Illusionary Page 10

  “You’re injured, and you’ll make it worse,” he says, his face too close to mine. I hold on around his neck and contemplate choking him for being so frustratingly rational.

  “I know that,” I relent. “I don’t like feeling helpless.”

  Leo glances back, holding the lanterns in front of him. “You don’t like help either, Lady Ren.”

  Though he doesn’t make a sound, I feel the vibration of Castian’s laugh.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  I watch the outline of his face, a silhouette haloed by moonlight. “You don’t have to thank me for saving you, Nati.”

  When we get back to our camp, I slink out of Castian’s arms. The packs are overturned, the firepit half built. They must have dropped everything to find me. I can’t describe what that makes me feel, so I busy my hands. I clean my wound, use a bit of cooling salve, and wrap a clean strip of cloth around my foot while Leo finishes building a fire, and Castian goes to check his traps.

  He returns with a brown rabbit and begins butchering it on a slab of stone. “That boy. You knew him?”

  I nod. “Esteban. He was from my old unit.”

  “That makes two members of your old unit you’ve encountered lately,” Leo says. He fans the budding cinders until they catch. “The girl in the tavern and now this.”

  Three. Dez would make three, even if he just left a note.

  “We should be prepared, if we see them in the citadela,” Castian warns. He wipes the back of his hand on his cheek. “They could be recruiting. Or perhaps they’re going to try to forge an alliance with the Queen of Little Luzou.”

  “No,” I say, hurt catching in my throat. “The Whispers seem to be after Robári. They were going to take me.”

  Castian looks up from the bloody rabbit in his hands. “I won’t let that happen. We won’t let that happen.”

  “They’re recruiting magicless Leonesse,” I say, my mind turning to memories of when I was a child at the palace. “They’re snatching up Robári the same way the justice did nearly a decade ago.”

  Castian snaps a branch in half and whittles the bark clean off with a few jerks of his blade. “I’ve been thinking about this since Leo arrived. Because of my stepmother, the king has the Dauphinique fleet at his disposal. He’s drafting from every corner of Puerto Leones. He’s urging the elite families of the kingdom to gather their forces. How many Whispers would you say were left, Nati?”

  “Forty,” I estimate. “Perhaps fifty.”

  Leo feeds small branches into the fire. “Why go through all the trouble of amassing such forces against an army of rebels that’s woefully outnumbered?”

  “Precisely,” Cas muses. “Something you said hasn’t been sitting right with me, Leo. My father has never done anything altruistically. He has to see a return.”

  Leo’s face scrunches up with thought. “Do you mean the matter of Lady Las Rosas?”

  “Aye. My father could have sent Leyre Las Rosas back to Luzou and seized her father’s land. He chose to offer this bastard daughter property and soldiers he could otherwise command. Why?”

  “Do you know her?” I ask.

  Castian shrugs and places the rabbit on the spit. “I remember her from one of our diplomatic voyages to Empirio Luzou. I was twelve, just finished my first year of military training. My father was furious at me because I was sick the entire voyage and I embarrassed him. I hid most of the time, but I remember Lord Las Rosas asking my father whether he could recognize Leyre and have her reared in Puerto Leones.”

  “And?”

  “My father said no.” Castian watches the animal fat drip and hiss into the flames.

  “Could he be trying to make an alliance with the empress of Luzou?” I ask. “If Leyre has a title, she could be an ambassador between the two kingdoms. Though I can’t believe the empress of Luzou would ever consider allying with him. She’s challenged the king’s war against the Moria.”

  “Whatever game my father is playing, I’m going to ruin him before he’s finished. The Knife of Memory will wipe him from existence, and he’ll never taint the world again.”

  That night, when the fire crackles and the sounds of the mountain howl, I can’t sleep. Castian keeps watch, using his illusion as cover. Curled on my side, I shut my eyes, but my mind is a dance of memories. Slowly, one slips forward, unfurling like the shadow of wings:

  Castian is a boy in the palace gardens. He’s singing for me while I lie in the grass. He says the song is about his mother. Méndez calls my name and Castian runs while I pretend that I got lost in the hedges.

  I push the memory away, lovely as it is, because it softens my heart. I can’t afford that. I may not be a Whisper anymore, but I am still a rebel and I have a queen to meet.

  DESPITE YESTERDAY’S TROUBLES, THE THREE OF US SNAKE OUR WAY DOWN THE mountain, climbing over swells of rock, dry brush, and pale white flowers with black centers. Ocean moisture thickens the air as we reach the bottom.

  We stop and use the last of our water reserves to wash the mountain dust from our faces, and change into more presentable clothes. Leo winces and slaps the side of his neck before pulling on a green tunic that brings out the jade of his eyes. I catch sight of his deceased husband’s gold wedding band resting over his heart before he tugs on the laces to reveal just enough of his chest. He grunts, then slaps the top of his hand. “I forgot about the mosquitoes.”

  Sitting atop a boulder, Castian keeps an eye on the main road. He glances back, a sly grin on his face. “Clearly they have not forgotten you.”

  “It’s a terrible thing I’m so delicious.” Leo feigns humility. “Clearly, you have nothing to worry about, my prince.”

  Castian smirks. “Thank you for bearing that burden for both of us.”

  It’s strange to see them this way, trading playful barbs like they’re longtime friends. I’m not entirely sure whether I’m jealous because Leo is my friend, not his, or because Castian and I can never truly have that kind of relationship. Honestly, why limit myself? I can be jealous of both things, I suppose.

  Leo helps me with the hook closures of my blue Carnaval dress and braids half my hair. When I glance up, Castian quickly turns his face back to the road. He doesn’t need to change out of his black tunic and breeches because he’ll be under an illusion.

  “Why is she called the Queen of Little Luzou?” I ask.

  “The true name of this citadela and port is Salinas,” Leo explains, jabbing a hairpin across my scalp. He used to do this every day while he was my attendant, and it might be the only thing I miss. “But to the locals, this is Little Luzou.”

  I scoff. “I can’t imagine King Fernando would allow even one of the elite families to carry on with such a title.”

  “Ah, but the Queen of Little Luzou isn’t from any of the elite families of Puerto Leones,” Leo says.

  “Oh, I assumed with her connection to Lady Nuria that she might have been.”

  “After years of plague, so much of the Leonesse population was decimated,” Castian says, leaping from his perch to retrieve his pack. “But it was worse in the port citadelas and the larger villages. Salinas used to be second only to Riomar in trade. With half of Salinas on death barges, the only person left to run the city was a decrepit priest, and the citadela was desperate. My father granted authority to the last remaining official, an ambassador from Empirio Luzou. She brought in workers from the empire, so many that travelers and locals began calling the citadela Little Luzou. The ambassador was its queen. But when fighting with the Moria resumed, and Luzou’s leaders publicly criticized my father, he tried to expel all Luzouan-born people.”

  “That’s what he did to the Moria,” I say.

  “The Queen refused to leave,” Castian continues. “She kept the city running, and as a test, she called off her soldiers and anyone loyal to her. Pirates ravaged the port for months before my father allowed her to stay.”

  “But wouldn’t she be ancient by now? I know the Luzouan claim to have miracl
e waters that let them live for ninety years, but this is still Puerto Leones.”

  “Ah, but like all monarchies, the title has been passed down,” Leo says. “I believe it is her daughter who has been elected by the citadela to take up her mother’s mantle.”

  “Can they do that?” I ask.

  “My father does not need an insurrection from one of his highest-taxed and most profitable ports. As long as the alliance is convenient to him, of course.”

  Leo retrieves Nuria’s red envelope from his pocket and offers it to me. I reach for the thick parchment, and a pinprick of pain shoots through the back of my eye. A fisherman carries a metal cage full of crabs down this road.

  I inhale a sharp breath, but when I open my eyes, Leo and Castian haven’t noticed my brief occurrence. The prince is working on his own magics.

  When Castian creates an illusion, it is like watching a tapestry be woven right before my eyes. Illusionári magics appear instantly, but when you look closely, truly look, you spot the iridescent threads that make the whole. His hair darkens to stark umber ringlets, and his irises become two rough-cut emeralds. His mouth, however, remains the same shape buried around a black beard decorated in gold string as in the ancient days of Zaharina. With Leo beside him they could easily be brothers.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Leo asks.

  “May I introduce Álvaro Talamanca, the emissary of Duque Albajada.” Castian folds himself into a bow.

  “Why can’t you be Wilmer Otsoa?”

  “Because she’ll appreciate someone with a title. Trust me.”

  “The Queen of Little Luzou is said to be a fierce woman with a reputation that would even make the Matahermano sweat. My apologies if I wasn’t clear when I first arrived—Lady Nuria was answering Ren’s letter, not yours, Prince Castian. Ren should be the one to make the request.”

  “I have spent my life at court,” Castian counters. His royal ass is showing. “I have been at countless diplomacy—”

  “But we aren’t at court,” I say. “We’re fugitives.”

  “I can do this, Ren,” Castian says, leveling his strange new eyes with mine.

  Nerves twist at the pit of my stomach, and a dull pulse spreads to my temples. What if I stand in front of this woman and freeze because of an occurrence? What if my skull decides to split open with memories as we’re making a deal? If I tell Cas and Leo my worries, they’ll ask about my state every hundred feet. For now, Castian has to be the one to do this.

  I slap the letter against his chest. “Let’s hope your illusion extends to your charm. You’re not as handsome in these frocks.”

  I realize the mistake I’ve made before the words finish leaving my mouth.

  His mouth quirks playfully, his body languid in a way it hasn’t been since that night at the palace. “You think I’m handsome?”

  Leo, who simply cannot contain himself, bursts into laughter. Grasping at the last bits of my pride, I hurry ahead of them and down the dusty road leading to Little Luzou.

  The road into the city is crowded with wagons and foot traffic and leads to a set of steps that empty out on the highest point of the citadela. Down below are the narrow streets that this part of the kingdom is famous for, paths that create a layered maze right through the white cliffside. A single road for horses and carriages zigzags from one side of the city to the other, but we take the first of thousands of steps leading to the piers. Each building we pass displays brightly colored shutters and doors. Flags of Puerto Leones fly along the water and from the glint of a mansion where the Queen of Little Luzou lives.

  But the truly breathtaking part of this southernmost point of Puerto Leones is the port itself and beyond. The sea glistens in the sun. There’s a haze along the horizon. Salty wind makes the anchored ships bob, sails and ropes moving just so.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much color,” I say.

  “Everyone paints their door on the new year,” Castian says. “Each color represents what the house wants to attract—health, money, love.”

  “Why stop at one?” Leo says, pulling his scarf over his face to shield his eyes.

  I begin to laugh, but my breath is kicked from my lungs. Pain sears the inside of my skull as I stop halfway down the steps and I feel my whole being recede.

  Where am I? My family is walking ahead of me. My husband takes my hand. “Lovely day for a wedding, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I find myself saying.

  “It is what?” Castian asks ahead of me. Then he’s doubling back, racing up the steps to stop me from falling. I’m forced out of the occurrence with a shudder.

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “The sun made me feel faint.”

  “Nati, but—”

  “I said I’m fine, Ambassador.” I lower my voice to a hiss. “Don’t call me that.”

  I shove past him and descend. My heart races the whole way but I force myself to focus. I can beat this. I can do this.

  The closer we get to the piers, the busier everything becomes. Women dressed in fine silks cut to the latest styles stroll in heels under lace parasols. Farmhands in loose, dirty tunics lead mules pulling wagons of sugarcane. There are people from all over the kingdom here, and the three of us don’t stick out any more than we would elsewhere. At the bottom of the steps a commotion seems to have formed around a few vendor stalls. Castian and Leo catch up to me, and we move with the crowd to the center of the market. Local guards in brown leather hang back, and all eyes are focused on the three people at the center of the crowd. I’ve seen something like this before in villages with more archaic ways.

  This is a trial.

  The woman who seems to be doling out the justice is petite, with black hair twisted in an elegant braid. She has light brown skin and high cheekbones accentuated by the severe pout of her ruby mouth. She wears a ruffled silk blouse in deep sea blue and fitted trousers. There’s a blade strapped at her hip, but it looks too intricately decorated to be anything but ceremonial. Her wide eyes are rimmed with kohl, accentuating the elegant tilt at each corner. She wears rouge like a Dauphinique woman and a string of braided gold around her neck like the people in the empress of Luzou’s court. I have no doubt that this is the infamous Queen of Little Luzou.

  “Do you deny it?” she asks a young man in front of her.

  His hair is shorn across the scalp like a recent soldier, or someone who has lice. He drops on his knees, his hands on the cobblestones. When his face crumples with tears, I think he looks so very young. A thief most likely.

  “The guards aren’t intervening?” I whisper to Castian.

  Castian lowers his mouth to my ear. “They seem to have different rules here after all.”

  “I asked, do you deny it?” Her strong voice rises over the onlookers’ chatter.

  “No, I do not,” the boy cries.

  He looks up at the third person in this trial: a butcher wearing an apron smeared with blood. There, a scar, like a sickle on her cheek. Her face is mean, and her hands are calloused. For a moment, I wonder if that is what people say when they look at me.

  “Three weeks now,” the butcher says in the coarse coastal accent of the southern provincias. “Started small with giblets and pig’s feet. Hunger has been a friend to us all, so I let it slide. But then he got bolder. A chicken here, a rabbit there. Then he made off with a lovely roast that was scheduled for Señor Alonzo. I’ll lose their business.”

  The Queen holds her hand up, and the butcher goes silent. I find I’m holding my breath right along with everyone else, waiting to see what the woman will proclaim.

  “You know the punishment for thieves,” she says. “How convenient that you already have a cleaver.”

  The sharp intake of breath drains the blood from the accused thief’s face. Tears stream down his face. He prostrates himself on the cobblestones.

  “Please, I beg you. Our village has been raided three times in the last month and twice more before that. There’s nothing to give, nothing! I was the only o
ne of my brothers who wasn’t drafted because of my bad leg.”

  The Queen’s razor-sharp gaze falls on me, and then Castian, and I feel my stomach tighten. Can she see through him, or does she recognize us as strangers? Perhaps this is what she does to intimidate. King Fernando has a similar way about him. He says more with his silence than with any cutting word.

  “I leave it up to you, Romia. Take his hand”—the boy sobs once again—“or allow him to work off everything he’s stolen. After that do with him as you see fit. But as your last apprentice ran off with a sailor not three nights ago, I know you are shorthanded.”

  The butcher’s face only gets tighter, the hard lines of someone who has worked hard every day of her life. She looks at the boy, then at the woman mediating their dispute. The butcher picks up the cleaver in her meaty hand, and I picture her chasing the boy with it. She turns to the boy, bent over like that, and I can count the bones jutting through his tunic. She relents, and her hard exterior softens.

  “I accept those terms,” the butcher says, and the crowd expels a relieved sigh. There’s even a cheer and laughter from some of the younger kids who’d wanted to see some violence. “It won’t be pretty work, you hear that?”

  The boy gets up, a smile splitting his face into weeping joy. He nods frantically. They both thank the Queen of Little Luzou and set off into the city’s stone maze.

  “What are you standing around here for?” the woman snaps. “Don’t you have wares to sell?”

  Everyone scatters.

  “Come on,” I say, tugging the sleeves of my companions. “It’s her.”

  We cross the market and approach the Queen of Little Luzou.

  But before we get close, brown-clad guards surround us, with spears at our throats.

  The Queen’s mansion is a five-story building toward the end of the pier, built as if it was meant to watch over the citadela. With a spear at my back, I march at a steady pace with the others, stealing a single glance back. After what we witnessed in the square, the Queen must be just. Still, those were her people, and we are strangers who dared approach her in public. It wasn’t the introduction I was hoping for, but at the very least, we have her attention.