Incendiary (Hollow Crown)

by Zoraida Cordova

  “Forgive her,” Justice Méndez says, stepping forward. Why do I feel a traitorous relief when his gray eyes settle on me? When he’s at my side, I breathe a little easier. “The girl is unrefined in the ways of her superiors.”

  “Rise,” King Fernando says, and I look up in time to see the flourish of his hand.

  Keeping my face emotionless is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. King Fernando inspires a different fear than his son. Where Prince Castian has a patient arrogance and a calm as deceptive as a serpent lying in wait, King Fernando is brusque, his hatred for me—perhaps for all things—radiating like a torch. He doesn’t react to the titters from the court or Méndez’s apology. He simply stares at me with infinitely black eyes. He doesn’t dress extravagantly like Castian. His clothes are black from head to toe like someone in mourning.

  My lips are so dry that they burn, but I bite my tongue to keep from licking them.

  Don’t look away, I tell myself. Let him know you can be useful.

  King Fernando does something curious.

  He gets up from his throne and crosses the distance between us. This close, I can’t stop comparing the king to his son. His only living son. Castian stalks his prisoners like a mountain lion playing with its food. The king watches me as if I’m something to be torn open and later inspected. Where Castian laughed at his victory, Fernando is liberal with scowls of disgust. I physically offend him by standing here. How he tolerates the presence of his Hand, I do not know. This is the same man who allowed Lozar to live until he was caught? I can’t believe it.

  “I’ve found you a new Robári, Your Highness,” Justice Méndez says, keeping his head bowed. “As promised.”

  “If I’m to understand, you did not find anything,” the king says. Even I feel the cold sting of his words. Méndez only remains as he is.

  King Fernando’s a bit shorter than me, but he stands as straight as an elm. I don’t have many memories of him, mine or stolen. I remember seeing him once when he barged into Justice Méndez’s library. He was more muscular then, with ink-black hair and a full beard that made him look older than he was. Now he’s thinner, hair thick and gray as ash with crinkles across his forehead and the angry corners of his mouth. His eyes are the most youthful thing about him. This is the same man who took the throne from his father at seventeen and expanded the borders of Puerto Leones. Who secured himself an ally across the sea and a brand-new kingdom through marriage. His skin is like warm milk, pale against his dark beard and brows.

  “Let me see your hands,” King Fernando commands. A voice that’s used to having orders followed.

  Méndez hurries over with the small key and removes my one glove.

  To my surprise, King Fernando grips my unblemished left palm, confident I won’t suck the memories right out of his flesh.

  Do it. Do it and spare the world more of this.

  “Tell me,” says the king, flipping it palm-side-up like a common market square fortune-teller. “Why did you not escape the rebel bestaes sooner?”

  I flick my eyes to Justice Méndez. He gives me a nod of encouragement because I’m taking a beat too long to answer.

  “I tried, Your Highness.” I don’t let my voice tremble because I’m not lying.

  “You tried for the eight years you were gone?” His voice dripping with skepticism. The court answers with haughty little coughs.

  My mouth is so dry, the corners stick together when I part them to speak. “Every day it became more and more difficult. I lost everything. I lost hope.”

  The best lies are like bends of light. They play tricks on you.

  “Would you like to see the scars they left on me every time I tried to escape?” I reach for the straps at the back of my corset. It is a bluff, but I have to follow through because any pause might be suspect.

  It’s a bluff that the king of Puerto Leones is happy to meet. He raises his hand, and I stop short of pulling on the string. He might be a murderer, a bigot, a tyrant, but the thing he prides himself on is a twisted sense of chivalry.

  “Leonardo?” King Fernando calls the attendant forward, and Leo is beside us in a few of his long steps. His head is bent, eyes toward the floor, so his curls flop over. “You have dressed this creature. What did you observe?”

  I swallow and revisit the memory of this morning. Leo’s tiny gasp when he buttoned me up, and how I stiffened. He didn’t ask how my back came to be a maze of scars, just continued singing his upbeat song.

  “I believe the scars on her back were left there by those who held no love for the girl.”

  I’ve underestimated Leo. Not only is he trusted by Justice Méndez, but his words are truth in the king’s eyes. He couldn’t be the Magpie. I wonder how a stage actor came to be so entrusted in the palace. Leo’s catlike green eyes flick to my hands but betray nothing else.

  On the contrary. He would make the best kind of spy, I think.

  “The Whispers do not trust Robári,” I say, holding my hands in front of me. “Even now they keep us in the ranks only as thieves and scavengers. Among my company I was one of two, though we were separated. The other Robári died five years ago during a raid.”

  It’s a lie, but I want to see his reaction. This seems to bother the king, and I wonder if it’s because he sees a missed opportunity.

  “Constantino,” the king says.

  In my focus on the king I somehow missed the two men hovering quietly behind the throne, like pets at the king’s feet waiting for a treat. They’re young, midtwenties perhaps, and dressed in tailored uniforms. At first glance they could be any of the king’s guard, except these uniforms are a stark black instead of the imperial purple and gold. They each wear a medallion over their breast pocket bearing King Fernando’s family crest—a winged lion of legend with a spear in its jaws and flames roaring around it.

  The shorter of the two steps forward, and I notice the intricate embroidery is actually made of copper. I look to the other and realize his embroidery is silver. These are Moria, a Ventári and a Persuári—what is left of the Hand of Moria.

  While the king has ruled magics illegal, he has always kept his own private collection of Moria, one for each of the four strands of power. After all, what better way to defeat his enemies, fighting fire with fire? What could he do if he controlled all Moria this way?

  I don’t recognize either of them from my time here. Then again, Méndez did his best to keep me isolated from the rest. To keep me safe.

  “You won’t mind if our Ventári verifies your claims?” King Fernando asks, the challenge clear. “My Ventári has caught every traitor among my ranks.”

  Fans flutter and lips whisper and my heart drums like a warning. I extend my left hand. “Of course not, Your Highness.”

  “See,” King Fernando comments into the young man’s ear.

  Constantino isn’t like Lucia. They haven’t removed his magics, but there’s something not right about him—or the other man who stands to the side of the throne like a living statue. I wonder how they came to be here. Were they snatched from their homes like I was? This would have been my fate had I not been saved. Had Dez not saved me.

  I swallow my grief and remind myself why I’m here. I grip the Ventári’s hand before he can grab mine. Esteban taught me how to control my mind when someone tries to skim it. Like all magics, it requires practice, and every Ventári has different strengths. To my relief, Constantino is not as strong as Esteban. I never did learn how to fully close my mind against him. But a weaker Ventári—I can.

  I let Constantino see the day I got the scars on my back. It was a young Moria who dragged me into the thorn reeds in the river and I fell, tangled and thrashing so much I nearly bled out. I allow him to see the fights I’ve had with Margo. Illan shouting at me. The time I had to be put in chains because I was trying to hurt myself. Nameless Moria spitting in my path whenever I walked in the cloisters.

  I let him see the worst.

  He lets go first, breaking the connection so it le
aves me with a dizzying feeling. Leo holds out a hand to steady me.

  Constantino’s face is blank as a new day. His voice is flat when he says, “She tells the truth, Your Highness.”

  King Fernando stares at me in uncertain judgment. Constantino’s youth hasn’t given him the knowledge both the king and I have—that all truths are subject to circumstance. But Fernando does not question his pet mind reader. In the moment he flashes an arrogant smile, I’m hit with how familiar it is. Finally, I can see his wretched son in his features.

  With a booming clap of his hands, he signals his palace guards, and I prepare for them to slap manacles around my hands again. Justice Méndez takes a single step between King Fernando and me, as if shielding me with his body.

  “At last”—the king slaps the justice’s arm in a gesture that sets the court abuzz again—“you’ve brought me a Robári I can use. My set is nearly complete. You’ve done well, my old friend.”

  Beside me, Méndez shuts his eyes and lets go of a sigh, as if he’s been spared from a hangman’s noose. “It is my life’s work to serve you, Your Highness.” He places a hand on my shoulder. Old memories sink claws down my back. Méndez reading to me before bed. Méndez teaching me how to write. I swallow the knot in my throat and stop my body from recoiling.

  Constantino slips away, back to the stage behind the throne.

  “First my son’s victory, and now this.” He snaps his fingers in the air. The two guards who had vanished return. A man in chains is dragged out. People crane their necks to have a better look. “The Father of Worlds has continued to bless this kingdom.”

  The prisoner wears a fine silk blouse and an embroidered doublet covered in muck. I don’t recognize the house sigil on his breast pocket—a briar rose whose stem crosses with a sword. When he looks at me, his face pales with fear.

  Don’t you know what people see when they look at you? Margo shouted at me once when she was angry because Dez chose me instead of her for a mission.

  I shake off the start of that memory the Ventári shook loose. I concentrate on this man because I know what he sees.

  He’s dragged before my feet. Pushed to submission, his lips inches away from the heeled shoes pinching my feet.

  “Put yourself to use, Robári.” The king stands tall and addresses his court. “This man has broken faith with his crown and country. This man has betrayed me.”

  I watch the courtiers react. Fans flap like dragonfly wings.

  “His betrayal was discovered last night on one of his vessels. Instead of casks of aguadulce and the fine wine Lord Las Rosas has built his family name on, there were Moria scum. The vandals who set fire to the village of Esmeraldas and attacked our capital were among them.”

  This isn’t right. He’s putting the blame on Lynx Unit because he has no one else to blame. But I can’t speak out. I focus on Leo. I stare at the seal on his jacket. Looking at this is the only thing keeping me from screaming. It would be too far for Lynx Unit to have made it to the coast in time. But what about Illan and the others? The worst part about King Fernando is that he makes me doubt myself. What if he’s telling the truth? What if Sayida and the others caught up to the ship and snuck on board?

  “The vessel was on its way to Empirio Luzou,” King Fernando says gravely. He towers over Lord Rosas, eyes black as tar. “I can’t think of a better punishment than to have a taste of the Moria power you thought was worth betraying your country for.”

  The nobleman weeps through the gag in his mouth. He shakes his head, and I’d bet my life that if he were free to speak, he’d claim innocence. I know the king is lying, but I don’t feel anything for Lord Las Rosas weeping at my feet. Should I? Nobles like this were the first to turn out the Moria from their homes and lands and onto the streets—their friends, attendants, soldiers, their own sons and sisters and fathers if they were suspected of having magics, even if it was false.

  Justice Méndez places a hand on my back, gently pushing me forward. This is what I was brought here to do, once again. A piece to complete a set. Power only the king is allowed to wield. It is the cost for being at the palace. But I made a promise long ago never to create another Hollow. I will keep that promise.

  “Of course, my justice,” I say breathlessly. I hold my hand out and flex my fingers. My face is practiced discipline.

  Lord Las Rosas tries to move his head back, and I know that I can’t do this. His wheat-gold hair is dark with sweat. I summon my magics, and the light of power moves through the burn marks on my palm. The court watches, a single breath held as I reach for the man’s mind.

  Then I let out a cry and throw myself on my knees in front of Justice Méndez. He grips me by my elbows, careful not to injure my right hand any more than it is. I hate that his grasp on me is gentle, careful. I am like the glass ornaments on my vanity—fragile, delicate, breakable. I cradle my hands to my chest.

  “Renata, what is it?” Justice Méndez asks.

  “What happened?” King Fernando says impatiently.

  I contort my face into a wince and hold my hands out. “My justice, I can’t.”

  I hold them out so he can see the damage once again. I move the lines of light and power and let them flicker. Méndez doesn’t know the tricks I’ve learned without him.

  “She’s broken,” the king spits at Justice Méndez. “What good is a weapon I can’t use?”

  Weapon. The word rings in my ears.

  “She’s hurt,” the justice counters. He is perhaps the only man in the kingdom who can. He wraps an arm around me. “Lozar did this to her when he discovered who she was. She killed him for it.”

  “Lozar,” King Fernando says. After hearing the old Ventári’s story of being on the king’s council, I wonder if he’ll show remorse. But what comes out is anything but. “I thought he’d perished long ago.”

  I bite down on my tongue to stop from spewing obscenities. Instead, I let out a muffled moan.

  “Her hands are the key to her magics,” Justice Méndez says. With both of them crowding me, my mouth fills with both of their scents. My blood races through me and I freeze because if I don’t, I know my body will overtake me and I will run. “She is the only Robári we’ve found since—”

  “I am well aware,” King Fernando cuts him off.

  I wonder who they’re referring to. I wonder what they did to them. I wonder what they will do to me if I cannot get out of here. If I fail. “Forgive me, Your Highness. Leonardo and I will see to her wounds, and she will recuperate quickly.”

  King Fernando walks away toward his throne. Queen Josephine twists her pale blue dress in her hands. She looks like she’s holding her breath as he approaches her. The entire court is. He is the sun in the room, and everyone else is a weed leaning toward him every way he turns. The alman stone is a white shock against his dark clothes. I find myself wanting to reach for it. Though it isn’t pulsing with the light of memories, I wonder if there is something buried inside.

  When the king whirls around, his dark eyes are on me. My heart skips, and a dread I haven’t known in a long time carves its way down my spine.

  “The Sun Festival is coming up,” says King Fernando. “That should be time enough for your hand to heal. The empress of Luzou and her court are attending. It’s time our neighbors south of the Castinian sea understand what they are getting in the middle of.”

  “You have my word, Your Highness.” Justice Méndez and a cluster of other judges bow in acknowledgment of the order.

  The Sun Festival is less than two weeks away. I have twelve days. Twelve days to find the weapon in the palace, and destroy it. After that I get to kill the prince. I cannot be here when the festival arrives.

  I bite down on my teeth to freeze my features into submission. In this moment, I’ve carved my own small victory by fooling them.

  King Fernando takes a breath, and it seems as if the whole room does, too. His dark eyes bore into me, prying me apart.

  “Get Las Rosas out of my sight,” King Fer
nando finally commands with a flick of his many-ringed fingers, and the whole court lets go of their held breath.

  A long moment slithers past while Lord Las Rosas is taken away and back to the dungeons. I wonder if nobles are put somewhere else, a cell with a bed and food because even if they are criminals, they’re still not commoners—or Moria. I wonder if the court can see themselves in this display, that it could be any one of them taken away.

  The two prisoners who form the Hand of Moria stand united in silence. Glassy eyes stare at the wall behind me. I know if I heal and do not complete my mission, I will become one of them. With me in their grasp, the Hand of Moria only needs one more—an Illusionári, almost as rare as myself. I think of Margo’s ferocious eyes, her stubborn determination—just snuffed out. No matter what was between us, I cannot allow even the possibility of that fate.

  “Very well, Renata Convida.” When King Fernando says my name, I feel a great weight press on my chest. He draws a dagger from his hip. It is a small, pretty thing with sapphires encrusted along the hilt. Now, I realize, I know what the dark stain at my feet is from. “Until you can perform your duties as my Robári, will you swear your fealty to my court?”

  I should be relieved that my deception worked and my injury can buy me enough time. But my thigh muscles strain as if rejecting my actions as I lower myself to the cold, marble ground.

  “I swear it,” I say, squeezing my hand so hard I feel a stitch rip and blood trickle.

  “Will you give your life in my name, should the time come, and fight for the survival and traditions of Puerto Leones?”

  “I will.”

  “Her hands can stand no further injury, Your Grace,” Justice Méndez interjects. Challenging the king once again in front of the court can’t be good for him. And yet, I can see the splinter in the king’s eye, the vein that throbs in his neck.

  “You said her hands,” King Fernando replies, words as cold as the dagger he uses to slice a long cut across my chest. I suck in a breath, then bite down on the cold sting. “Break the skin and it will bleed well enough.”