by Maya Motayne
He was free.
But how had it happened?
A groan of pain from Luka pulled Alfie back to the present. The prince bent over Luka and grimaced. His arm had been pulled out of its socket. “I’m sorry, this is going to hurt.” With a sharp twist, he shoved Luka’s shoulder back into place. Luka cried out. “I know, I know. You’re fine now.”
“Speak for yourself! That hurt like hell.”
“You’ll live,” Alfie said. Luka opened his mouth to ask another question, but Alfie knew that now wasn’t the time for explanations. He had dark magic to get rid of. “Wait here. Look after Finn. I have to take care of this first.”
Luka nodded and knelt beside Finn. Alfie rose to his feet to find Xiomara, but she was already standing, moving toward him with a pained hobble. Luka must have woken her up before rushing to Alfie’s aid.
When she stood before him, waiting for his word, Alfie’s throat thickened. He didn’t want to look into this black abyss again unless it was to see his brother step out, alive and well. But life had led him here for different, darker reasons and he could not delay no matter how much his stomach twisted and his eyes stung.
“Can you open the void?” he finally asked, his voice strained.
Xiomara nodded firmly before she took the vanishing cloak off and handed it to Alfie. She raised her hand in a fist, then splayed her fingers open. Before Alfie bloomed an opening into absolute darkness. The very darkness that had swallowed Dez whole.
Alfie held the dragon figurine out; it sat warm in his palm against the sudden chill emanating from the void. His hand shook. He had never been parted from it since Dez had died. He’d squeezed it between his fingers when he missed his brother the most. To place the dragon in the void was to promise to never open it again. To promise to never try to seek Dez in its depths.
To accept that his brother was never coming home.
While drowning in the depths of his grief, part of him had always held out hope that one day he’d wade out. One day he would open this door of darkness and find his brother. Now the grief faced him with its open maw, endless and swift and harsh.
But he could not let there be even the slightest chance of this magic running free once more, even if it snuffed out the light of his greatest wish. His people must come first. In that moment, he promised himself that he would never open this void again.
“Goodbye, Dez.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks and nose. He ran his fingers over the figurine one last time. “I love you. Rest easy.”
With a ragged breath, he dropped the silver dragon into the abyss and it disappeared, careening into the endless dark.
It was finally over.
For a moment there was only Alfie, Xiomara, and the past that stretched its jaws between them. Though Xiomara couldn’t speak, Alfie could see the question in her eyes: What now?
Alfie felt the weight of that silence. This woman, this murderer’s life, sat neatly in his hands; Alfie didn’t know if he could stop himself from closing his fist over it and crushing it.
“I still want to hurt you,” Alfie heard himself say. “I always will.” Xiomara pressed her lips into a quivering line. “But I won’t.” He would never let himself become that monster who’d choked Finn earlier. Ignacio and the black magic had shown him exactly what he would become if he let his hatred for Xiomara consume him. He refused to be darkened by vengeance, even if it meant letting go of the girl who’d taken his brother from him.
Xiomara curled forward, her hands on her knees, a grimace pulling her face taut.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Had opening the void hurt her?
Xiomara shifted her shirt up. A thick shard of stone jutted from her lower belly, the blood soaking her trousers. He hadn’t been able to see the blood against the dark brown color of her prisoner’s uniform.
“You’re hurt,” Alfie said, taking another step forward to heal her, but Xiomara held a hand up to stop him. She shook her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alfie said. “You’ll die if I don’t heal you.”
She looked at him with eyes that said, I know.
And Alfie knew what she was thinking. She was the only one who could open this void. So long as she lived, there would be a danger of this magic coming back. Someone could force Xiomara to open it, or maybe she would open it herself, accidentally or otherwise. The only way to truly stop this magic from ever returning was for her to die.
After months of wishing she were dead, Alfie couldn’t find any pleasure in this moment.
“There are other ways,” he said weakly, not able to stop himself. “You don’t have to.”
But Xiomara shook her head again, silencing him. She shakily knelt down, a hand pressed to her sopping wound. Using her blood as ink, she wrote a message on the ballroom floor.
I want to make things right.
Alfie’s heart ached. He closed the space between them and helped her stand. She winced, gripping his arm.
“All right,” he said, his throat burning. “If that’s what you want.”
Alfie didn’t want to watch her bleed out. She didn’t deserve that slow agony. No one did. Alfie pulled a ribbon of water from the air and shaped it into a thick, sharp dagger. She seemed to understand and took it from his hand.
Xiomara moved before the void, the dagger poised at her chest. She closed her eyes.
“Xiomara,” Alfie found himself saying. She looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise at the sound of her name. “Gracias.”
She gave him a nod before closing her eyes once more. For a moment, she stood still, her throat working as tears rolled down her cheeks. She pushed the dagger into her chest and without a sound, the silent prisoner of the Clock Tower staggered backward and fell into the void she’d opened. It closed behind her, never to be summoned by her hand again.
Alfie didn’t know if letting Xiomara die was the right thing to do. He didn’t know if he should feel angry or elated. He doubted he ever would, but there was no time to twist and writhe under the gravity of it all. There was still one more person to save. Alfie dashed back to where Finn lay on the ground. Luka scooted away to give him room to work, his face grave.
“I’ve been trying,” Luka said hopelessly. “She’s not responding.”
Alfie laid his hand on Finn’s chest and ran his magic through her. Sombra’s magic had battered her. Her pulse was slow, her shadow a sliver of gray curled at her feet. He might lose her. Even Luka had the good sense to stay quiet and let him work.
Alfie leaned forward and healed a pair of bruised ribs. Had the magic violently flying out of her done this? She’d been healing naturally when they were fighting, but now he could see bruises blooming on her skin. The black magic had left her to fend for herself.
He touched her forehead. It was burning with fever. He laid his hands on her stomach and poured his magic into the wounds that peppered her midsection, then her face and arms. Every wound he found he healed or tried to. Then he remembered the healing draught he’d saved for her.
Alfie hurriedly pulled the vial out of the pouch in his pocket, unstoppered it, and slowly poured it into her mouth. He tilted her head and gently rubbed her throat, hoping she would swallow it.
He’d done what he could. Now all they could do was wait.
“Will she be all right?” Luka asked, his voice quiet.
“I don’t know,” Alfie said. But if anyone could survive this, it would be her.
As if in answer to his worries, Finn gave a groggy groan. She opened her eyes slowly. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.
“Prince,” she said.
At the sound of her voice, something within him healed so quickly that it felt exactly like breaking.
“Thief,” he said, his voice hushed.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching. “Did you—is it—”
“It’s gone, in the void,” he assured her. Her body relaxed, but she still stared at him, questions brewing between her ears. All at once the
answer came to Alfie’s mind. Of course Luka was safe and strangely powerful. Before Alfie had released it, Sombra’s magic had agreed to make Luka strong and not to harm him. How could he not have seen it before? “When I released the magic, I made it promise to never hurt Luka. When you did, the deal was broken.”
Finn nodded, looking characteristically unfazed. “I figured as much.”
Alfie stared at her, amused. Nothing shocked her. She pressed her palms to the ground and, with a grunt of pain, forced herself up slowly so that she was sitting with her legs stretched out before her. Alfie had to stop himself from helping her up.
“Before the magic took me over, I saw Bathtub Boy next to you, and he didn’t have a maldito scratch on him. I remembered what you said, about making the magic promise to never hurt him. Hurting him seemed like a good bet. So I gave his arm a twist for good measure.” She shot Luka a glance, her eyes darting to his arm. “Sorry about that.”
Luka waved the hand dismissively. “None taken. Worse ways to die, but no better way to live if you ask me.”
Finn’s lips slanted into her crooked grin.
“You were amazing,” Alfie said to her. “Really.”
For a long moment they only looked at each other. Their faces were peppered with grime and wounds from battle, but they smiled all the same.
Then Luka gave a high-pitched, “Ah-hem!”
“You were good too, Luka,” Alfie said.
“I was, wasn’t I?” Luka said with a sage nod, as if he were perched on a throne instead of sitting on the rubble-littered ground.
Then Alfie couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and Luka joined in.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Finn said with a grin, her voice tight with pain. “It hurts when I laugh.”
For years, Alfie would wonder how they’d found the energy to laugh after all they’d been through. But later he’d come to realize that they’d laughed simply because there was time.
After days of death and rebirth, of shadow and light, of fear and courage, there was finally time to laugh.
38
The Thief, the Prince, and the End
If days ago someone had asked Alfie how he would feel about saying goodbye to Finn, he imagined he would have a myriad of answers.
All those answers would share the common thread of relief. Of a burden unloaded, a headache massaged away.
The last thing he’d expected was an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat.
He was so at a loss that he’d brought Luka with him to the port to say goodbye, if only to do what Luka did best—lighten the mood. Though he stood straight as they waited for her, Alfie knew he was leaning on Luka like a crutch.
After the disastrous Equinox Ball, Finn had rested in the palace for five days. She’d slept through two of them while Alfie sat at her bedside, pretending to read a book when he could only stare at the same sentence over and over again. He left her side only to speak to his parents, who’d thankfully survived the night, though many others had not.
When she’d finally awoken, her shadow darkening to a healthy shade, Paloma had insisted on meeting with Alfie and her to discuss what had happened, from the very beginning.
After Alfie explained everything up to their meeting at the cambió game, Finn took over, describing the circumstances that led her to the palace and all that came afterward. Paloma watched her silently while she spoke. Alfie nodded along, filling in his own details.
When their story was finally over, Alfie expected a harsh reprimand for his recklessness when it came to releasing the magic and Finn’s crime of breaking into the palace. But instead, Paloma did something she seldom did.
She smiled.
It was an almost imperceptible upturn of the lips that Alfie had seen only a handful of times. How was now the time for smiling? They’d just told her the whole story of releasing a black magic that had ravaged their kingdom. Yet there she sat, smiling.
“What?” Finn finally asked, looking as unnerved as Alfie. “What’s that grin about?”
Alfie’s eyebrows rose. He’d never heard anyone talk to Paloma that way. But the dueña only looked amused.
“You asked the black magic to enter your body. Why?”
Her brow furrowed. She crossed her arms defensively. “I don’t know. It seemed like the right idea at the time.” She drummed her fingers against her forearms. “To buy more time. To—”
“To protect Alfie,” Paloma said. When she fell silent, the dueña inclined her head as if daring Finn to disagree.
Alfie watched a flush spread up Finn’s neck and cheeks. She turned her head to look out the window. Alfie decided he ought to look down at his lap.
“You invited darkness into your heart, not once but twice. A dangerously foolish decision.” Finn leveled the dueña with a sharp glare, likely coming up with a retort to blast Paloma out of her seat. “The magic was dark, but your intentions, they came from a place of light. Pure and true. Even though you invited it in, it could not influence you and take your shadow as it would someone who sought greed or vengeance or hate. Your body could not be burned as others were. You were protected by the light of your intentions, and your intentions, I would say, were quite different from hate.”
Silence cut through the room like a blade. Alfie rubbed the back of his neck.
“And you, Prince Alfehr,” Paloma said, her voice stern. Alfie straightened in his seat. “You made a selfish, thoughtless choice. You thought of yourself before your people when you chose to release that magic to save Luka.”
Alfie hung his head in shame.
“But,” Paloma said. Alfie felt hope catch in his chest. “At the very least, you learned. You did not want to hurt your friend to stop the magic, but instead of letting your own desires rule you as you did when it came to Luka, you were willing to take her life for the good of your kingdom. It was only sheer, dumb luck that Luka’s interruption saved you from having to kill this girl. But I am certain that you would have made that sacrifice for your people. That leads me to believe that with time, you may become the king we need you to be.”
Alfie felt a weight slide off his shoulders, if only for a moment. He would feel guilty for what he’d done for the rest of his days, but for a moment he would give himself a break.
Paloma rose from her seat. “I should think that is sufficient for today. Prince Alfehr, you and I will speak more of this later. For now, your and Señorita Finn’s time would be better spent resting and recuperating.”
“Yes, thank you, Paloma,” Alfie said, bowing his head in respect.
“And it’s Finn,” the thief said from the bed, picking at her fingernails. “Drop the ‘señorita.’”
Paloma chuckled at that, and Alfie had to stop himself from gawking at the dueña. He hadn’t heard her laugh like that in some time. Without another word, she walked out of the room and left the prince and the thief to themselves.
Alfie wrung his hands in his lap for a long moment before finally looking up at Finn. She was picking at her blankets as if she wanted to find loose threads. Or make some.
“Do you . . . ,” Alfie began, but his voice came out too soft, betraying something within him that he was not yet ready to face. He cleared his throat. “Do you need anything? The cook should have lunch ready. Or I could get you more pillows.”
She held up a silencing hand and motioned at the cushions surrounding her. “Prince, I have enough pillows here to build a palace of my own. I’m fine.”
“Very well,” Alfie said, relenting. Another silence stretched between them. “Do you want me to leave?”
She sucked her teeth. “Did I say I wanted you to leave?”
Alfie’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t say you wanted me to stay either.”
“You’re a grown man, I don’t have to tell you where to be.”
“Right,” he said, his voice strained. Why did she have to be so difficult? “Then I’ll just go.”
One foot was out the door when he heard her voice again.
“Wait.” Alfie watched her tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “You mentioned lunch. Are you hungry?”
He wasn’t. “Yes.”
She turned to the window, looking away from him. “You could get food and bring it here.”
Alfie smiled at the back of her head. “All right.”
“If you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Alfie nodded, forgetting that she wasn’t looking at him. She shifted uncomfortably in the silence.
“Very well,” he said. He watched her shoulders relax. “I’ll be back, then.”
“Prince,” she called again just as his hand closed around the doorknob.
“Yes?” He looked at her over his shoulder. Her eyes found his, searching for an answer she had not yet asked for.
“Did you magic the door and windows to keep me from escaping?”
Alfie shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “No.”
He watched the corners of her lips tug up before walking out the door, his heart light in his chest.
They’d spent nearly a week that way. On most days, he’d ended up falling asleep in a chair at her bedside when they’d both gotten too tired to speak. Once or twice he’d woken to Luka poking him and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. She’d even drawn a sketch of the horned tattoo he’d seen at the prison so that he would have a picture to reference. He would become king, he’d accepted that, but that did not mean he would give up on finding out the truth behind Dez’s death.
On the fifth morning, after a breakfast of eggs, avocado wedges sprinkled with sea salt, thick-cut slices of fried salami, and mangú, Finn drummed her fingers on her empty plate before admitting, “I stole something else when I was here to thieve the cloak.”
Alfie snorted. “Obviously.”
“I mean something besides pesos.” She fished something small out of her pocket. In her palm sat the fox figurine that Dez had carved. Alfie’s heart clenched at the sight of it. He remembered asking Dez why he’d carved a fox. Especially since foxes tended to be mischievous characters in the fables and myths they’d been raised on.
