Illusionary Page 7

  I can practically feel the inner workings of the prince’s mind. Assessing the risk of a third person in our party. Of trusting someone new at a time like this. But now that I think on it, I want Leo with us.

  “Very well,” Castian relents, and extends his hand. They shake their alliance. “We’ll tell you everything on the road. We should leave now, as we have nearly seventy-five miles to cover from here to Citadela Salinas.”

  While Castian maps our route, I change out of my dress and into black travel clothes, tuck a knife inside my boot, and drape a scarf around my neck. Castian arranges a gold necklace with a gleaming diamond beside the flower vase and says, “For Doña Sagrada’s troubles.”

  Leo pulls back a curtain and watches the revelry outside. “People are dropping like drunk flies at court. I don’t see the Second Sweep’s horses, but I heard them say they’d be blocking the main road between tollhouses.”

  “Good thing we’re taking the woods,” Castian says, and pulls on his illusion of Wilmer Otsoa.

  “Are we all getting a disguise?” Leo asks.

  “It’s too dangerous,” I say. “If we get separated, our illusion wouldn’t hold and my magics would be found out.”

  Silently, we file onto the balcony. The grounds of the inn are nearly empty, save for an old man asleep in front of the dying firepit. I climb over the railing first and slide down the shingles on the roof, grateful I’m wearing gloves to avoid splinters. I toss my pack into some shrubbery and launch myself down. The shock of the landing travels up my hip. While I wait for the others, I steal two oil lamps from the courtyard.

  “This way,” Castian whispers.

  Shouts and off-key ballads come from the village square. Drunk stragglers stumble their way home. A carriage of fortune-tellers and performers begins a journey south. We keep our heads covered with sheer scarves, silvery moonlight illuminating our path.

  As we pass the stables, a figure stumbles out and collides with Leo. It happens so fast that I can’t stop the man from grabbing Leo’s arm.

  “Pardon me,” the stranger says, holding his oil lamp high. “Leonardo?”

  I freeze when I hear his voice. It’s the Duque Sól Abene, having just relieved himself on the shadowy side of a stable. The front of his breeches is still open, and his shirt stinks of ale. Leo tries to pull out of his grasp, but the duque is strong, even in his inebriated state. I hear Castian mutter in the dark behind me. Barely out of town and we’re already getting caught. Even if Castian used all his strength to cloak us, it would reveal him as an Illusionári.

  Duque Sól Abene moves the light to my face and gasps. “Wait a moment—I know you.”

  Castian grabs the duque and slams him against the stable wall, trapping him with an arm against his throat. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Do you know who I am? I am the lord of this provincia, and that girl is very valuable to me!”

  The horses begin to wake. If we scare them further, we’ll draw unwanted attention.

  “I have to take his memory,” I say, panicked.

  The duque spits in Castian’s face, then turns as far as he can to Leo. “Boy, don’t be a fool. The king will gut you for treason himself—”

  Castian clamps a gloved hand over Duque Sól Abene’s nose and mouth. “Get me rope.”

  Leo runs into the stable.

  We can’t kidnap him. He’d struggle at every turn. There is only one thing I can do. I bite the tip of my glove and tug it free. The whorls of my magics illuminate the dark. Pain fractures my line of sight, and pressure builds at my temples. Soft white light races across my skin, burning, ready to search for a memory.

  I squeeze Castian’s shoulder. “Stand aside.”

  “You can’t.” Castian shakes his head. Do I imagine the worry in his eyes? “You know you can’t.”

  “You know I have to.”

  The lord bites the prince’s finger. Castian hisses and removes one hand long enough for the duque to shout, “I’m going to kill you myself!”

  Leo runs back, waving the rope in his hands. “We’re going to be caught if we don’t keep him quiet.”

  “Listen to me, Anton,” Castian says, using the duque’s given name. “If you don’t stop trying to scream, I’m going to let the Robári empty your mind until you’re nothing but a walking carcass. Nod if you understand.”

  The duque nods.

  “It’ll be one memory,” I assure him, but my words feel distant. Castian holds the man down, and I bring my fingertips to his temples. I open myself up to the warmth that flashes through my bones. My power is like a line cast out to sea, searching and searching for a place to sink its hook. Instead of a memory, though, I feel the well of a void. A splintering ache breaks my mind apart. I can’t help but let loose a scream, and then I bite my tongue.

  “Stop it, Nati! Don’t.” Castian drops his illusion, and I fall on my knees. He is the Príncipe Dorado once again. He breathes hard and fast, his gaze glistening and torn between Anton and me. “I’ll fix this.”

  “My prince—she has ensorcelled you. She has done something—Moria bestae!”

  “That’s right. I am a Moria bestae,” Castian spits, so full of anguish I have to look away.

  There’s a grunt and the wet sound of a blade sinking into flesh twice, then a final exhale. Castian lowers him to the ground, arranging the body in a sitting position. Cas looks at the blood on his hands. When he brushes his hair away, crimson streaks his forehead.

  “We have to go now,” Leo says through gritted teeth.

  I cast one final glance at Acesteña, where a night of mirth will turn into a bloody dawn.

  CASTIAN DARTS THROUGH THE PATH IN THE WOODS WHERE YESTERDAY HE caught a rabbit for me. Since we left that seaside cave, we have traveled along the Sól y Perla ocean cliffs, through burned villages, muddy ravines, the Obsidio Mountains, and now this. I have kept telling myself that I do not trust the man I only ever knew as the Bloodied Prince, the Lion’s Fury—but isn’t that what I have been doing since we left the safety of the cave? Isn’t that what I owe him now that he has taken a life for me?

  Fear drives me forward, helps me focus through the maze of my own thoughts. Leo keeps pace beside me. Everything in the dark is terrifying. Leaves brush against each other, as if the trees are hissing at intruders. Little beasties chitter and blink, eyes glowing from tree hollows.

  When I traveled with Dez and Lynx Unit, I learned how to tamp down my fear of the dark. Esteban never made it easy. On our very first scouting trip together, he filled my bedroll with grasshoppers, which woke me up screaming in the middle of the night. After that, I started sleeping farther away from the others, a knife within reach. Esteban never trusted me and never let a day go by without making sure I knew that. But when the Whispers were attacked and dozens killed, I wasn’t the one who gave away their location—he was. I wonder if he’s following Margo’s lead the way he always did. I wonder if he’s sorry. I wonder if I’ve been treating Castian the way Esteban treated me.

  “Here,” Castian announces, his voice like the crunch of gravel.

  I cast a glow with my oil lamp over a small clearing enclosed by boulders. Leo pants as he falls to his knees, but he doesn’t complain of the exhaustion. He takes the waterskin I offer and props up his pack as a pillow.

  “We’ll rest until daybreak and resupply in the next town,” Castian says. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “Cas—” I have the undeniable urge to reach for him. For a flash, I can see splotches of blood dried on his forehead, like he couldn’t rub it all away. He turns from me quickly, but I’ve already seen the red rimming his eyes.

  “Please, Ren,” he says, positioning himself against a tree like a sentry. “Rest.”

  Anger and hurt twist in my gut. He should have just let me take the duque’s memory. Instead, he killed this man for me, and I do not know how I can repay such a debt.

  At first light we’re on the move again. We don’t stop until we enter a hamlet with three market
stalls—one for eggs, one for cabbages, and one selling beads to ward off Moria magics. The vendors are so old that they look like fruit dried in the sun. We buy eggs and keep heading south.

  The road is crowded, but not with soldiers. Those who were denied entry to Acesteña because of the Second Sweep have set up camp. There is no telling how swiftly Duque Sól Abene’s men will be out searching for his killer. Perhaps they are turning Acesteña inside out trying to find us, and we have endangered people who were kind to us. Because we don’t want more trouble, we choose dirt roads that cut through yellow canola fields. Leo does most of the talking, detailing the chaos that ensued after he helped me escape, and I tell him about Dez.

  For miles there is nothing but us, the tall golden flowers, and clear azure sky. Leo whistles the tune to a familiar song, and Castian keeps glancing over his shoulder, his hair a golden tangle in the cool breeze. For the first time, I can exhale properly.

  It is late afternoon by the time we reach a tavern in the next village. The sudden stench of sweat, leather, and sharp cheeses makes my eyes water. Tired farmers and travelers are hunched over pints and plates of fried sausages and potatoes. We find an empty table in a shadowed corner and collectively groan as we sit.

  “This looks like the perfect place to either rest your feet,” Leo says, green eyes taking in a drunk sloshing his ale, “or lose several teeth in a brawl.”

  “There will be no brawls,” I say, massaging the knots in my shoulder.

  A round, surly barmaid lights a candle stub at the center of the table and takes our order. We pay extra to have our eggs boiled and our waterskins refilled from their well. The clatter of plates and the lute player in the corner provide enough cover that we won’t be overheard.

  The barmaid sloshes our pints onto the table. Leo dries the surface with his sleeve before taking a sip. “I say you’ve been quite resourceful if you’ve survived this long on foot. Where are we? I don’t believe I’ve traveled in this part of the Sól Abene provincia before.”

  I unfurl our small map on the table. “We’ve made it sixteen miles or so southwest of Acesteña, which puts us here, near the old castle ruins.”

  “We could make it to Salinas in seven days by foot if we had access to the main roads,” Castian asserts, dragging his finger from where we are, straight down to the southernmost point of Puerto Leones.

  “And if we stop only to sleep,” I point out, retracing our path. When my index finger touches his, Castian draws back his hand and picks up his pint.

  Leo jumps at the sound of the tavern door slamming open. A new wave of locals and weary travelers file in. I scan their faces out of habit. Several burly bald men with red scars crosshatched over sunburned faces. A group of women cackling at a joke I can’t hear. My heart gives a squeeze when I notice someone in a forest-green hooded cloak, the kind the Whispers tend to wear. But as the traveler folds her cloak over the back of her chair, I realize I’m only seeing what I want to see.

  “What happens when we board the ship in Salinas?” Leo asks.

  I meet Castian’s eyes and know we’re in agreement, but then the barmaid makes a beeline for us with our meals. Castian throws an arm around Leo’s shoulder and pulls him in. He laughs as if the two of them are old friends. Watching the prince’s demeanor change so quickly is dizzying.

  “Not here,” I tell Leo.

  I glance around the room once again, unable to shake the sensation of someone watching me. It can’t be another occurrence. My head doesn’t feel as if it’s splitting open. Then I see her face—for a moment. A flash of dark hair falls over her eyes. Sayida?

  I stand quickly, drawing the attention of other tables. “I have to go to the privy.”

  “Marcela,” Castian says, gently catching my scarf before letting it slip through his fingers.

  “I’ll be fine,” I whisper, and move toward the door.

  The girl I saw is gone, her pint and a bowl of stew untouched. A drunk swipes the glass and knocks it back, while another helps himself to the food. She can’t have gone far. I hurry outside. The single dirt street of stalls is boarded up and quiet, save for fat rats clamoring around scraps. Clouds gather on the horizon, bright with the first hint of sunset. It smells like moments before a storm.

  I try to remember the last time I spoke to Sayida in the safe house. Her power of persuasion helped me uncover part of my past and led me to the truth about Castian. What can I possibly say to make her forgive me?

  A word spoken around the corner catches my attention.

  “Whispers.”

  I creep closer to listen.

  “You’re a dead man if you think joining the rebels is what’s best for your family,” a hard, alto voice says. “You’re not even Moria.”

  “And you’re a dead man if you think breaking your back for a worthless king is any better. All I’m saying is, hear them out.”

  A third voice shushes them. “Quiet, you two, before Madrigal comes outside to make sure no one’s pissing on the wall.”

  “I’ve made up my mind, Eggar. I’m going with the Whispers to Crescenti. I’m going to fight.”

  Yes—there’s a chance I saw Sayida. There’s a chance she also saw me and ran. I lean against the wall to process what I’ve heard. The Whispers are recruiting, and they’re gathering in Crescenti for a fight.

  My entire body freezes when the tavern door swings open and Castian runs out. His panic makes his illusion waver like light on glass. The Bloodied Prince, then Will Otsoa. When he spots me, I press my finger to my lips and quietly lead him back inside, where angry drunks are beginning to shout. It’s a sign we shouldn’t linger. We quickly devour the thick chicken stew and get back on the road.

  “If I might suggest,” Leo says when we step outside. “We should not spend the night in town.”

  “I know a place.” Castian turns to the horizon. “The ruins of Galicia.”

  “Isn’t that—”

  He nods slowly, but he’s already walking. “My mother’s castle.”

  THE LAST HOME OF QUEEN PENELOPE IS A CRUMBLING EDIFICE THAT LOOKS more haunted than safe refuge. With dark clouds gathering, we need a place where we won’t get rained on. But I recall how Castian’s entire being changed when Doña Sagrada spoke about his deceased mother.

  “We don’t have to stay here,” I whisper at his side.

  “It’s perfect,” Castian says, gesturing to the moss and weeds growing on the collapsed stone of the right wing. “What better legacy do I have than ruins?”

  “Charming,” Leo mutters.

  We follow a dusty corridor to an open hall. Stone steps lead up a dais to the remains of a rusted throne. Around us are marble columns trimmed in gold and statues of ancient kings and queens. Birds have made nests in the eaves and divots in the walls where paintings and tiles must have been ripped out. I try to imagine what the throne room might have looked like once, but it reminds me more of animal remains scavenged down to bones.

  Castian stands in front of what used to be a floor-to-ceiling window, now overlooking overgrown countryside. Some of the stained glass remains, enough to see a partial rendering of the Father of Worlds in the First Heaven. For the Leonesse and their god, that section of the afterlife was reserved for kings, queens, and their royal lines. But for the Moria, the First Heaven was for those pure of heart, no matter their blood. How did Queen Penelope, a high-born woman from the Sól Abene provincia, give birth to not one, but two Moria sons?

  When he turns around, bathed in the last rays before the sun sets, I find it impossible to look away. His gaze takes in the bits of rock and dirt on the floor, the ripped tapestries, the nests abandoned at the sound of our intrusion. He shakes his head softly, biting his bottom lip, as if he’s trying to stop himself from screaming. Bypassing Leo and me, he stalks through a dark archway.

  “Castian,” I say, as if calling his name will lasso him back, anchor him here.

  He stops. I see a sliver of his face in the shadows. His voice is grave. “I’ll
make sure we’re alone.”

  “We should stay together. Surely no one likes to spend the night in abandoned castles.”

  “Except for us, naturally,” Leo offers. “We’ll find somewhere the roof won’t crush us in our sleep and build a fire so we don’t freeze to death after it rains.”

  With that, Castian is gone, and I’m left with this strangling sensation in my throat. “He’s so—”

  “Like you?” Leo clears his throat, a catlike grin brightening his features.

  My indignation makes me trip up my words. “We are nothing alike.”

  Leo mumbles something that sounds a lot like “sure” as we light our way through a shadowed corridor.

  We opt for remaining on the first floor, in the event we have to escape, and find a small sitting room with a fireplace and most of the windows boarded shut. Velvet drapes collect dust and holes from field mice. The marble floor is cracked at the center.

  “I don’t know if I’ve told you enough,” I say as I gather up the broken legs of a wooden chair. “But I’ve missed you.”

  “And I you, Lady Ren.”

  “You don’t have to call me that. We’re not at the palace anymore.”

  “Ah, but I’ve grown fond of the name.” He rolls up the ruined rug in front of the fireplace to make room for our bedrolls. “I was relieved to learn that you were well, though I was surprised to hear you were traveling with the prince. I’m still trying to decide what has shocked me more—that your former lover is not only alive but also the long-thought-dead Prince Andrés, Castian’s Illusionári abilities, or that you’ve been together so long and he isn’t dead.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused, but we are together by necessity, not choice.” I stack the broken wood inside the hearth and remind him how my people betrayed me. “If I had stayed with the Whispers, they would have killed me.”

  “They never deserved you,” Leo says. “And yet, when we return from our quest to save the kingdom, they will bow at our—your—feet.”

  “I don’t want anyone to bow to me,” I admit. “And I’m done trying to find atonement. The Knife of Memory will right the wrongs of the past. The Moria and all people of this land will have a future.”