Nocturna

by Maya Motayne

  Plus, the festival meant fiestas, fiestas meant tequila, and tequila meant there would be plenty of people to pickpocket with ease. After the holiday ended, they would march onward to winter with its shortened days and longer, cooler nights. She’d make sure to hop on a ship to a warmer location well before then. Maybe the islands off the eastern coast? She’d never been there before. She’d heard their paella was too delicious to describe, and their seafood was so fresh that when you bit into the fried squid it sprayed you with ink.

  At that, her stomach gave another loud protest. “Cállate,” she murmured, but it wouldn’t shut up. Maybe she’d made a mistake spending her pesos on a room at an inn instead of saving it for food.

  Her stomach gnawing on itself, Finn passed a stand where a young man roasted skewers of adobo-spiced pork. He took in a deep breath and blew a steady stream of flame from his mouth to crisp the tender meat. Finn’s stomach roared. Her lips curled into a smirk.

  Then again, it was always easier to improvise when it came to getting a quick meal than finding a safe place to sleep.

  Finn slipped close to his side and tucked the moon blossom into the pocket of his shirt. He looked up at her, his brown cheeks reddening.

  “Tonight’s a special night. You ought to look your best, don’t you think?” She winked.

  “Oh,” he said, his mouth drawn into a perfect circle. “Th-thank you.” He looked down at the moon blossom as it tilted sideways, leaning away from him in search of moonlight.

  When he looked up, two skewers were missing and the thief was nowhere to be found.

  3

  The Fox and the Dragon

  As the palace and those within it drifted to sleep, Alfie’s shadow zoomed excitedly about his feet like a dog fresh from the bath.

  That was the one disadvantage of having propio magic—your moving shadow betrayed your feelings. When Alfie dreaded something, his shadow slogged behind him, resistant and stubborn as a child woken early for lessons. When he was happy, it zipped about energetically. It even turned a pale gray when he was ill. Tonight, with his shadow surging about on the ground, Alfie’s thoughts were far from a good night’s rest.

  He rose from his perch on the edge of his canopied bed and walked to the set of drawers, pulling open the lowest drawer and feeling about for the latch to the secret compartment. Within it, he found what he needed—a fox mask and a colorful doorknob of stained glass.

  Alfie put the mask on, tying the silk string around the back of his head. It revealed nothing but his mouth and jaw. All players attending these games were to come masked. When it came to card games for illegal goods, anonymity was key.

  Especially for a prince.

  While he was away from home, searching high and low for the magic to rescue Dez, he’d heard tell of games where the stakes were high, but the winnings were higher still. Without a moment’s hesitation, he’d paid the steep entry fee and showed up wherever the black, gold-trimmed invitations instructed. The games took place in different cities and even once on a different continent. But Alfie never missed a single one, and he felt in his bones that tonight’s would be the most important game he’d ever partake in.

  Tonight’s prizes weren’t just any illegal goods. They were books of forbidden magic that could help Alfie find Dez, alive and well and ready to take the throne. Dez was out there still, he knew it. Just because his brother had been swallowed by that eerie darkness didn’t mean he was gone. Alfie just needed the right magic to find him.

  Anticipation thrilled through Alfie as he grabbed the leather satchel from his bed and pulled it onto his shoulder over his dark blue cloak. There was no time to waste. Rayan seldom let players in late. Alfie walked to the wall beside his bed and tossed the glass doorknob at the wall. It didn’t bounce off and fall to the ground as it should have. Instead, it spun like a dropped peso before settling and sinking into the stone.

  Alfie stepped forward and gripped the doorknob under his palm. He let his magic change from its usual royal blue to a bright orange—the color that would take him where he needed to go. He need only turn the knob and say the word.

  Each person’s propio was unique, some with one singular gift while others had propios that branched into multiple abilities over time. Alfie had heard of a noble from Englass whose propio was manipulating friction—with a single look he could make the ground beneath your feet as slippery as ice; likewise he could make himself frictionless and travel miles in moments. A girl he’d met in Uppskala could bend light to her will, plunging a room into darkness as easily as she could fill it with light. The abilities that Alfie’s propio granted him were all related to the color of magic. Alfie could see magic in all its hues, change the color of his own magic to match any shade, and use his ability to make pathways of color to travel by within the network of magic that lived around him.

  Alfie turned his doorknob once to the left. “Voy,” he said.

  The wall gave way to a multicolored tunnel that Alfie could see, thanks to his propio—the very network that stitched the world together. He’d been taught from a young age that magic was the foundation of this world, the threads that bound men to each other and to the land they lived on. With his propio Alfie could use those threads of magic to move from one place to another.

  When he’d first discovered his ability, the vastness of the network of magic around him was startling, and he felt like a tiny paddleboat lost in an endless sea. He needed a way to make his ability feel smaller, more accessible. And so he’d come to use a doorknob as a way of focusing his propio and seeing his ability as opening doors in the vast expanse of magic that hummed with life around him. He could do it without the doorknob, but it felt less safe, like dashing down a steep staircase when you could walk instead, with your hand on the banister.

  He stepped into the magic and let the current carry him away from his bedroom and his legacy.

  When Alfie walked back into the world, he did so through a wall between two stately haciendas in the second ring of the city—the Bow. Here, the streets were of cobbled stone and the haciendas were grand, painted in rich, vibrant colors with stained glass windows. Alfie pulled the hood of his cloak over his masked face and walked down the road to Rayan’s hacienda. The dark wood door stood before him, tall and imposing. He hesitated. The mask suddenly felt uncomfortably tight as his parents’ disappointed faces appeared in his mind’s eye. What kind of king would he be if he spent his nights looking for things he shouldn’t?

  He sat wedged between his parents’ worry and his hope for his brother’s return, the pressure on both sides great enough to transform a stone into a diamond. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it.

  This will be my last try, he thought to himself. If I don’t find what I need tonight, then I’ll give up this quest to return Dez and focus on becoming king. Once and for all.

  He swallowed. The finality of the ultimatum gave him a sense of control, an end to the tug-of-war inside him. Yet the possibility of becoming king still stung. He pushed that thought away. He would not need to become king because he was going to win this game and get what he needed to find Dez. Alfie grabbed the knocker and rapped soundly against the door.

  A burly servant opened it, his wide frame filling the doorway. “You’re late. Señor Rayan does not appreciate tardiness,” he said before beginning to close the door.

  Alfie jammed his foot between the door and its frame. His shadow darted about the door frantically until Alfie pressed his heels into the ground to make it fall still. The servant eased the door open again, shooting Alfie a look of annoyance.

  “Wait, please.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of gold pesos. “Señor Rayan does not appreciate tardiness, but I’m more interested in what you appreciate, entiendes?”

  A cordial smile unfurled on the man’s face. “Have you an invitation?”

  Alfie handed him the pesos and spoke the words that granted him entry into one too many of these dangerous games. “A fox does
not wait for an invitation, he waits for an opening.”

  The man stepped aside, and Alfie stepped forward into yet another night of trouble.

  The woman Finn was stalking through the Bow was clearly running late.

  Late was good. Late meant she would be too busy rushing to look up and notice Finn jumping lithely from rooftop to rooftop to keep pace with her. The haciendas here were stately and grand with gently sloped roofs, perfect for hopping from one to the next. Though each estate was nearly six men high, years of filling in for acrobats in the circuses she’d worked in had stripped her of any fear of heights. If she’d ever had it to begin with.

  The warm breeze whistling through her curly hair as she hopped from roof to roof, the patter of her footsteps, and the rustle of her bag against her side were the only sounds tonight. The cobbled streets were empty and the colorful haciendas were silent, their occupants asleep.

  Even the name of this ring of the city made her roll her eyes. The Bow. Something gossamer and cute to fasten around the neck of a kitten. The name suited it, with its delicately built haciendas, manicured gardens, and burbling fountains. There was a quiet calm in the Bow that made Finn itch. A kind of calm afforded by those who were born rich and would die richer. Finn preferred the Pinch and the Bash. Sure, they were dirtier, cramped, and at any given moment you were seconds away from being pickpocketed, but they would still be bursting with life at this hour.

  Right now there would be street performers strumming languid bachatas on their guitars and food vendors hawking bowls of pernil, beans and rice, and sweet plantains. Her stomach growled at the thought, but Finn forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She needed to take this woman’s place at the game, get the goods, and pawn them off. Then she’d have money for a full belly and a ticket onto the next ship out of here and onto her next adventure.

  When Finn had first arrived a month ago, she’d set out to learn San Cristóbal’s secrets—the seedy underbelly that would lead her to thievery that’d fetch a fine price—and it was always the noblewomen who were keepers of such knowledge. After days of snooping in the Bow, Finn was hardly surprised to hear about a game where illegal goods were the prizes.

  The woman Finn was following ducked into a thin pass between two haciendas—the perfect place for Finn to descend on her. Finn crouched at the edge of the roof, her shadow winding around her feet excitedly as she watched. A bar of moonlight illuminated what the woman pulled out of her bag—a red dragon mask, the required attire for the game. Finn grinned. That was what she was looking for.

  Finn raised her hand and made a swift motion, as if she were pulling a knot tight. Coils of stone from the hacienda wall wrapped around the woman’s ankles and wrists, pinning her where she stood. The woman dropped her bag and mask. Before she could shout, Finn made another swiping motion, willing a coil of rock to wrap around her mouth, pulling her head back against the wall.

  From above, Finn gave a low whistle. The woman looked up. Finn waved at her with one hand and picked at her teeth with the now-empty pork skewer she’d stolen with the other.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, her lips curled into a smirk. “I’ll be right down.”

  The woman struggled against her bonds as Finn tossed the skewer over her shoulder and leisurely climbed down the side of the hacienda. At her touch, the stone of the wall curved outward into handholds and footholds for her to latch onto. As a child she’d wished she were a water charmer, since she’d loved to swim, but damn did being a stone carver come in handy when scaling haciendas. She dropped to the ground between the haciendas in a crouch, her palm braced against the stone floor for balance.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” She grabbed the terrified woman’s bag off the ground. “You’re thinking, what did I do to deserve this?” Finn dug through the bag and pocketed the pesos she found. “I’m here to reassure you that, as far as I know, you did nothing to deserve this. I’m sure you’re a saint. You’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.” Finn dropped the bag and picked up the dragon mask next. “And you happen to have something that I want.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

  Finn held the mask out before her. It was red, the eyeholes slanted and rimmed in white. “And in my favorite color too.” She ran her fingers over its curved panes. “Lucky me.”

  Finn lifted the mask to her face and saw that her mouth and jaw would still be visible. “I guess I should match my face to yours, then, and my body too just to be safe, don’t you think?”

  The woman only stared at Finn in confusion. Like most Castallanos, she had brown skin, dark eyes, and thick brows. Her lips were full and her nose had an aquiline arch to it.

  Finn held the mask between her knees and pulled a simple hand mirror out of her own satchel. “This is probably the most interesting thing you’ll see all night, so pay attention.”

  Finn gazed at her reflection, taking one last look at her current face—amber skin, round, full cheeks, and a sharp chin surrounded by a shoulder-length halo of curly hair. It was a face she’d thrown on a few days ago without much thought and she wasn’t sorry to see it go.

  Finn raised her free hand to her face and molded it like clay as the woman watched, eyes wide. Magic was a mask Finn had slipped over her head so many times, she’d almost forgotten what her own face looked like. But that was just how she liked it.

  And tonight there was a new identity to thieve and a prize that would fetch her a hefty price if she played her cards right. Literally.

  With the tips of her fingers she reshaped her nose, reversing the upturned bridge into an aquiline one. She ran a finger over each eyebrow and watched them thicken at her touch. She passed her thumb over her chin, rounding it out. Finn rubbed her eyes as if she were sleepy. When her hand dropped, her eyes were larger and darker than before. She ran her hand over her curly hair and felt it smoothen to straight tresses that fell past her shoulders. This was slower work than when she’d scared the spoiled boy at the puppet show. This had to be exact.

  With her face done, it was time to change her body to match the woman’s as well. To make jumping from rooftop to rooftop easier, Finn had lengthened her body, making her limbs long and agile, but this woman shared her natural body type. So Finn shrank herself back down to her natural height, redistributing so her hips, thighs, and chest became fuller again.

  When Finn looked in the mirror she saw no difference between herself and the woman before her.

  The woman stared at her in shock. She’d even stopped squirming. Then her eyes flickered down to the ground, where Finn’s shadow wound about her feet.

  “Sí,” Finn said, answering the unspoken question. “It’s my propio.”

  Finn had been able to change her appearance since she was eight. It was a useful skill for anyone, let alone a thief, and it came in handy when she found herself parentless on the street.

  “Now, I could kill you,” Finn said to the woman. She pulled a dagger out of her bag and picked her nails with its point. The woman’s breaths came faster, her nostrils flared.

  “But I don’t see why I need to.” Finn shrugged. “You’re stuck here, and come morning one of the nice families in this neighborhood will help you. But know this.” Finn leaned forward so close that their now-identical noses were nearly brushing. “If you get free and decide to make trouble, every crime I commit from this day on, I will commit with your face on. It won’t be much fun having to explain to the guards that you didn’t do it, that some girl who can change faces did it instead. Won’t take long for the red capes to stop believing you. Blink twice if you understand.”

  The woman blinked twice.

  “All right, then.” Finn pulled the mask on and tied its silk ribbon around the back of her head. She usually sketched the new faces she donned in her journal before doing a job, to keep track of all the faces she’d worn and the crimes attached to each one. But she was running late tonight. She’d have to do it later. Finn pulled a handkerchief and a tiny st
oppered bottle of blue liquid out of her bag. She soaked the handkerchief in the sleeping draught. The woman began to squirm, making a muffled plea. Finn clucked her tongue. “Cálmate.”

  She held the handkerchief over the woman’s nose. Her eyes slid closed as she fell asleep.

  With that done, Finn sauntered out of the alley. She jogged the last of the distance to the hacienda where the games were held. Unlike other haciendas on this boring street, lanterns still burned bright within this one, casting colored reflections through the stained glass windows.

  As she approached the hacienda she could see a man at the door arguing with a servant. One moment the servant was trying to shut the door on the man, the next he was stepping aside with a polite smile on his face. As the door began to close again, Finn rushed forward and shoved her foot in. The servant opened it, looking annoyed.

  “You’re—”

  “Late. I know. And so was the other guy,” she said, her gaze locked on his.

  After a long moment he sighed. “Fine,” he said, resigned. “Have you an invitation?”

  Finn looked up at him and spoke the words she’d watched the woman say for weeks. “A dragon knows nothing of invitations. She roosts where she pleases.”

  He stepped aside and Finn strode in, smirking as if she’d owned this face for a lifetime.

  4

  Cambió

  The stranger seated across from Alfie was not a good man.