by Maya Motayne
The last black-eyed woman standing turned to them, the stone arms in her possession and her eyes blank.
She ran at them, her speed beguiling.
“Don’t let her get out the door!” Paloma shouted.
Unsure of what else to do, Luka ran at the woman and tackled her. He held her down by the shoulders. Just like the other monsters, she didn’t try to hurt him, but she tried to break free from his hold, wriggling and bucking beneath him.
“Where are they? Where are the hands?” Paloma stood over him, breathless. The woman didn’t have them anymore.
“I don’t know, she was just holding them when I grabbed her!”
A quick tapping sound from behind drew Luka’s attention. The stone hands were skittering on their fingers like spiders across the floor of the vault toward the door.
“You failed to mention that the hands are alive!” Luka shouted.
“They haven’t been for centuries,” Paloma shot back, her usual monotone voice clipped with annoyance. She focused on the stone hands. “Parar!” But the hands didn’t listen to the magic, didn’t freeze. They kept going. “Parar! They’re too close to the magic; it’s woken them.”
Luka had no time to ask her for clarification on that, because the hands were darting out of the vault and down the hall. Paloma made a messy gesture with her hand and a band of stone curled around the black-eyed woman’s waist. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it would keep her down. She jerked Luka away from the writhing woman and dragged him out of the vault.
“Those hands cannot get to the ballroom, do you understand?” she said as they ran, trailing behind as the hands turned a corner. Luka had thought the day that Alfie had brought the thief into the palace had been the weirdest day of his life. But chasing some stone hands down the palace halls with Paloma left that day in the dust.
With quick gestures, Paloma raised blockades of stone from the ground to corral the hands into a corner. She dove forward and landed on them.
She gripped them to her chest by their forearms, the hands stretching up toward her neck like a morbid bouquet of flowers. Luka crouched in front of her, watching them wriggle against her chest. Paloma got on her knees and opened her mouth to speak, but the hands wrapped tight around her throat like a vise. Eyes wide, Paloma choked, gasping for breath.
“Shit!” Luka cursed. He tugged at the disembodied forearms, but the fingers wouldn’t unwrap from Paloma’s neck. Luka only dragged her forward with every pull. “I’m sorry!” he said as she wheezed helplessly. Luka grabbed the fingers and with all his might, pulled each digit back one by one. Finally he pulled the hands free of her. Paloma collapsed forward, gasping for breath.
The hands fought in Luka’s arms and he could only think to say, “Bad hands! Very bad hands!”
Calling upon every ounce of his baffling strength, Luka forced the hands to knit their fingers together and held them with each of his palms pressing the hands flush against one another.
“Are you all right?” Luka asked her as he held the writhing statue.
Paloma slowly rose to her feet, her voice raspy. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get to my quarters. I’ve got to get them far away from here, from that man in the ballroom.” Paloma’s eyes shifted to look just over Luka’s shoulder. Her face tightened.
At the far end of the hall were the three women from the vault, and they’d brought friends. A horde of black-eyed monsters stood impossibly still, staring at the statue Luka held.
“Uh-oh,” Luka said. Then the monsters were running to them at a breakneck speed. Luka dropped to his knees before Paloma. “Hop on my back!”
Paloma threw her arms around his neck and Luka took off down the hall as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Fuerza!” Paloma shouted from his back. “Parar!”
He could hear the bodies of the black-eyed falling to the ground, being thrown backward or pelted with Paloma’s stone carving. But he knew she couldn’t keep this up for long; there were too many of them and magic didn’t seem to affect them for long. The stone hands were wrestling between his palms, fighting to break free.
“Luka!” Paloma shouted. Luka looked over his shoulder just in time to see a black-eyed woman launch herself toward them. The force of the collision sent Luka rolling onto the ground. The stone hands flew out of his grasp. Luka made to run after them, but a yelp of pain drew him back. Behind him Paloma wrestled with the black-eyed woman. The dueña’s ankle was bent at an awkward angle, twisted from the fall. The woman pegged her to the ground like a cat would a mouse.
“Go!” Paloma shouted. “Get the hands! Leave me!”
Luka’s eyes darted between her and the hands scuttling farther down the hallway. He and Paloma had never quite seen eye to eye—after all, he was always pulling Alfie out of lessons and into trouble. But he couldn’t leave her in the grips of these monsters.
Her face tightened; she seemed to know what he was thinking. “Luka, do as I say!”
Luka bounded forward and knocked the black-veined woman off Paloma. With his inexplicable strength he sent the woman skipping across the corridor floor like a stone across a lake, back toward the rest of the black-eyed monsters rushing toward them. He flexed his fingers and summoned a globe of flame, readying himself for a fight. These monsters couldn’t harm him for some reason, but he could certainly harm them.
He shot Paloma a tight grin. “Since when have I ever done as you asked?”
36
The Dragon
Finn had expected complete bedlam, but the ballroom was beyond that.
Guests were searching for escape only to be savagely tackled by the black-eyed monsters who crashed in through the ballroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The guards still stood on the far side of the ballroom in a circle of brawn around the king and queen.
Together they’d left the king and queen behind and dashed into the fray, barreling through screaming nobles. As they ran, Alfie’s eyes darted over her shoulder, a look of panic on his face. He gripped her close, pulled water from the air, and froze it in a globe of ice around his fist. Then he punched the black-eyed man running toward them in the face, sending him stumbling backward.
An infected woman was rushing at the prince from behind. With a quick movement, Finn made the woman’s feet sink into the stone ballroom floor. She fell onto all fours, silently trying to crawl forward. Her eyes were glued to their shadows. Behind Alfie, another woman was running toward them. Alfie turned around and threw out his hand.
“Parar!” he said. For a moment the woman’s body froze against the ground, halted by his magic. But Finn could see her slowly breaking free. Was there anything this black magic couldn’t resist?
A thought struck her and her heart froze in her chest. “Where’s Xiomara?” she hissed at Alfie. Was the prisoner even still alive? Had she been taken down by Ignacio’s monsters?
Alfie’s eyes narrowed in focus, something Finn now recognized as him engaging his propio. “I can see her magic,” he said hurriedly before shouting another spell to force a black-eyed man away from them. “She’s all right, staying close to the walls, out of the way like we discussed.”
“Well, what do we do now? We can’t keep trying to stop them all!” Finn said. “We’ve got to find Ignacio!” Ignacio had stood at the top of the stairs and in the blink of an eye, he’d disappeared, taunting them with his presence only to disappear from sight once more. Bodies littered the floor. Some lay still with death while others convulsed, their skin marred with black veins, their eyes darkening.
“Prince Alfehr!” A guard appeared out of the fray and moved to stand before him, shouting. “Protect the crown prince!”
“No!” Alfie shouted at him while Finn raised a wall of stone from the ballroom floor to block an infected woman’s path to them. She shoved back the wall of stone, sending the monster careening backward with it. “Protect my family, and everyone else who hasn’t been touched yet. Do not kill any of the rest, that’s how it spreads. Subdue them
any way you can! But don’t kill them. Do you understand? Go tell the other guards!”
The guard looked perplexed. “But, Prince Alfehr, I have to—”
“I am your future king; what you must do is follow my orders,” Alfie said, and Finn had to sneak a glance at him. The boy sounded like a king. “Protect everyone, my friend, and I will do the rest.”
The guard nodded, still looking confused, before darting back into the fray.
“Do you see him?” Alfie asked Finn, his eyes scanning the cavernous expanse of the ballroom. Ignacio had been at the top of the stairs for a moment, then he was gone.
“No!” she said, annoyed. He always liked to make her wait. For praise, for punishment. It didn’t matter. There was always a wait.
“Stop,” a voice as rich as velvet said, cutting through the chaos like a knife. The infected halted where they stood. The nobles stopped as well. Only Finn and Alfie could move. Finn turned toward the voice, and there he was, lounging on the throne of the king as if he were born to sit in it.
A knot of fury unspooled inside of her, searing hot. This man had cut her parents’ throats and yet he looked at her as if she owed him—an apology, her life, her love, everything she had. She wanted nothing more than to pull that smile off his face and send him straight to his grave. She would do it or die trying.
“What a nice surprise to see you here, Mija. To think I assumed I would have to hunt you down only to find that you’ve delivered yourself to me, like a gift,” he said, his dark eyes alight. “Are you so eager to join your lovely parents where I put them?”
Finn’s breath caught in her chest before rising up her throat in a growl. For a moment she was nothing but fury again, only gnashed teeth and a hunger for vengeance that left her hollow.
Alfie straightened and his eyes flickered between Ignacio and Finn. She could tell from the prince’s look that he knew Ignacio had killed them. The heartbreak in his eyes, heartbreak for her, pulled her out of her fury. The sorrow in his gaze stiffened into resolve. He squared his shoulders beside her and faced Ignacio. “You’re disgusting.”
Ignacio ignored the prince. He stood from the throne and strode to the center of the ballroom. She knew him. He intended to have her walk the rest of the way to him. “Let’s make this between you and me, as it should be. And I let both your amigos go.” Finn looked at him, feigning confusion. Ignacio rolled his eyes. He raised his hand and Finn turned to see Xiomara slam against a wall, the hood of the vanishing cloak flying off on impact.
“You must know by now that this magic is nothing to be trifled with,” Ignacio said, cocking his head at her. “Here, I’ll even be nice. I’ll give you a peace offering.” He snapped his fingers and in a flash of light a body appeared at his feet, tied by the ankles and wrists. Finn gasped. It was Kol.
She struggled against her binds, a gag corking her mouth.
Days ago, Finn had wanted nothing but cold, bloody vengeance after Kol had stolen her propio, but Ignacio and the dark magic had claimed her focus. Seeing the mobster now was strange, pulling her back to when her life seemed much less complicated. Finn shook her head. She never thought that her life would get so difficult that the prospect of a mobster thieving her propio would seem simple in comparison.
With Kol here and her propio well within reach, Finn couldn’t stop her fingers from twitching toward the dagger at her hip. One quick slice and she’d have her propio back. Ignacio’s eyes lit up as he watched her hand move, and his delight was enough to stop her.
“We crossed paths at the Blue Thimble. When I learned what she’d done to you, I decided to keep her as a gift for you.”
Ignacio had told her he had a gift for her when they’d fought in the Brim. She’d never imagined that it would be Kol.
The mobster stared at Finn, her eyes wide with fear. Finn could only imagine the horrors she’d withstood at Ignacio’s hands.
“Let her go,” she found herself saying. No one deserved Ignacio’s cruelty, not even Kol.
Ignacio looked at Finn, disgust written in every pane of his face. “Have I taught you nothing? Has this fool boy made you soft?” He leveled Alfie with a glare. “She took something from you, Mija, and after I spent a bit of time with her, I learned what else she had planned for you. Don’t you want to know?”
“I don’t want a maldito thing from you, just let her go,” Finn said. Beside her the prince was stock-still, staring at Kol, his gold eyes round and desperate. In the prison, when Alfie had asked the dark magic to show him why his brother had been killed, the dark magic had shown him a tattoo—a tattoo that Kol herself had. The mobster would know more about the tattoo he’d seen in his vision; she might know about his brother’s assassination. Though Finn had no love for Kol, she wanted the prince to find what he needed. She glanced at the prince, but his eyes were focused in front of him. His hand beside hers shifted with minute movements, and she knew what he was doing.
Wine and blood had been spilled all over the floor in the chaos. The prince curled his fingers, and a frozen spike of wine rose from the puddle just behind Ignacio. With barely perceptible movements of his fingers, he moved the frozen blade and pointed it at Ignacio’s back, at his heart.
Sweat gathered at her temples. Could they really end this?
Then Ignacio cocked his head and flexed his fingers. Alfie gave a sound of protest, as if something had been snatched from his hand. The frozen blade shot around Ignacio so quickly that Finn had no time to react. Alfie jerked sideways, pushing Finn away as he tried to dodge the blade poised for his heart, but he moved too slowly. It buried itself just below the prince’s collarbone with a thunk.
Alfie curled forward with a shout of pain, his hand closing around the spike of ice as he willed it to melt.
“That was an adorable attempt, but I’m afraid you’ll have to try a bit harder,” Ignacio said.
With a hiss, Alfie put pressure on the wound to stop the gush of blood. He spoke a quick word of magic to heal it as Ignacio’s eyes found Finn once more.
“She meant to frame you,” Ignacio went on. He flexed his fingers and Kol writhed against the ground, her eyes rolling back from the pain until Ignacio dropped his hand back to his side. She fell still, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “She blackmailed a servant girl into poisoning the prince’s tonic and used your bet to place you in the palace to be framed for the murder. She even had guards in her pocket who were paid to report seeing you skulking around the palace, but you were too clever, just as I raised you to be. You did what she thought you couldn’t. You got the cloak and slipped away before they could find you.” A spark of pride lit his eyes.
Finn’s head spun, these new details buzzing between her ears. Kol had set her up to take the fall for Alfie’s death. That must’ve been why she’d given Finn a map of the palace passages, because she’d wanted her to get caught in them. If Kol’s plan had succeeded, she would’ve ended up spending the rest of her days in the Clock Tower, and Alfie would’ve been killed.
“Why did she do it?” Alfie demanded from beside Finn. “Why did she try to kill me? Was she part of my brother’s assassination too?” When Ignacio only stared at Alfie, amused, the prince stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. “Tell me!”
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know,” Ignacio said, a laugh booming from his lips. “I’m sure Kol would love to tell you; it’s an interesting story, particularly where your dead brother is concerned.”
Alfie’s body turned rigid at that, and Finn had to grip him by the arm to stop him from dashing forward to meet Ignacio.
“But, alas, Kol’s time has come to an end. My children come first and those who hurt them,” he said, leaning over Kol’s trembling body, “pay the price.”
Finn’s heart pounded in her throat. “Don’t—”
Ignacio gave a swish of his hand. Kol’s neck twisted sharply to the left and flopped back to the ground at an awkward angle, like a snapped branch clinging desperately to a tree.
Finn gas
ped as she felt Kol’s hold on her lift like a veil. It was as if a river within her had been blocked, walled off by a thick dam, and now it flowed once more, its current cooling her from the inside out. She was whole again. A feeling she could not explain darted through her—the sudden absence of pain, the rush of sleep coming to claim you after a long day. She was free; her propio was back.
Ignacio smiled at her. “You see how much your father loves you?”
Finn shook her head at him. He only loved what he owned, and he never would own her again.
With another wave of his hand the three sets of doorways out of the ballroom swung open. “I’ll even let the rest go. How’s that?”
He snapped his fingers and the ballroom guests came to life again, while his black-eyed minions stayed still. The deafening screams of the nobles echoed around Finn once more and she resisted the urge to clap a hand over her ears.
“Get out!” Ignacio roared, the magic making his voice boom throughout the ballroom like a crack of thunder. The guests fell still and quiet at his command, as if a god had spoken and they wondered if they should pray. “Or stay and die. The choice is yours.”
At the sight of the open doors, the royals and guards began to escape, running with reckless abandon. The shadowless stood still, awaiting Ignacio’s command but looking hungrily at the running nobles.
Finn watched as the king and queen were rushed out of the room by a group of guards. They shouted Alfie’s name, but the prince looked away from them, his eyes shining as they were ushered out of the ballroom.
Now it was only Alfie and her against Ignacio. Xiomara was still out cold on the far side of the ballroom.
Ignacio glanced at the shadowless noncommittally. “Feast on whoever you like, but the three in this room are mine.”