He looks me right in the eyes. “The money from the diamond covered two surgeries. We saved as best we could, but I was still an apprentice mechanic and the pay was just enough to cover food and lodging. She didn’t make it to her third birthday.”
Vivienne gasps, and Owen is visibly distressed. Catoria doesn’t seem surprised at all.
As for me, in that moment, as Leon’s eyes burn into mine, I know the truth. He blames the queen. And he will happily watch her world burn.
After we’ve concluded our strategy session and the others have dispersed, I pull Catoria aside in the war room. I take the ancient parchment I believe to be the Heartsong out from its hiding place in the wall and gently spread it out on the table. “We found it.”
Catoria’s eyes widen as she examines the runes. “The Heartsong.” Then she frowns. “Where?”
“Hidden in Anassa’s journal. She must have found it and placed it there for safekeeping. As you can see, it’s damaged. I did manage to darken some of the text temporarily with a spell and copied it here,” I say, pulling out a second, newer sheet of paper. “Aro and I have been studying this, searching for some hint as to what the missing portion contains. It looks like it intermittently uses magic and then weaves in alchemicals. Based on the pattern of the top portion, we think it should be an alchemical rune, but we’re not sure which one.”
“And you were hoping I might know?” Catoria says.
“We were.”
She sits at the table, considering the original and the copy, nodding her head. “Well done preserving this.” She runs a finger over the missing corner. “I will need to examine this more thoroughly. Perhaps Aro can assist? He does have a knack for alchemicals.”
“He’d be delighted, I’m certain of it.”
“Do keep in mind that even if we decipher this, the spell will only work for you and your sister. Any Magi can heal skin and bone, but only those such as yourselves can do this.” She presses her fingers to the old parchment reverently. “Healing the Heartless might finally close the rift between our people.”
My magic aches to begin practicing this spell immediately. “Thank you for your help, Catoria.”
It’s late, and she heads for the makeshift room we assigned her earlier, taking the copy of the spell with her to study.
If we can complete the spell, we could use it to accomplish so much. But I can’t deny that what excites me most about it is what I might be able to do for Aro. I could give him a real heart. And he could leave that terrible contraption behind for good.
With Catoria here, we just might be able to succeed. For the first time in days, there’s a smile on my lips and hope in my heart.
CHAPTER 35
CATORIA HAS BEEN HERE FOR SEVERAL days now and has made herself right at home. She and Aro have been thick as thieves night and day, huddled over an old alchemical textbook.
Aro still isn’t happy with me for refusing to give him a mission topside, but having Catoria here and making some forward progress on the Heartsong has lightened his mood.
Apparently, the spell must be performed by slowly adding certain alchemicals one by one and in a very specific order between casting each section of the spell. Once the last alchemical is added—the one that’s missing—the combination will transform the damaged tissue back into a heart. Or in the case of the Heartless, regrow one.
Last night, Aro told me he believed they were close to determining which alchemical was the correct final one. He and Catoria have been hard at work all morning, while I’ve been sparring with Owen. He was already adept with a staff and sword when we found him, but he’s been getting very good with his namesake, the poleaxe, too. Zandria’s absence has been troubling for us both, and sparring together is giving us a much-needed outlet.
It doesn’t hurt that Owen is funny and nowhere near as self-righteous as Remy, which makes him much more pleasant company.
We’ve been training together for the last hour, in many ways like Zandria and I used to do. I’ve created a makeshift obstacle course similar to what we once had in our secret basement room. We run, leap, tumble, all while casting spells, with the added challenge of evading attacks from the other. By the time Aro appears in the doorway with news, we’re breathless and ragged.
Aro’s excitement shifts almost imperceptibly to a frown before quickly returning to joy. Could he be a little jealous that I’ve been training with Owen?
“We did it,” he says. “We’ve figured out the last alchemical in the Heartsong.”
I step forward and take his hand. “You’re certain?”
“Absolutely. We’ve tested many variations and none produce a restorative effect but this one. It needs the full spell to heal a heart, but Catoria used it to heal an injured rat we caught in the sewers. No other combination could achieve that.”
My heart pounds in my ears. We’ve done it. At last. “Send Vivienne to tell Leon. He knows what to do.”
Aro grins widely and ducks away.
Once we took Leon into our full confidence, we told him about the Heartsong. He was determined to help in any way he could. He’s already identified a few families who’d be willing to have their Heartless children undergo the procedure. He didn’t tell them it’s a spell, but with their children only able to survive another surgery or two, they’re desperate and will try anything.
I only hope Aro and Catoria are right and that we don’t disappoint.
The rewards of success are many and mighty. If we fail, we risk unraveling all the goodwill the new Alchemist Alliance has been building in Palinor.
That evening, Vivienne returns with Leon and a boy of about ten in tow. Vivienne holds his hand and leads him into one of the makeshift bedrooms. When she removes his blindfold, his eyes widen as he glances around curiously.
Aro and Catoria have set up supplies with the correct alchemicals lined up in the order I need to work them into the spell. My hands are suddenly slick. I’m really going to do this. I trust Catoria, but I also know she created the alchemical compound that led to the Heartless. What if she’s wrong again?
“Are you going to fix me?” the boy asks. He has dark hair that’s a little too long and shadows below his eyes. He doesn’t yet have smoky lines snaking up his neck or down his arms, a telltale sign of havani poisoning, which is one less thing I need to worry about fixing.
“Yes,” I say, more confidently than I feel.
“Thank you,” he says. He fidgets, like he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands.
“Can you lay down on the cot and remove your shirt, please?” I say as Catoria joins us. She’s going to cast a sleeping spell on the child while I work the Heartsong.
The boy does as I ask, and within moments, he’s fast asleep. Catoria remains, just in case the spell wears off before I’m finished. Aro is on my other side, ready to hand me alchemicals for each section of the Heartsong.
I should be elated, but instead my chest feels strange and tight. We finally can cast this spell that’s eluded us for weeks. But it isn’t the same without Zandria here. We should be doing this together.
I swallow my heartache down and begin to hum. Over the last few days, I committed the spell to memory. Still, I glance at the paper I’ve copied it onto just to be sure I don’t make a mistake.
We’re testing this on a real live person. Someone who wants, desperately, to live freely. There’s no room for error here.
Magic swells inside my chest at the behest of the spell, spinning down my arms and pooling in my hands. The familiar warmth is energizing. I place my hands over the boy’s chest, muttering the incantation all the while. In some ways, the Heartsong reminds me a little of the Binding rite, only much more complex. I reach the end of the first part of the spell and Aro hands me a dropper containing the first alchemical. One drop of each is all I should need. I keep humming and the magic takes hold of the droplet as it falls onto the boy’s chest. It fizzes and sparks in a way I didn’t expect, and I almost gasp and break the spell. But
I keep my hold on my magic, and now I know what to expect with the next droplet.
The magic helps the alchemical absorb into the skin over the boy’s mechanical heart as I begin the second part of the spell. We continue like this, spell and droplet, fizz and spark, spell and droplet, for nine verses. With every one, the boy remains placid and sleeping, and his skin shifts and moves. His mechanical heart seems to be pushing upward, stretching his skin taut. Then it’s time for the final alchemical. The moment of truth.
I squeeze the dropper, my incantation keeping tight hold of the magic threads that now circle the prone child. This time the spark turns into a blue flame, and I use the last verse to manage it, mold it, shape it into the boy’s chest. Through my magic, I can feel the alchemicals combining, transforming. Regrowing a new heart in place of the mechanical one. Something about the alchemicals woven into the fabric of the spell has heightened my awareness of them and the entire process. I can sense each new artery and piece of flesh, every new drop of blood called forth into being, with a headiness I hardly know how to describe. I don’t stop the incantation for a moment, even though I can tell how much this spell takes out of me.
Then, as the boy’s new flesh-and-blood heart begins to beat, the old mechanical one detaches, no longer needed, and bursts through the skin on his chest. It’s startling how quickly it happens, but Catoria wastes no time in removing the machine and healing the skin over his new, whole heart. Because of the repeated surgeries, most Heartless have had the ribs removed over where the mechanical heart lies for easier access and shorter surgeries. Now, Catoria heals those ribs, regrowing them to protect the new organ the Heartsong has bestowed on him. I finish my spell moments after Catoria completes hers.
A strange panic surges within me, and I place my hand on the boy’s chest. A steady beat—not a mechanical tick—presses back. The boy breathes normally as if nothing at all has happened while he sleeps.
“We did it,” Aro breathes, as if he can hardly believe his eyes.
“Wake him up, Catoria,” I say. She casts a quick handspell that sends the boy jolting upright on the cot.
His hand immediately flies to his chest. For a moment, his eyes are wide and panicked. But when he realizes the lack of the ticktock beat that has haunted him his whole life hasn’t killed him, he relaxes slightly.
“Did it work?” he asks me.
I hold up his mechanical heart and smile. “It did. You’ll never need one of these again.”
He laughs, rubbing his hand on his chest, trying to adjust to not having a machine there.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Sol,” he says.
“Well, Sol, you can rest here for a while, but once we send you home, tell your parents and anyone who asks that the Alchemist Alliance saved you. And we can save the rest of the Heartless too, if they’ll let us.”
Aro grips Sol’s arm. “You were very brave,” he says. “I’m so glad—” His throat closes with emotion for a moment. “I’m so glad.”
When he rises, tears shine in his eyes. I can’t even fathom how he must feel right now. Everything he ever dreamed of accomplishing, and had nearly lost all hope of doing, just happened this night.
We have a cure for the Heartless. A means of saving innocents, righting a hundred-year-old wrong, and ruining Darian’s plans all in one.
CHAPTER 36
WHEN THE MOON IS HIGH AND MY COMPANIONS sleep, I press my lips to Aro’s forehead and slip out of the hideout. In no time, I’m snaking through the alleyways of Palinor.
It’s been ten days since my sister left. I’ve done this every night. Someone has to patrol the city. Someone has to protect it and put the warding spells in place. I don’t know when Isaiah plans to strike, but he won’t keep us waiting long. He’s successfully set Magi against Magi, sister against sister. I never dreamed I’d have to protect others from my own flesh and blood.
Zandria’s betrayal is a sting, lodged deep in my gut. The point is sharp and biting, and I’ll never be able to dig it out. I’m angry Remy joined his father too, but not as surprised. He’s a fool, though I can’t wholly blame him for siding with what’s left of his family. But my sister . . . I’ll never understand how she could do this. She knows better than anyone what’s at stake. Her captivity twisted her reason beyond recognition. Poisoned it with hatred that’s seeped into her core. Isaiah will never accept what she really is. She’ll have to hide it for the rest of her life or suffer the consequences.
She has turned her back on the Alchemist Alliance. She’s turned her back on me.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll abandon my mission. On the contrary, I’m more determined than ever to stop, or at least sabotage, Isaiah’s plans. Vivienne has been hard at work spreading rumors about the miraculous healing of a Heartless child at the hands of the Alchemist Alliance. People are talking. They’re curious and inclined to view us favorably. Soon, we’ll need to take full advantage of that goodwill.
Tonight, I’ll venture into the drainage tunnels and cast another warding spell on the underbelly of this city. Once I hated this place, but now I’m risking everything and defying my own people to protect it.
The night is cool and clear, and under my cloaking spell I can walk as freely as I please. I’ve been patrolling for over an hour when I pass the place where Darian once helped us enter the city through a secret passage. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wall containing that passage move. I choke on my gasp and duck around a corner. A figure I know well emerges onto the street.
Isaiah.
He’s always managed to sneak in and out of the city easily; Darian must’ve showed him the secret entrances years ago.
I mark the direction he takes and wait a few moments to ensure he’s alone. When I’m finally satisfied no one else accompanies him, I hurry after the Magi leader.
He walks at a brisk pace, not bothering to hide himself under a cloaking spell tonight. I’m sure he isn’t here regularly enough for the royals to know his face, but it’s still a bold move. He wanders a path nearly identical to the one he took when I followed him a couple weeks ago. It’s not the nicest part of town, but it is a great place to go incognito. He must be visiting a well-placed Magi masquerading as a courtier or someone rich who doesn’t want to be seen in their normal setting.
The last time I saw Isaiah, I returned to the hideout to inform the others immediately. I made note of the house, of course, but I wasn’t able to ascertain who lives there when I returned later on. In fact, it reminded me quite a lot of the house Darian keeps in the city for pretense, though not as fine.
Whoever they are, they’re involved in Isaiah’s machinations. I need to know exactly what his plans are if I’m going to stop him.
Isaiah approaches the house and pauses by a side door. I’m far enough away that he shouldn’t be able to sense me under my spell like Darian did that awful night in the lower levels of the Palace. Isaiah moves his hands like he’s casting a spell, making my breath hitch.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he does know he’s being followed.
Then he begins to change before my eyes. His body lengthens, growing taller. His hair shortens, and his neatly trimmed beard is replaced by a bare face.
A face that belongs to Darian Azul.
My heart gallops in my chest. My palms have turned ice cold as my brain tries to grasp what I just saw.
The horrible truth seeps into me, slowly at first, then all at once like fire rushing through my veins.
Darian is pretending to be Isaiah.
Or is it the other way around?
Confusion reigns in my head, but my feet begin to move the second he disappears into the house. I must get closer if I want to know the truth.
I creep toward the house. Mech-rosebushes line the side of it, and I duck into the small space between them and the brick exterior, stopping beneath a window. A light glows inside. I keep my cloaking spell in place as I pull myself up by the window ledge to peek into the room. Darian removes hi
s cloak and addresses the people he’s meeting. I can’t see their faces from this vantage point, but as soon as I hear their voices, I drop my hold on the window ledge and crouch beneath it, shuddering.
I don’t need to see them to know who they are. Darian—or Isaiah as Darian—is meeting with King Damon and Queen Cyrene. There is absolutely no mistaking the voices that haunt my worst nightmares.
I must know what they’re talking about. I whisper the incantation that will allow me to hear them better—Ampleo—and try to keep my hands from shaking. I feel exposed without my shield to protect me.
“What news do you bring?” the king asks.
Darian’s voice is unmistakable too. Is there a spell that can alter that?
“We’re in position. We’re ready when you are,” Darian says. “How does the construction fare?”
The queen sighs, clearly frustrated. “Slower than we’d hoped. Apparently, it takes more than we thought to transform one of the storage levels into a prison block. But we can rely on Leon for the suits. He is dependable for good work done well and efficiently. He’ll deliver by the deadline.”
Understanding rocks me. Leon mentioned the other day that the royals had placed a large order for the metal suits. They order small quantities from time to time, but this order stood out. These aren’t just mere stock replacements. They’re constructing a larger prison space.
Because they’re expecting a large influx of prisoners. Magi prisoners.
My pulse skyrockets. This must be Darian and not Isaiah. If it were Isaiah, I’d have expected him to kill the king and queen. The fact that he hasn’t . . . something else is going on. And it isn’t good.
“Glad to hear it,” Darian grunts.
“What about your preparations? Is everything in place?” Queen Cyrene asks.
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