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  “Duque!” the people shout. “What is the meaning of this? It is a sacred day, Duque Sól Abene.”

  A red-clad soldier steps forward and addresses the masses. He’s in his midtwenties with a brutal scar running diagonally across his face.

  “Pascal,” Castian whispers under his breath. Of course he knows the soldier. These are his men.

  “Everyone will be allowed to return to their homes after the Second Sweep has finished their inspection.”

  Doña Sagrada steps through the throng. Despite her small stature, she clasps her hands together and pleads to the soldier. “Why are you doing this?”

  Pascal barely acknowledges her. “This is an unholy festival. It is against the laws of the Father of Worlds to celebrate heretic saints and false gods.”

  Castian jerks forward, but the priest beats him to it. The sagging skin of his face jostles as he tries to speak. “We have celebrated the Carnaval de Santa Cariña for centuries. We tithe to the Father of Worlds and the crown, for we are good and loyal citizens. Queen Penelope even graced this market with her exalted presence. The Duque of Sól Abene and his family have never missed Carnaval.”

  “That’s right!” someone shouts. Red soldiers move in the direction of the voice.

  “It ends today,” Pascal pronounces. “The justice has decreed all coin made on this heretical feast be tithed to the war effort. Every person old enough to carry a sword will come with me.”

  War. The word sparks through the crowd like fire down a candlewick.

  “Please,” Doña Sagrada begs. Tears race down her round cheeks. “We have sent all our soldiers. Even our youngest children. Have mercy—”

  I am already moving, running to block the soldier as he raises his fist to strike Doña Sagrada into silence. I grab his fist in midair. Shock widens his eyes into black moons, and I know I have made a huge mistake. I can push him further—raise my knee to strike his gut, slam my open fist against his ear to make him lose his balance, hike up my skirt and grab the dagger at my thigh.

  But I don’t.

  I let him shove me to the ground.

  Castian is there at once. “Stand down!”

  Castian’s voice must sound all too familiar because the young soldier hesitates like a reflex. But the prince still looks like Wilmer Otsoa, a musician from a small village, with no power.

  “Who do you think you are?” Pascal spits on Castian’s face. “I’ll have you gutted for treason and obstruction.”

  “Peace,” the priest urges. “He was only protecting his wife.”

  Pascal scrutinizes me. Recognition strikes him all at once. “Remove your gloves. Now. Do it.”

  I clutch my hands against my chest as the crowd gathers around.

  “Do it,” Castian urges so softly that it takes me a second to understand.

  I yank off my white lace gloves. Castian’s familiar magics brush against my skin, cloaking the scars with his illusion.

  Pascal inspects my palms and fingers, turning them back and forth. The skin there is smooth. He squeezes my wrists, and it takes all my strength not to fight back.

  “Arrest them for obstruction of the Second Sweep.”

  There is unrest as the crowd shouts obscenities.

  “Show us the order from the king!” someone clamors.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong!”

  For the first time, the Second Sweep realizes it’s not terrorizing helpless farmers. The people of Acesteña will put up a fight.

  Duque Sól Abene surveys the shifting masses. I see a man torn between doing what the people of his provincia want and what the king has ordered. Then his gaze falls on me. Am I imagining the flicker of recognition? I remind myself that we never spoke in the palace, and he’s only seen me from a distance.

  “This mere girl obstructed you?” Duque Sól Abene asks, arching a brow. “Was she that strong?”

  There’s a round of titters as people spit at the ground and recite long curses. Pascal releases me with a shove. Castian glares at the soldier, but I pull him to me, forcing him to look into my eyes. All I see is remorse. Helplessness.

  Duque Sól Abene puffs out his chest and waves a dismissive hand to Pascal. Then he takes the matron’s hands in his. “My dear Doña Sagrada, I apologize for this disruption. I come with news from Andalucía.” He turns to the crowd. “Hear my words and repeat them to every neighbor and friend. Forgive this uncouth soldier. He does not know the ways of our provincia. But what I have raced here to say to you cannot wait. Not even for Carnaval.”

  The crowd settles, hanging on the edge of his silence.

  “We are fighting rebel insurgents all over Puerto Leones,” the duque continues. “The Moria Whispers still hold our prince hostage! His Majesty has asked me to seek help from my provincia. Many of you have known my family for generations. Believe me, I would not lead you astray.

  “Take this final day to celebrate. Kiss your loved ones, because soon we will be under attack. I require every person who did not get selected for the draft to volunteer. King Fernando has allowed youths starting at thirteen to enlist. It is an honor to serve your kingdom, which needs you, now more than ever. Now return to Carnaval!”

  “My lord—” Pascal starts, but his voice is drowned by the roar of the crowd.

  “Doña Sagrada,” he says, “my company is weary and I require your best table.”

  I lock eyes with the innkeeper. She nods to me and Castian as we retreat into the crowd. There is no time for good-byes. We have to leave Acesteña tonight.

  LEO FOLLOWS US BACK TO THE INN. THE TAVERN IS EMPTY, BUT DOÑA SAGRADA IS only a few paces behind with the lord and his court. Servants hurry to assemble tables and pay us no mind as we race up the stairs. None of us talk until we’re inside with the door locked and the curtains drawn. Castian—Will Otsoa to Leo—busies himself lighting a fire.

  Leo begins to bow, but I pull him into an embrace. He laughs and squeezes me back. I thought I’d never see him again. He smells like a mixture of sweat and the citrus oils he massages through his dark curls.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Leo says. He cups my cheek and brushes away my tears. “I must say I’m rather confused. Don’t tell Prince Castian, but—”

  I clear my throat and wave my hands to stop whatever he’s going to say.

  The fire in the hearth catches, and Castian stands, his eyes bore into mine. “Do you trust him?”

  “With my life.”

  Confusion registers on Leo’s face before morphing into shock as Castian’s illusion falls away and reveals the kidnapped prince of Puerto Leones.

  “Don’t tell Prince Castian what?”

  “Oh. Oh.” Leo staggers back a step. He looks from me to Castian. “I had wondered where—never mind. A hundred thousand apologies, my prince. Now I understand why Lady Nuria told me to find Renata and that she’d lead me to you. I’d seen you both but did not approach at first because you were so—uhh—well disguised. This is unbelievable. This is utterly—”

  “Leo,” I say.

  “This is normal,” he corrects, his voice breaking.

  “You were supposed to be there at noon,” Castian says, starting to pack. “What happened?”

  “The only way for me to leave the palace safely was with Duque Sól Abene’s company. When we were near, I tried to run ahead and warn you, but I was too late.” Leo sits at the dining table, pours himself a glass of ale, and takes in the room. The fire, the fresh flowers in the vase, a few petals still on the floor. The underclothes I didn’t bother to put away this morning.

  “Wait. Nuria is your informant?” I ask Castian, who keeps packing.

  I don’t know why I sound surprised. The Duquesa of Tresoros has aided the Whispers for years. She sent Leo to help me escape the palace. A few days into our journey, when I was uncertain of Castian’s plan, I sent her my own letter asking for help.

  “My gracious lady sends her regrets and wishes she could do more, but her every move is under surveillance.”

>   “And yours isn’t?” Castian changes out of his festival garb.

  “I’ve been Lady Nuria’s spy for the better part of a year, my prince. Did you ever suspect me?”

  “Truly?” Castian says, letting out a frustrated sigh as he pulls on a black tunic and trousers. “No. You’re very good at playing the flirt and the baud. While we’re at it, there is no Prince Castian here. I am Will Otsoa, and this is Marcela Otsoa.”

  “Will and Marcela.” Leo licks his teeth and watches us with unfettered delight. I feel my entire body flush hot. “Your… sister?”

  “His wife,” I mumble, holding up my ring.

  “How delightful,” Leo says, enjoying himself far too much under the circumstances. “After Nuria received both of your requests, and the unpleasant conclave in the king’s chambers, we agreed it was worth the risk to send me here.” He fishes two letters from his vest.

  “What do you mean, ‘both’ of our requests?” Castian asks.

  My friend’s full lips turn into a round exclamation. His green eyes bounce between Castian and me. “Didn’t you each write to Lady Nuria beseeching her help?”

  Castian and I reach for the letters at the same time. Leo swiftly rises and holds them above his head. “I think it safest that these disappear.”

  “Leo—” I shout as the letters go into the flames. He dusts his fingers, smooths out his plain tunic as if he were wearing his usual embroidered doublet, and returns to his seat.

  But Castian won’t let it drop. He reaches into the flames and grabs my letter. The broken wax seal is melted on the parchment and red cinders slowly burn their way up. His face is impossible to read. I can’t be certain what part he’s able to see as the letter turns to ash in his hands, but I remember the words I wrote in a fury after the first time we’d lost Dez’s trail.

  I’m traveling with my most ardent enemy, though I know it is for the good of my people. The lion cub is stubborn, graceless, and I don’t trust him. You’ve done so much for me already, but I need your help to end this quest and be rid of him.

  Castian throws the remnants in the fire. “That’s that.”

  “Castian,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a question for Leo.

  “What did Nuria say?”

  “She couldn’t acquire what you’ve requested. All her ships have been seized for emergency vessels, so she doesn’t have a spare to give to you. The king’s behavior has been erratic. That’s not the worst of it.”

  Castian curses and hits the wall. “Pray tell, what is the worst of it?”

  “Ah, the conclave I mentioned. King Fernando summoned the elite families to his private rooms.” Leo describes the evening surrounded by the elite family representatives of Puerto Leones, drinking wine he believed to be poisoned. I sit beside him and squeeze his hand.

  Castian fastens his belt hard, like he wishes it might be around the king’s throat. “My father loves his games. Tell me, Leonardo. Did you notice anything strange that night?”

  “Other than the blood still drying on your father’s face? Let me think,” Leo says. “Honestly, that whole night feels like a fever dream. Lady Las Rosas was there. Though she didn’t leave with the rest of us. Lady Nuria and I plotted my path to you two, but the only way to hide was in plain sight in Duque Sól Abene’s caravan.”

  “Las Rosas?” I ask, knowing I’ve heard the name before.

  It takes a moment for the memory to dredge up, but then it slams into me. Lord Las Rosas was the man I was supposed to turn into a Hollow for the entertainment of King Fernando’s guests, to show that he had brought the Moria under his command. I pretended my magics were affected by my self-inflicted wounds and bought myself time to investigate the palace and gain Justice Méndez’s trust.

  Castian’s hawk stare falls on Leo. “I didn’t realize Lord Las Rosas’s daughter had returned.”

  “Oh, yes. The king gave her a seat at the table and her family title along with their lands.”

  I take in the confused shock on Castian’s face. “Why is that surprising?”

  “Leyre Las Rosas is the lord’s illegitimate daughter with a Luzouan woman,” Leo explains, never quite losing his dramatic inflection for court gossip. “Most in attendance didn’t know she even existed until that very moment.”

  “Everything my father does has a motive,” Cas interjects. “But even I admit that giving away the Las Rosas estate was a foolish thing to do if he’s building an army. Especially since he needs soldiers.”

  “That’s just it—the reason Lady Nuria sent me.” Leo’s easy humor fades when he looks at me. “The king has urged the elite back to their estates and provincias to spread the word of the prince’s kidnapping and Justice Méndez’s death. Justice Alessandro is marching toward Citadela Crescenti with Lady Nuria.”

  “It’s her provincia,” Cas admits.

  “It’s also where our prince is allegedly being held captive by the Whispers.”

  “The Whispers are across the sea!” I shout. “Any talk of Castian’s abduction is Alessandro’s doing.”

  Leo looks down at his lap and picks at a loose thread. “Actually, they’re not.”

  Anxiety tightens in my stomach. “What?”

  “I couldn’t put this to paper, Lady Ren. The Whispers never boarded the ship to Empirio Luzou. We’ve heard tell they have a new leader and are recruiting heavily—not just Moria but anyone miserable with the king’s taxes and drafts. They mean to fight, and they publicly claim to still have Prince Castian.”

  “Margo is going to get everyone killed,” I say, slamming my fist on the table. I think of the Illusionári in my old Whisper unit. Her fierce blue stare, the rage that powers her to keep fighting. She was the warrior I was supposed to be. I wonder how she would react if she knew that Dez was alive and that he didn’t come back to any of us.

  “What else?” Castian asks, beginning to pace in front of the fire. “Was there anyone who didn’t drink the wine?”

  “Duque Arias,” Leo says.

  Castian freezes, and scoffs. “That giant man-child? I don’t believe it. For what crimes?”

  “He confessed he’d broken into your rooms the night of the festival. I’ve never seen anyone sweat that much in my entire life. Something about a wager he lost and a book? It didn’t seem important.” Leo’s eyes bounce nervously from Castian to me. “It’s important, though, isn’t it?”

  “Arias was always a sore loser.” Castian swears under a heavy breath and retrieves the captain’s log from the inside pocket of his vest. The leather is aged and the parchment yellow, a letter A stamped on the front.

  “What’s so special about a book?” Leo asks.

  “I need your word that what I’m about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone else.”

  “You might have asked for secrecy after you revealed your magics to me, but of course, you have my word as a flirt and a baud,” Leo says in a single breath. “My prince.”

  “It’s not the book but the map it contains,” Castian explains, tucking the item back for safekeeping. “We’ve been searching for a weapon that could turn the tides of Puerto Leones and put a stop to my father’s reign.”

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “It’s called the Knife of Memory,” I say, meeting Castian’s eyes briefly. “For most of my life I believed it was a myth. The stories say its power can do impossible things.”

  “Right now, we need the impossible,” he says.

  Leo nods gravely. “That’s why you needed Lady Nuria’s help to procure a ship.”

  “Now my father knows I’m in possession of this map.”

  “I suppose it’s a good thing the king believes you to be kidnapped?” Leo offers the thought as if it’s a good thing. But deep in my bones I feel something is wrong.

  “Did you bring any good tidings?” Castian demands.

  “Two good tidings, in fact.” Leo grins at the prince’s glower. “There is a woman in the port city of Salinas who owes Lady Nuria a favor, and she’s got n
o love for the crown. They call her the Queen of Little Luzou, and she can get us the travel documents and ship we need. I have here a personal letter of request from Lady Nuria, along with the promise of funds.”

  Between his artful fingers, Leo holds an envelope the color of the deepest red, like the lipstick Nuria favors. He flips it like a playing card and returns it to his vest.

  “What do you mean by ‘we’?” Castian asks.

  Leo stands and gestures to his body as if he’s presenting the star of an opera. “I’m coming with you to Salinas. Or Little Luzou, as the locals prefer to call it. I’ve heard—”

  “No,” the prince says, tugging on his bootlaces. “You’ll slow us down.”

  “Castian and I don’t know what we’re going to face.”

  “I’ve been risking my life for years,” Leo exclaims. “Besides, I speak three languages, can charm my way into the royal vault, and I mean no offense, but you and His Royal Highness don’t exactly have the best intrapersonal skills since you don’t actually like people. Lady Nuria agrees that you two are the best hope for Puerto Leones, but you need help. And a witness in the event you should kill each other.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “I don’t have to. I’ll go to the ends of the known world to help you find this knife if it’ll put an end to King Fernando’s rule.”

  “I can’t protect you,” Castian growls.

  Leo takes a deep breath and is unwavering in his stare. “Let me do this, my prince. If I am not with you, then I will murder the new justice and be jailed, or my role as a spy will be found out and I’ll be jailed. I don’t care about protecting me. I care about helping you and Lady Ren with your quest.”

  “Cas,” I say softly.