by Maya Motayne
She could not be placed under the large clock with the common prisoners, so they had made her cell a terrible reminder of her time left in this prison. There, sitting with her back pressed to the wall farthest from the door, her head tucked between her knees to block the sound, was the girl who had taken his brother from him. Xiomara Santoro. She hadn’t even heard him, hadn’t looked up. At the sight of her, adrenaline surged through him in a wave, numbing his pain and searing his body with unbridled fury.
His head ringing with the ticking, Alfie shouted, “Silenciar!”
The clocks fell silent and Xiomara looked up, shocked. She was smaller than Alfie had remembered. Had his nightmares made her seem bigger? She started at the sight of him before her and he knew she was wondering if he was some sort of illusion. Her face was gaunt and sallow, and her hair was shorn short, as if someone had hacked it off with a razor while she struggled. Her clothes were filthy with grime and dark circles rimmed her eyes. She stared at the prince in shock.
A deafening silence passed between them, one that carried all he felt; he need only tip it and let his anger flow free and rapid.
“Do you know who I am?” Alfie heard himself say, his body shaking with barely contained rage.
She nodded, eyes wide.
“Do you remember what you did? What you took from me?” His voice was teetering on the edge between cold anger and uncontrollable rage. He felt as if he might split in two and whatever crawled out of the tear would be someone else entirely.
She nodded again. Alfie’s fingernails bit into his palms.
“Do you know how you ruined my life, my family’s lives, in one moment? The future of our whole kingdom was forever changed! All because of what you did.” She still said nothing, looking more alarmed than anything else. In three quick strides Alfie was upon her, wrenching her up from the ground and slamming her against the wall. “I don’t even know how my father let you live. You shouldn’t be here, because he’s not here! He was supposed to be king, not me. History had eyes for him, he was born with it. Now everyone is left with me. All of that falls on you, do you understand?” When she still said nothing, Alfie jerked her forward by her dirtied shirt. “Answer me!”
She only looked at Alfie, a procession of emotions marching over her face, from fear to guilt to sorrow and back again. This was not what Alfie had wanted. He wanted someone who had no shame. Someone who he could justify beating to a bloody pulp. This scared husk of a person was so much worse. He couldn’t take this. He wouldn’t.
“Say something!” Alfie shouted. An anger-fueled burst of energy overtook him. He could live just a little longer if he could make this woman answer for her crimes.
But she only looked at Alfie, her dark eyes soft with remorse. She opened her mouth and pointed in. Her tongue had been cut to a stub. She was mute.
Alfie let go of her. She crumpled to the ground, skittering as far from the prince as she could manage. Especially horrible criminals were often made mute so that they could never speak a word of magic again. At the thought of the bite of a blade against her tongue, Alfie felt it welling within him, like sap from a tree—pity. He felt pity for this girl who deserved every punishment that came her way. Why couldn’t he hold on to his anger? Why was he so soft that he could look at her and feel sorrow instead of fury? His mind had split in two, butting heads against one another—half of him angry at this girl and all that she’d done, the other half angry at himself for feeling even a drop of sadness for her.
Alfie massaged his temples. “Gods.”
His hands were shaking and he wanted so desperately to be home spending a lazy afternoon in the palace with Luka that his heart ached. He didn’t know why he ever thought seeing this pitiful woman would make him feel any better. And now he couldn’t even exact his revenge. Now he had to sneak this cretin out of prison, away from the punishment she so deserved, to fix a problem that he himself had stupidly unleashed.
Alfie’s hand traveled to his chest where the dragon should have been. But it was with the thief. He’d finally cornered the person they needed, but he’d let Finn’s magic fade from his face, and he had no way of getting himself and this woman out of the prison.
Alfie dropped his hand from his face. “Listen.” She cowered on the ground, knees under her chin and arms wrapped around herself. “I need you to come with me. Out of the Clock Tower.”
She shook her head vigorously. Why would she want to stay here?
“You’re not allowed to tell me no.” There was so much steel in his voice that he almost didn’t recognize it. “You owe me, owe this kingdom. And I need your help. If you help me, you’ll save countless lives.” She stopped shaking her head at that. “You can consider it penance for what you’ve done. Do you understand?” When she still looked too stunned to respond, Alfie added, “Whether you do or don’t, you’re coming with me, so you may as well nod.”
She nodded. Alfie could see symbols carved into her scarred wrists. Written spellwork to stifle the magic within her. Alfie wondered how many times those markings had been redone. How many times the same wounds were reopened and drawn. The magic could have been written in ink, Alfie knew. It needn’t be carved into the skin so painfully. He chided himself for that moment of sympathy. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel sorry for this girl.
He still had no idea how he would get them out. All his plans had included using the vanishing cloak and Finn’s propio. But she was gone. He didn’t even know if she was safe. Or alive.
Then a wedge of pain splintered his body, hot and searing. Alfie cried out, gripping the wall as another boom blasted beneath his feet—the sound of steel clattering against stone. The sound of trouble.
31
The Great Escape
Spots of light dotted Alfie’s vision as he groaned in pain.
Agony tore through him in three waves that left his legs shaking. Why was this happening? He wasn’t using the dragon, yet the pain rippled through him as if he were calling on Sombra’s magic over and over again. Had he used it one too many times and now could it sap the life from him whenever it pleased?
Even from within this isolated cell, the prison had suddenly boomed with sound around him. He could hear people shouting in commotion, the pounding of too many feet. If it wasn’t absolutely absurd, Alfie would think that all the prisoners had been released from their cells.
Whatever it was, he had a feeling that it had to do with Finn. He turned back to the prisoner, forcing himself to stand tall as a cold sweat seeped down his forehead. The prisoner still stared up at him in fear, but beneath that was a flash of concern as her eyes raked over him, silently asking what was wrong with him. He scowled at her. She was supposed to be heartless, she wasn’t supposed to look at him with worry. Whatever worry she had, he did not want it.
“We are leaving,” Alfie said, his voice coming out weaker than he wanted. When the prisoner didn’t move he leveled her with a glare. “Now.” She got to her feet and tentatively stood behind him, but where was Finn?
He couldn’t leave without her.
That thought gave rise to others, and he quieted them, telling himself that he had to find her because she had the dragon; without it his plan would fall apart. Yes, that was why he must go after her.
Alfie turned back to Xiomara. “We are going to search for someone before we leave.” Alfie opened the door and craned his neck about. There was no one in the hall aside from the guard he’d knocked out, who still lay stiff on the ground down the hall. “Follow me and do not try to run,” he said, his voice unrecognizably tight.
Alfie stepped out the door only to collide with a body he could not see. He skidded sideways.
“Prince.” Her voice came with a bout of heavy breathing, as if she’d just run up a mountain. Then she appeared, her hand pulling the hood off her head. When her eyes met his they were wide with fear, but beneath that there was something else—relief.
At the sight of her Alfie was drawn forward, as if the world had tilted on
its axis to deliver him to her. He didn’t know which of them moved first, but in the space of a breath he was opening his arms and she was stepping into them.
“You’re all right,” he said. Her curly hair tickled his nose.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” she quipped, her face hidden, tucked under his chin. He could feel her breath against his neck.
Could she tell that it was her voice he’d clung to only moments before when he faced what he feared most? Her voice calling him a fool and telling him to trust himself, to find the line and choose to stay behind it.
Did she know that she was already in his head? He couldn’t help but wonder, was he in her head too?
Finn pulled from his embrace with a jerk, as if remembering herself. “We’ve got to go!”
He looked at her, his eyes clinging to the worried set of her mouth, then her bleeding wrists. Her face was a shade too pale. “Finn, what happened?”
She squinted up at him. “You let my magic fade already? How has no one caught you?” Finn looked behind him and took a large step backward. “Is that her? Void girl?”
“Her magic is bound. She can’t hurt us,” he said hurriedly. “What happened to you? Why did you set off the fireworks early? I was . . .”
Worried, his mind supplied.
“Confused,” he said instead.
“It all just happened, the maldito dragon!” she said. “A guard caught me and I needed a distraction. And the magic just listened to me, like you said.”
“Qué? You used it? How?” She shouldn’t have been able to use it, but that must have been why he’d felt such pain when she was gone. In a way, it made sense. But how could she wield it? The magic only listened to him because he’d dyed his magic black, made it think he was a part of it. Why would it listen to Finn? The realization clicked into place in the space of a breath. Alfie muttered a curse and kneaded his temples. Of course it had listened to her. He’d asked it to. He’d hoped as long as it was with her it would protect her, listen to her if she needed help. He’d been wishing for the best, not commanding the black magic, but it was connected to him and listened all the same.
“Coño,” Alfie cursed into his hands.
“Then I released all the prisoners.”
“What?”
“It was the dragon again, not me! Ignacio showed up and stopped the fireworks, I didn’t have a choice—”
“Wait, Ignacio is here?” His hand fell from his face and found the bend of her arm. “Are you all right?” He looked at the dried blood on her wrists, anger rising in a tidal wave. “Did he do this?”
She looked away from him, her face drawn. “Doesn’t matter if I’m okay or not.”
“It does,” he insisted, and he knew he needn’t finish his sentence, needn’t say that it mattered to him, because when her eyes found his, he could see her spotting those words on his face; they were clinging to his skin like drops of sweat.
“It doesn’t matter, we’ve got no time!” she said. “Ignacio infected the prisoners and guards with the magic. He came here because the magic gets stronger when he infects people, but it only works on certain kinds of people, ones who can carry the magic without turning to dust. Bad people, I’d wager. So he came here. Once he’s got this whole prison under his power, he’ll be strong enough to do whatever you fear and worse,” she said, her eyes shining with fright. “Did Bathtub Boy find anything out that can help us stop him?”
Alfie’s mind sputtered as her words sank in. If Ignacio had already infected the prison, then his power now would make their last encounter in the Brim look like child’s play. He’d tried to pull Alfie’s bones from his skin then; what would he do now with the magic within him stronger than ever?
“Prince!” Finn said, gripping his shoulder. “Did Bathtub Boy come up with anything?”
His body numb with fear, he fished the sliver of dried parchment from his pocket. “Not anything that will help us. He sent me a message saying that Sombra’s body didn’t turn to bone, it was turned to stone, like a statue.”
Finn stared up at him, her eyes lit with discovery. “Of course,” she whispered. “What Ignacio’s looking for is in the palace!”
Alfie looked at her, confused that a message he thought so inconsequential could brighten her face with realization. “What do you mean?”
“Sombra’s body turned to stone, not bone,” she repeated, her words hushed. “Ignacio is after those weird stone hands in the palace vault! Those are pieces of Sombra! We have to get there first and stop him from getting them!”
Alfie’s jaw went slack as it all fell into place in his mind. That strange piece of a statue in the vault, the thing he’d always thought to be the least interesting among the palace’s treasures, was a piece of the god’s body. There were many fragmented pieces of art in the vault, salvaged from when Englass had attempted to destroy all forms of Castallan’s culture. Alfie had assumed the stone arms were just another recovered piece of art from a time long past. But instead they were the key to begin to wake Sombra.
“We’ve got to get to the palace! Stop him from reaching those hands!”
Alfie’s mind spun with diverging paths to take. If Ignacio had already infected the prison, he would surely be powerful enough to storm the palace. Should they fight him here, face him now, stop him from getting to the hands? Or should they go to the city and try to warn his people?
He didn’t know what path was right—but the thought of Ignacio getting any closer to those stone hands made his stomach tighten.
“If he’s here, then we’ll face him here. Now.”
Finn stared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No,” he snapped. “I’m trying to stop a man full of evil magic from getting anywhere near those hands and my family.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “I can’t believe I have to be the maldito cautious one right now. Prince, what happens if we die trying to stop him, hmm?” She leaned forward, daring him to ignore her. “If we die, which at this point is very possible, no one will be able to warn your family of what’s coming. No one will know to protect the maldito stone hands. I know you don’t want everyone to know about what you did, but you’ve got to go home and tell them! Give them a fighting chance!”
Alfie blinked at her. Was that why he’d avoided the thought of going home? To keep himself from having to admit his mistake? Alfie swallowed down his shame and left it for another time. She was right. They needed to go home.
Already knowing that she was right, Finn took the vanishing cloak off and tossed it at the prisoner. “Put that on! We can’t have a guard killing you on sight when we get to the palace.” Then Finn turned to Alfie expectantly. “Use the dragon and transport the three of us to the palace. It’s our best shot of getting out of here alive!”
Alfie could only look at her in dismay. With his head already swimming from Finn’s use of the dragon, he could not imagine what kind of pain would tear through him if he tried to transport just him and Finn, let alone the prisoner too. He didn’t know if he would survive it.
“It might kill you if you try, right?” Finn said, voicing his thoughts. Her eyes scanned him and he could see her tallying the signs of his weakness—his unsteady stance, the remnants of a nosebleed staining his sleeve, the flash of blood on his teeth.
Alfie nodded.
“Then we find another way,” she said, resolute.
The quickness with which she abandoned that plan for his sake and his sake alone struck him like a blow, but the sound of a barrage of feet pounding closer and closer drew Alfie’s attention away.
Finn grabbed his arm and the prisoner’s, dragging them forward. “Come on!”
Together they ran down the hall, Alfie’s head pounding in exhaustion with every step. Finn’s tight grip on his arm was the only thing that tethered him to the present. Behind them a horde of black-eyed prisoners and guards poured into the hall. The tightness of the corridor made them fall over each other, trampli
ng one another in the process. They moved down the hall in a squirming mass of tangled limbs, their black-nailed hands reaching out for them. But this time, some of the hands were stained with fresh blood. Alfie’s stomach tightened.
“Don’t look back!” Finn barked at him.
With her dragging them forward, they raced down the corridor to a fork in the hall; one way led up a spiral staircase, the other down a curving hall.
“Which way?” Finn asked, her head swiveling between the two options.
Alfie had opened his mouth to speak when a hand gripped him by the ankle and pulled. His face slammed against the stone as he was yanked backward. A black-eyed prisoner had scuttled out of the horde to grab his leg and drag him backward to the mob that swelled behind them.
Panic surging through him, Alfie flipped onto his back and kicked the prisoner in the face. He felt the man’s nose break beneath his shoe, but the prisoner wouldn’t let go, didn’t even seem to take notice. He only pulled Alfie’s ankle with his cold fingers.
A hand grabbed Alfie by the wrist. Standing over him was a wide-eyed Xiomara, holding on to him with all her strength. Their eyes met and even in such a chaotic moment, Alfie saw a remorse in her that scorched him from the inside out. He felt sick at the thought that he’d rather have been dragged back into those bloodstained hands than have her save him, touch him. How much of him had this eclipsed if he would rather die than be saved by her?
Finn unsheathed a dagger and leaped over Alfie. With a slash she cut the man’s fingers from his grasping hand. Then Finn kicked him hard under the chin, sending him rolling backward.
Alfie stood, unsteady on his feet, when he noticed Xiomara’s hand was still tight about his wrist. He wrenched himself free and a flash of hurt flickered in her eyes.
“Come on!” Finn shouted. She grabbed Alfie by the arm and led him back to the fork in the hall. She made the decision without asking this time and pulled him up the stairs, Xiomara lagging behind.
Then the man who’d grabbed Alfie’s ankle had closed in on them once more. This time he leaped at Xiomara as she sprinted toward the stairs, sending them both rolling down the hall opposite the staircase.