Incendiary (Hollow Crown) Page 9

  “You said my name.”

  “I wanted to come back to you.”

  Instead of letting go, I curl my fingers around the front of his tunic and give a light tug. Nothing can stop the smile creeping across my lips as he pushes off the ground and slides on top of me, bracing his weight on his forearms, his knees resting between my legs. There’s a nervous flutter along my skin. As his fingers frame my face, gently brushing my tangle of hair away from my neck, I wonder if I feel the need for him more now because I possess a part of him I can never give back. When I close my eyes I can hear Dez speak my name, and then Illan coming to rescue his son. The horror on Castian’s face when he realizes he’s outnumbered.

  “Andrés?” I say. I love the weight of his true name on my lips.

  “Only my father calls me that.” He chuckles and lowers his nose into the crook of my neck. My skin sings as he stops his lips before they touch. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Why?”

  He draws back to meet my gaze. “It never suited me.”

  I brush the stubble along his jaw. I remember a few years ago, when he could barely grow it out. His soft lips brush my knuckles. His mouth is like warm, wet dew on my skin. My left hand trembles, and Dez takes hold of it. My fingers open up for him like rose petals for the sun. He kisses the inside of my wrist. The center of my palm. The whorls and pads of my fingers. The tingle—the ache of it—is almost too much.

  He kisses my lips once, then draws back. I remember the first time I stole a kiss from him in the grove behind our ruins two years ago. We’ve traded kisses in secret, during moments we thought we were going to die and because we didn’t. He’s kissed me in the rain when I ran away. I kissed him when I stayed. Our lives were forged together by fire. Sometimes I’m afraid that fire has never left me.

  My back arches as I return Dez’s kiss with a fury I’ve kept locked inside. I hardly know where to put my hands. All I know is that I want to touch every part of him. I push up the hem of his tunic and let my fingers trace a jagged scar along his ribs where the Bloodied Prince’s blade nearly killed him. He hisses from surprise, his muscles tightening at my touch, but doesn’t stop kissing me and instead the pressure of his body on mine tells me how much he wants me. I undo the button of his pants and even though he whispers my name, he pulls away.

  The absence of him, even for this moment, hurts. There’s that smile of his, crooked as the summer day is long. I push his tunic halfway up, but he pulls it off and discards it to the side. The cool breeze rustles the dark waves of his hair.

  “We should go back,” he says breathlessly.

  “We should stay,” I say. I unbutton my shirt down the center.

  His finger hovers over the injured curve of my neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t. Just once I would like to kiss you when we’re not waiting for imminent death.”

  “Is that not what we do every day?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We will have that. I want to make a better world for you. For all of us.”

  “In the meantime,” I say, and continue undoing the brass buttons of my trousers and then his. “We have this forest and each other.”

  He shuts his eyes and makes a sound I’ve never heard him make before. Under the half-moon I can count the muscles on his back as he positions himself in front of me. He kisses the bare skin of my stomach. The crosshatch of scars from fighting side by side. I used to hate the marks on my skin, but it is the one thing that makes me feel like I am part of the Whispers, part of Dez. His fingers hook around the waistband of my trousers and tug them down. Hands squeeze my thighs and I gasp from how good it feels to be touched this way by him.

  “I love you, Renata,” he says, haloed by the moon. “I need you to know that.”

  I know it. I think I’ve known it for a while. I wanted to blame it on the stress of facing our enemies, of not knowing whether or not we’d live to see each other again. People consume each other when they’re afraid, don’t they? But I know this is real.

  I love you, too, I want to say, but I can’t. A cord in my heart snaps. I pull on his arms to come back up to me, so I can return his reverent kisses, run my fingers through the dark waves of his hair. His grin is wicked as he kisses the inside of my knee.

  “Andrés,” I whisper.

  I may know little else, in the chaos of this world. But I know this for sure, something I couldn’t put into words until now. I love this boy and I would do anything to keep him safe. I’ll face my past if I have to. When Dez pushes one of my knees aside, I am sure we are bonded together by more than blood and loss. We are as inevitable as the dawn.

  Chapter 7

  Dez falls asleep nestled against my chest, his tunic and pants rolled under my head as a pillow. I thread my fingers around his soft black curls. He mutters and moans in his sleep. I wonder what he’s dreaming about. My body is wide-awake even though I’m perfectly at ease. Were we reckless? No, because we both drink the tea all spies in our rank take if they want to prevent pregnancy. But now I’m left wondering what comes next. Sharing your fears with someone else changes things. At some point today the other units will arrive and we will have to be soldiers. That’s the only way we can get through it all and make a better world together.

  I trust you, he said. Since leaving Esmeraldas he’s been different in a way I can’t explain. Is it my own nerves that I’m projecting? I dig for the token he gave me. Affection. Presents. Dez has always given me these things. But tonight, it almost feels like he was trying to fit a lifetime of love into a few moments. Maybe in his heart he doesn’t believe we’re going to survive the attack on the capital.

  The thought needles at me as I turn the copper coin in my fingers. I think of the moment the prince ripped it from Dez’s chest. A terrible shiver puckers the skin of my arms when I remember the cold edge of the prince’s blade. Dez almost died, but he didn’t leave that balcony without his family heirloom. I trace my thumb over the stamp. Who was the woman minted on one side? Only the Fajardo men grace the kingdom’s currency. I don’t wear it. That feels like the kind of promise we shouldn’t make until after. . . . I pocket the coin and try to let sleep take me.

  Despite the calm of the forest just before dawn, the running river, and the steady beat of his heart, Dez’s sleep is fitful. He moans again, turning away from me and onto his back. His features are softened by the pale early morning light, but when I press my palm to his chest, I feel the thrum of his heart, the way his muscles jerk as if he’s trapped in a nightmare.

  Back in Ángeles, the nights are often filled with recruits’ sobs as they relive memories of sorrow and death in their dreams. The cloisters we use as a stronghold are drafty, and the sounds carry through their long halls. Sometimes, I’d listen to those sounds all night, and in the morning I’d know to expect poor souls asking me to take away the moment that haunts them. Often, I’d do it out of a sense of duty or a desire to be liked. Perhaps if I steal the memories I helped create, I’ll be absolved of my past. Perhaps if I crowd my thoughts with so many strangers, I’ll forget my own damage. But it doesn’t help, so I’ve started to say no, and they leave cursing my name.

  I give Dez a shake to wake him from whatever has him so fitful, but he chokes on air. He mutters words I can’t make out and then whimpers. I know that terrible feeling of being trapped in your own mind, as if you’re being suffocated from within.

  I know you, Dez told me. I trust you.

  I brush my fingers along his face, so familiar that I don’t need the sun to break over us to see where I’m going. I want to soothe him the way being around him makes me feel more at ease. I press my fingertips to his temple.

  The connection is instant, the way it always is when a person is unconscious. A rush of emotion hits my chest that comes with being in a different mind, the blinding light and sting that spreads from my fingertips to my skull.

  But what I find isn’t a single memory, but a cluster of them. A seq
uence of thoughts that replay over and over:

  Dez, five years old, plays with a great black hound that licks his face. He collapses into the grass, and they both howl like wild things.

  Dez in the kitchens of San Cristóbal steals an orange behind Cook Helena’s back. The sweet, tangy juice drips down his chin.

  An older Dez watches the port city of Riomar, his eyes focus on the purple-and-gold flag of Puerto Leones that waves above a ship’s sail.

  Dez strides toward a girl polishing her daggers in a clearing. She holds one up to the light, then sees his reflection in it. She turns around, and his heart quickens as she smiles. Her brown eyes alight with something warm and familiar.

  Gently, I break the connection between us, and I lie back on the scratchy blanket beside him, giving my magics a rest, and my mind a moment to catch up with all the memories as they are absorbed into it. Giving myself a second to realize—Dez is dreaming of me.

  I am the girl with the warm brown eyes. The girl smiling when she looks back at him. I brush a lock away from his shut eyes. He’s dreaming of me. In a clearing somewhere, my hair short from when I cut it two years ago. I search for the memory of polishing my blades, but I can’t find it. Why would he choose that one out of all our time together? My own memories are always the hardest, and most painful, to uncover.

  Who am I supposed to be if I can easily recall the past life of a stranger but not my own?

  Feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beside me, I allow myself to drift off to sleep. My eyes flutter shut for a blissful moment, until a shrill scream pierces the dawn.

  Dez rockets awake, and we are both up. He takes in his surroundings, as if he’s forgotten where he was. I throw his clothes at him and fumble with the laces of my boots. The shouting is coming from our campsite. I make to speak, but he presses a finger to his lips.

  My hand goes to my hip. My dagger. Dez shakes his head because I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing. All of our weapons are around the fire.

  Then we’re running, my blood pumping in my veins like the roar of the river. We weave through the forest until we’re near our camp, dodging between the thick trees, though it’s hard to remain quiet when the ground is littered with branches. We come to a stop behind a mossy mound where the thick, fallen trunk next to our campsite provides a barrier.

  A young man is slumped against the dirt, nursing a bloodied foot. Dez’s metal trap is beside him. He must’ve been left behind. He looks up at us with narrow eyes and opens up his mouth to scream, but Dez knocks him out with a punch to the face. The boy slumps to the side, unconscious.

  Dez signals to me to stay hidden with a squeeze of my forearm. We keep low and listen. The voices are unfamiliar, barking orders I can’t quite make out. Was it Sayida who screamed? I don’t hear them fighting back. If they’re screaming, they’re still alive. If they’re not—

  I raise myself just over the tree trunk, digging my fingers into the soft earth for support.

  We should’ve been alert.

  We should’ve been there.

  From my vantage point, I make out three royal soldiers who have Margo, Sayida, and Esteban on their knees, their wrists bound behind them. Sayida’s eyes are closed. Esteban’s lips move as if in prayer. Margo spits on the set of leather boots in front of her.

  A ripple of anticipation circles the guards as a fourth man walks into camp. With all the stolen memories in my head, strangers’ faces often blur and bleed into my thoughts, as if everyone I meet is somehow familiar.

  But I immediately know this man.

  I have Dez’s fresh memory of him swimming in the forefront of my mind.

  I shoot back down and lean into Dez’s ear, uttering one word. “Castian.” Then return to my position.

  While I’ve only seen the prince’s face through stolen memories, there’s no mistaking his young bright eyes, that taunting smile and hard jawline. His long golden hair falls like a lion’s mane against his shoulders. He wears less armor than his men, the leather dyed a red so deep he looks like a bleeding wound. He dons leather gloves with a ring of gold spikes around the knuckles. The spikes glint in the morning light as he points toward the river.

  “Find them,” he orders. “He can’t have gone far.”

  Two of the soldiers bow their heads to him before sprinting toward the water.

  Dez tugs the hem of my tunic and pulls me down. With our backs against the dirt mound, he squeezes my hand in his.

  “I’ll cause a distraction,” he whispers. “Free the others.”

  I grab him by the wrist. “No. You’re unarmed.”

  He turns back to me with a grin, and for a moment I have a fool’s hope that he’ll stay. We’ll make a plan together. But I know him better than that.

  “Not for long.”

  His grin disappears as he threads his fingers through my hair and pulls me against him. His lips find mine, pressing urgently, parting them slightly. I kiss him back, but it’s over so swiftly I can hardly breathe.

  “Dez—”

  “Trust me,” he whispers, voice ragged. He takes the sword from the unconscious soldier. And then he’s gone, melting into the forest like one of its shadows.

  I chance one last glance over the fallen trunk and watch Dez prowl through the forest, silent as a lynx.

  Castian stands in front of Sayida, his lips obscured by his hair, but even from here I can hear him shout, “Where is Dez?”

  The remaining guard’s mistake is standing too close to a tree. He’s young. Probably recently drafted. Dez slips out of the shadow behind him. I brace myself, swallowing deep breaths to ready myself to jump over this mound and scramble to the camp where our weapons lie in a pile. Free the others.

  I hear the sickening, wet sound of a sword slitting the guard’s throat. The soldier tries to talk despite the rivulets of blood running down his neck and mouth. He swings his sword once, then hits the ground hard.

  Castian spins around to find Dez, and I know this is it. Now is the only chance I’ll have to free our unit. I scramble over the mound, sliding down the dirt slope and landing with the barest of thuds. I force myself not to look at Castian and Dez fight, not to think that the last time they were together, Dez barely got out alive. They’re both bigger now, with another year of battle scars and practice.

  I grab my dagger and tuck another under my belt.

  Sayida spots me first, relief in her midnight eyes. This close, I can see a new bruise darkening her cheek. I bring my sword to her binding, but a low, arrogant voice draws my attention.

  “There he is,” the prince taunts. “The savior of Riomar.”

  Dez doesn’t have a chance to respond before Castian swings his sword, a showy thing with emeralds and rubies glinting off its golden hilt, just past Dez’s ear. He turns, sidestepping Castian while leading him away from us at the same time.

  A muffled cry comes from beside me. Margo, her bright eyes desperate for my attention. I let go of a shaky breath and finish cutting through the ropes around Sayida’s hands and feet. As soon as she’s free, she pulls a quill-thin blade from her black hair and gets to work on Margo’s bindings while I help Esteban.

  “Hurry!” Esteban hisses.

  My fingers are clumsy, like my mind hasn’t caught up to the reality that this is all happening. That Dez is fighting Castian. Their swords clang together like bells at high noon, and Dez’s memory of their last encounter washes over me. He fights without the fear of that day, without the memory of Castian’s dagger slicing into his side. While it’s made Dez all the more confident, it makes me desperate.

  Esteban’s ropes snap. I haul him to his feet. Sayida finally has Margo free, and they’re running for our stash of weapons when the pounding of boots draws near.

  “Lord Commander! They’re getting away!” a guard shouts.

  I raise my dagger at the soldiers returning from their failed search for Dez. The pair of them register the young guard’s slit throat and charge us.

  I leap as
ide as the soldier lunges for me, protecting my face with my arm. The tip of his sword drags across my forearm. Searing pain scorches my flesh. I cry out, losing my balance as I wrench back to stop the blade from severing my whole arm. Esteban throws a punch at my assailant, breaking the skin of the man’s ear.

  I roll off the ground and push to my feet. The cut is shallower than it feels, but I swallow the pain and breathe in the putrid scent of wilting flowers around us. I have to help Esteban, but my eyes are drawn to Dez. The blood seeping from cuts on his arms.

  Trust me.

  “Ren!” Esteban shouts. He’s holding two daggers in front of his face, bracing against the pressure of the guard’s sword.

  My vision spins as I race forward and slash my blades across the guard’s ankles. He buckles, and part of me feels hungry with victory. My body is hot, surging with a violent energy I’ve never felt before.

  Sayida and Margo have their opponent pinned to the ground, binding him with ropes. He doesn’t fight, and there’s a dreamy glaze to his eyes. Sayida must have compelled him to surrender, perhaps playing on some kindness in his heart. I remind myself that the king and the justice show no kindness, and force myself to look away. I’m brave enough to smile. To take the hand Esteban extends so we can make our way to Dez. For a moment, I think we can win.

  But Castian knocks Dez’s stolen sword to the ground, and moves in before I can blink, threatening to puncture his throat.

  Dez looks from the sword point to where I stand, then his gaze glides past me.

  It’s that look that tells me we’re surrounded before I can see them. Men dressed in the king’s dark purple and gold flank us from all sides. Where were they hiding? How did we not see them? Did they watch Dez and me hide behind the mound, toying with us before revealing themselves? Did they use the justice’s weapon to find us?

  There is one guard for each of us. I recognize the boy we left unconscious—he’s sporting a bruised eye and a limp. Sayida reaches for my hand, as if to remind me that I can’t act without thinking.