it. Almost.
“That’s enough rest for these beasts,” she said before digging her heels into her horse’s sides and easing into a sprint, leaving Alfie in her dust.
25
The Man Who Could Not Die
As yet another body burst into ash before him, Ignacio sucked his teeth in annoyance.
He sat in the Blue Thimble, the blood-caked pub that he’d marked as his own when he’d received his power—when the thrill of it all had slaked a bloodlust in him that every man in the pub had paid dearly for. The corpses had been removed by the guardsmen, but the blood remained, staining every surface with red-tinted proof of his might. The pub had been closed after the massacre, and Ignacio had taken it as his own private sanctuary, a place to draw victims from the Brim to infect.
He’d spent the night prowling the rings of this city, hunting for bodies to claim as his own, but in each ring they merely burst into dust. After hours of failure he’d returned to the Blue Thimble, frustration coiling tight inside him as the morning sun poured through the pub’s windows. Though the magic begged him to continue, Ignacio couldn’t be bothered, not when her name beat in his mind like a drum.
Finn. Finn. Finn.
He took a swig of spiced rum, toeing his boot through the ashen remains of another imbecile. He’d come all this way for her. His vision nothing but a blur of colors and lines, his pockets empty, he’d charmed his way onto a ship with a story of a long-lost sister he hoped to find in the city, so that he wouldn’t die blind and alone. A sailor pitied him enough to offer him a sudden opening on the boat. One of the passengers had disappeared the night before. It was all very curious. Well, not to Ignacio. He’d killed that man. Dragged him into an alley and cut his throat. But to the rest of the world it was all very curious. And Ignacio didn’t mind indulging the rest of the world.
He’d come to the capital city because when she was young, baby fat still padding the panes of her face, she’d always said she wanted to be here for the Equinox Festival. So he’d found his way to San Cristóbal and received this power like a gift from the gods themselves. He’d shown her how powerful he’d become, and still she had not fallen into line. She’d slipped through his fingers like water. His hands curled into fists, his blackened nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The dark magic within him healed it immediately, so quick he barely had a moment to savor the pain.
He could remember the day he’d taken her as his own. The memory sat in his mind in brightened shades, colors that spoke of a turning point that would redraw the course of his life. He’d been watching her for a few days then, the shadow moving at her feet calling to him, a mirror of his own. She’d been scavenging for scraps in a garbage heap between pubs. Her bones had shown through her skin like moonlight through glass.
He approached her from behind. She sensed him immediately even though he hadn’t made a sound. Instinct like that was what it took to survive on the street.
She’d glared up at him, her hackles raised. For a skinny little thing she was fearsome.
“Where’s your mamá, papá?” Ignacio asked, cocking his head at her.
“Gone.” She pulled a small dagger from the dirty sheath at her waist. “Dead and buried a few days now. Worm food. Same as you’ll be if you touch me.”
Ignacio had only smiled down at her, unfazed. He was sure she’d faced more than her fair share of people with less than savory intentions on the street. He could hardly blame her for flashing the dagger and her teeth.
“I don’t think so,” Ignacio said, waving her threat away with a smile. “I won’t be dying tonight. Not any night, for that matter.”
She squinted up at him, unconvinced. “Everyone dies.”
She’d said that with a certainty that no child should know.
Ignacio shook his head. “I won’t die. My word is law, more powerful than death.” He gestured at his moving shadow, which curled on the ground before his feet. “If my body tries to perish, I’ll just tell it not to. And I’ll do the same for you too.” His gaze locked on hers, a promise in his eyes. “If you like.”
Finn only looked up at him, as if trying to decide if he was too confident, too stupid, or a bit of both.
Ignacio pulled a red apple out of the pocket of his cloak. He meant to hand it to her, but she snatched it from him without a word and bit into it savagely, juice dripping down her chin.
Ignacio stood, turned on his heel, and strode away. After five long strides he glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Are you coming?”
Finn stood still, her eyes still on the apple core. She tossed it over her shoulder and followed him like a dog after her master, as she always should.
When had she changed from that?
Ignacio. The dark magic purred in his mind insistently.
“What is it?” Ignacio snapped.
We must gain strength, we must spread our touch, only then will w
e—
“Have the strength to take what is ours from the palace. Yes, I understand,” Ignacio interjected, annoyed. The magic insisted upon filling his mind with images of what lay in wait in the palace, and the promise of untold power that would not fade. He need only infect as many as he could first, for each body he infected would in turn give him more strength, strength to storm the palace and take it for himself.
But each time he had spread the magic to another body, that euphoric burst in power had been temporary. Each body he took quickly expired under the weight of the magic, like an oil-soaked match tossed into a roaring hearth. With each loss, his strength dwindled along with them. He’d infected many from this pub before his encounter with Finn, the power blooming in him with frightening intensity as he’d conjured those strings and halted time around him. But it had quickly faded as those bodies burned away to dust, and he’d been left with nothing but exhaustion and a hunger for more. He could not storm a palace full of guards with this fatigue, this feeling of strength finding him only to trickle away in an instant.
You are not listening. We must seek dark hearts, the magic’s voice came again, an insistent whisper between his ears. Those are the ones that will carry our power without falling apart in a mere moment.
Find them and we will take what is ours from the palace and clear the throne for a true king. And you will be rewarded.
The magic filled his mind’s eye with visions of the power that would pour through him when he retrieved what he needed from the palace. Power that would give him the strength to take every throne that this world had to offer.
When we own the world, the magic purred, there will be no place for her to escape to. Nowhere for her to hide. I will deliver her to you.
Ignacio watched as the vision showed Finn fleeing from town to town, city to city, continent to continent. Every place she went, she saw Ignacio’s face, his reign. With every sight of his power her fear doubled and tripled, crippling her until she fell to her hands and knees, until she could run no more. Finn crawled to Ignacio’s throne, bowing, her forehead pressed shamefully to the ground at his feet. She shook with the fear that she wore so well for him. She begged him to take her back, to let her be his daughter again.
Please, she said, tears running down her face. Her begging sounded like prayers. Prayers to him, her only god. She grasped his hands in hers and pressed desperate kisses against his palms. Por favor, let me come home.
A ripple of euphoria rolled through him, spreading through his body like fire swallowing a dry twig. His hands shook in anticipation.
“Dark hearts?” he said. Ignacio stepped out of the pub and into the bustling marketplace as the sun dipped ever closer to the horizon. He turned his gaze to the north, where he knew the Clock Tower loomed tall somewhere in the distance—a beacon of blackened hearts, chained and ripe for the taking. “I know just the place.”
26
A Prince and a Thief Walk Into a Prison
The sight of the Clock Tower a mere mile before them struck Finn like a fist to the belly. Her fingers tight on the reins, she resisted the urge to turn the still horse beneath her and ride away.
This place was a thief’s nightmare. The Clock Tower was the prison where you entered and only exited as a corpse. To make it worse, they were going to this prison to find Xiomara—a woman with the power to create voids. Finn had certainly never seen a void, nor had she heard of one before the prince had explained the truth of his brother’s death, but she certainly didn’t want to see one any time soon. She swallowed thickly. Her horse whickered, seeming to sense the fear rippling through her.
“Can’t blame you, Gassy,” she mumbled to it.
“Finn.”
Alfie’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. He’d already dismounted while she’d stared at the prison, wide-eyed. He dragged his gaze away from the tower and cocked his head toward the thicket of sugarcane at his side. “We’ll take the horses into the field and hide them there before we head out.”
She nodded at that, her throat dry, and dismounted before tugging her horse into the field behind Alfie’s. The horses whinnied, only quieting when Alfie hummed at them in hushing sounds. When they’d walked deep enough into the field for the prince’s liking, he said, “Doblar.”
At his word, a wide circle of sugarcane bent to the ground, giving them a clear space to leave the horses comfortably hidden, as well as a space for her to set to work transforming him into an elderly dueño. It was a strange request, to say the least. She’d been asked many times to make someone look younger. This was the first time someone had asked her to age them.
After he watered the horses one more time, he stood before Finn and asked her to get started, his stance stiff and uncomfortable as he waited for her to get to work.
“I have to whiten your hair,” Finn said, tilting her chin up to stare at his head. He was so tall that it was inconvenient.
She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t move. “Should I levitate up to your head, then?”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, sheepish. He bent at the waist in an awkward half bow, his forehead hovering just before hers. The swaying sugarcane stalks made the air sound restless, buzzing with energy.
Finn reached up and passed her hands through his hair, the pads of her fingers making paths through his black curls. It was a shame to make them look limp with age when they were so full of life, springing against her palm at the lightest touch. She worked her way from the front to the back, finishing with her thumb brushing the line at the nape of his neck where thick locks met soft skin. He’d been still at first, but as her hands moved, his body had relaxed, almost leaning into her touch. Was he enjoying this? Her hands paused. Was she?
Finn shook that thought away and flexed her fingers before laying her hands on his cheeks. His eyes flickered down then, showing the dark sweep of his lashes. He looked away as if he wasn’t sure of where he was allowed to look at this moment. But then he gave up and his gaze drifted up to claim hers.
“Close your maldito eyes,” Finn snapped.
“I didn’t know if I should or shouldn’t,” he sputtered. “You didn’t tell me which would be helpful—”
“How would having your giant eyes on me be helpful?”
Alfie glared at her and she could feel him biting the inside of his cheek; the sudden dip of movement against her palm was strangely distracting.
“Well?” Finn said.
After a long, angry sigh through his nose, Alfie closed his eyes. It was only when she felt the heat draining from her face that she realized she’d been blushing.
No, not blushing, her mind argued. Flushed. With annoyance. Anger.
Satisfied with that correction, Finn set to work, quickly loosening the skin of his face and molding wrinkles. She lost herself in the practice of transformation, in how much she missed doing this to her own face. Happy with her work, she lowered her hands. “Your face is done.”
Alfie stood upright and rubbed at his lower back; the gesture made him look older still. Finn quickly aged his hands before pulling her small mirror out of her bag and holding it in front of his new face.
“Wow. Increíble.” He pinched and tugged the loosened skin. Finn felt a plume of pride catch in her chest. The prince was well-versed in desk magic, so he must’ve at least heard of spellwork that could change one’s appearance, but none of that ever worked as well as her propio did.
“What is your propio’s limit?”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?”
His eyes still clung to the mirror, so distracted that his words flew past his lips too quick for him to catch them. “Because the way you change people is so flawless that I wonder what you can’t do.”
Thrown off by the compliment, Finn fell silent.
The prince looked at her then, his newly aged face looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Though that’s a bit of a personal question, I understand. You don’t have to answer,” he said. “If you don’t want.”
/> She shrugged at that, smoothing her face into nonchalance. It wasn’t as if the prince could hold the information against her. “When I change myself or someone else, it’s like they’re made out of clay, and I only have so much clay to use. So if you asked me to make you five feet tall, I couldn’t do it. There’s too much clay, you’d come out too wide. Likewise, if a child asked me to make them tall as you, it wouldn’t be possible either. I’d have to stretch them too much, they’d look like a straw, the sculpture would collapse. So I have to work within the limitations of each body I change.”
“Fascinating,” he said, and Finn rolled her eyes. He sounded like he longed to write what she’d said down for further study. Though he always seemed to sound like that.
“Remember,” she said as she put the mirror away. “Like I told Bathtub Boy, my magic will stick to you effortlessly for a few hours, but eventually it’ll be up to you to keep the disguise up. That’s how it works when I change other people. I lay down the framework and—”
“And I power the framework with my magic,” Alfie said. “I understand.”
“If you exhaust yourself, the disguise will crumble. That’s the other restriction. So be careful.”
Alfie nodded, his hands kneading his newly wrinkled face with a sense of wonder tinged with fear.
He clearly missed his own face, and Finn wondered what that would feel like. The feeling of wanting to be the same. Of looking at your own face and not recoiling. When she surfaced from that thought, she found the prince’s eyes roving over her face, his gaze tinged with concern. Though his gold eyes were paired with a new, older face, they still held the quality of seeing exactly what she was thinking, no matter how she hid it.
“What?” she snapped. “What is it?”
He started at her brusque tone before pointing at her nose. “You’ve just got some dirt on your face.”
Finn blinked. Her face warm, she scrubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.
