“I know these woods better than any of the king’s guard,” I say. “Better than you, even.”
He takes my gloved hand in his. “You’ve never told me that.”
“I was born just outside of here. It’s been so long, but I think I could find my way home. If there was a home to return to.”
He sighs, eyes full of sympathy. “I’m sorry. It can’t be easy for you when we reminisce about our parents.”
What do I remember of them? I know my father used to hunt in the Forest of Lynxes. I can’t picture his face, but sometimes when I look in the mirror, I remember a voice that says, You look like him, you know. But I’m not always sure if it’s my mother’s voice or someone else’s.
“Can I tell you something terrible?” I say.
He sits up to face me, his eyes searching and waiting for me to speak. Part of me wants to take back the question, because I don’t want to say it aloud.
“When I hear others talk about their parents, the first person that comes to mind is Justice Méndez.”
Dez averts his eyes, a deep frown in his brow, but his words are soft. “That man took you from your home. He used you—”
“As a weapon,” I say, taking his face in my hands. “I know. I thank the goddess every day that the Whispers came for me. Who would I be if I had never left? A monster. A killer.”
“You would still be Renata Convida.” He presses a kiss on my jaw, then pulls back to watch me blush, even in the dark. “You would still be my Ren.”
“I don’t know that. All I know is that he’s connected to this weapon. And I can’t ever see him again, or I don’t know what I’d do.”
My heart is racing as Dez pulls me close. Everything about him is warm. “You won’t ever have to do that. I promise. I’ll kill him myself. For you. For everything he’s done. I will end the Arm of Justice.”
I don’t want to turn Dez into a vengeful thing. Besides, if Justice Méndez was gone, one of his underling judges would be waiting to take the title.
“That isn’t what I want for you.” I brush his hair from his eyes. Maybe it’s because we’ve grown up together and fought side by side that I know him better than I know myself, but there’s something there. I’ve had this feeling wedged beneath my skin since we received our orders to hide in this forest. His promise to kill Méndez has a certainty none of our other missions have. It’s like he knows something we don’t. “You’ve been holding something back since we recovered the alman stone.”
“I have,” he says. “What you saw in the alman stone—” He starts, then stops, raking his fingers through his hair before trying again. “This weapon has the potential to expose all Moria. My father couldn’t believe the king was capable of that kind of alchemy. Hells, I didn’t want to believe it either. How long have they been developing it? How many have they tested it on? Every time I let myself think about it I want to set the capital ablaze once again.”
Our silence spins like a spider’s web between us. There’s the rush of the river nearby, the cry of night birds, and the thud of my heart, all competing to be heard.
“How much do you really know about it?” I ask.
Dez makes a guttural sound of frustration, and for the first time I see the true fear in his eyes. “They say it started as a ‘cure.’ Or that’s what they called it. A way to control us by removing our power.”
A “cure.” For our magics. Our souls.
“How will we know what to look for when we’re in the palace?” I ask.
He turns to face the pitch-dark path that leads back to our camp. He’s avoiding my stare, and I know that when his mind is set, even I can’t change it. But that won’t stop me from trying. “I have a plan. The king and the Bloodied Prince will never suspect us.”
There’s always venom in his voice at the mention of the prince. The cruelty of the royal family knows no bounds, not even from one another. King Fernando usurped the crown from his own father. Prince Castian is said to have drowned his younger brother in the river that cuts behind the palace. His mother, Queen Penelope, was so inconsolable that she died of heartsickness. Over time, the stories have been changed, twisted, exaggerated, excused. But one story remains the same: For the centuries the Fajardos have ruled, Puerto Leones has grown bigger, stronger, richer, but it has never known peace.
I rest my hands on Dez’s arms. I want to tell him that I feel just as helpless as he does, that we’ll find a way to fight back against these evil men, but I can’t seem to get the words out. A memory lifts from my troubled mind. Delicate hands trace the length of a man’s naked chest. His eyes stare back with a look I can’t quite name. I take a sharp breath and push away the stolen image and Dez at the same time.
“What is it?” he asks.
I crawl to my feet and move a few paces toward the river. My heart rattles in my chest. I should have my mind under control by now. Why won’t the memories stay back? If this keeps happening, it’ll be Esmeraldas all over again. This is too important.
“I’m a liability, Dez. I can’t go on the mission.”
He looks back as if I’ve slapped him. “Ren—”
“It’s one thing if I could fight, but I’m injured. I’ll put you in danger.”
“You won’t have to fight.” He grips my shoulders. His eyes skim past me to the dark water. Why won’t he look at me when he says this? “But your Robári gift is useful.”
“There’s something wrong with my power, Dez.”
“You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened to that boy,” he says. “Any of us would have gone into that house to save him.”
I shake my head and scoff. The words tear through me, angry and bright. “Can you honestly tell me that any of the others would be sorry to see such a weapon turned on me?”
“Is that what’s had you so upset?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t quite parse my feelings until now, but now that I’ve said it I can’t unthink it.
“Don’t ever say that,” he says, anger sharpening his voice. “Don’t ever think that.”
But how can Dez understand? How can he begin to know what it’s like to have curses follow you everywhere, a sibilant kind of guilt? To watch horror dawn on people’s faces when they realize that standing before them is the reason that their father is gone, their sister is dead, their child was taken?
Dez is beloved by the Whispers. The son of Illan, leader of the rebellion against King Fernando. Dez is the one who dared fight Prince Castian in Riomar. We lost the citadela, but Dez and Margo blew up their reserves and allowed for the Moria of the citadela to escape with their lives on stolen ships. Dez is the one who protects his people with his every act.
I shake out of his grip. I have to go—somewhere, anywhere.
“Stay,” he says quickly, softly. “Stay with me, Ren.”
My body betrays me and I stop. My eyes burn with unshed tears. Fear digs into my bones at the uncertainty, the cruelty, of the mission that’s to come. But the anguish in my chest is because of Dez, because I want to stay. Dez wouldn’t use his Persuári magics to compel me. It’s a crime among our people. I’d be able to sense it. That kind of magic is warm against the skin and makes his voice metallic like bells.
This need to be near him and forget everything else is simply us. He’s too free with his heart and I shut down because deep down I know I don’t deserve to have this kind of happiness. The sight of him warps my thoughts; his voice is like an anchor weighing me down. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I wonder if I’ve stayed with the Whispers for the rebellion, to restore the kingdom of Memoria, to find peace. Or if I’ve stayed for him.
Perhaps they are the same thing in the end.
“I know you have your doubts about your power,” he continues in a low voice, as though he’s afraid he’ll startle me away into the forest, “but I have never doubted you. I know we will win this war, Ren.”
“I don’t know if I’m built to keep fighting like you,” I say, and speaking the words feels like pulling
a cord out of my heart. “Sometimes I think I was built to be used and nothing more.”
He takes two steps forward, and his hands rest on my shoulders, careful not to disturb the bandage over my wound. The touch shocks me into stillness. His hands trail down my arms, and there is nowhere to look but the endless gold of his eyes.
“Renata.” There is no emotion in the word—no hint of pleading or passion or fury. It’s just my name, like a final wish. “You’re the strongest person I know. I’ll prove it to you.”
His hands slide down to my wrists, to the very edge of my gloves, and suddenly my heart is wilder than the rush of the river as he waits for me to say yes.
Slowly, I nod.
He tugs off my gloves one by one.
Instinctively, I curl my fingers into a ball, trying to hide my scars, the scars I’ve gained from every memory I’ve stolen, the evidence of my thievery. He unfurls my hands, presses our palms together. His hands are almost twice as big as mine and marked not by magics, but by the kiss of steel. I shut my eyes and memorize the calluses of his palms. He closes the distance between us, until all I have to do is tilt my head up to feel his lips against mine. He leans down, his mouth grazing my ear. He leads one of my hands to his face.
His temple. “Take a memory.”
My eyes fly open. “I knew you were reckless—”
“I’ve never claimed to be anything but,” he says playfully.
My words are a staccato, breathless whisper. “Something is wrong with my power, I told you. I’ve been away from Illan’s training for too long.”
“Let me help you, then.” Suddenly, the play is gone, replaced with a vulnerable thing that feels breakable. “I trust you. I know you.”
“Dez.”
“You’re not the only one whose nightmares won’t let them sleep.” He brushes a thumb over my cheekbone. “Please.”
I wonder if he can feel my heart racing. That’s the thing, isn’t it? I want him so much I stay away, out of fear of hurting him. If I touched him, and my power got ahold of me. If I injure him. If I break the connection too soon. If I drain every memory. If I make him forget me. There are so many ifs that flood my mind. But I don’t move away from him. I sink into his hold around my waist, trace my fingertips along his forehead.
“It’ll hurt,” I warn. “During and after.”
He shivers against me. “I know.”
The raised scars that trace the pads of my fingers heat up, as if there’s a fire ignited from within. He’s never seen me use my power this way, just the aftermath of it when it goes wrong. Dez’s eyes widen at the sight of my hands, at the light that races along my palms. What startles me most of all is that look on his face. Not fear but wonder.
No one has ever looked at me this way.
“How does this work?” he asks. “Do they all go into the Gray?”
I shake my head. “The Gray is my own creation, I think. I’ve never known another Robári long enough to compare. But most of my memories up until I was nine are locked in there.”
“Why nine?”
“That’s when the Whispers burned down the old palace. That’s when I met you.” I press my hand over his heart and smile when I feel how fast his pulse is. “This memory wouldn’t be locked away. It would just be mine.”
The wrinkle on his forehead deepens, but he holds on to me tighter. His voice is nearly pleading. “Do it.”
And I do.
I reach for his temples and take hold. He gasps through the pain, hissing when his skin burns under my glowing touch. I’m an intruder, breaking down the walls of his past. But Dez is all too willing to let me in now, and I dive into the vivid memory he offers.
Even the sea is on fire.
Ships break apart and sink beneath dark waves.
Bells ring from the cathedrals.
Bodies are draped across gray stone streets, their blood running between the cobblestones like rivers searching for a way back to the ocean.
He knows he shouldn’t be there. The Whispers have retreated. Riomar has been lost. But he has one last thing to do.
Dez stumbles over the dead. He can’t tell the broken bodies apart. He’s searching for familiar faces. He hears his name, a strangled cry from a man trying to keep his insides from spilling out. General Almonte. The man who taught him how to wield a sword. Now Almonte’s gray beard is streaked with blood. He shuts his eyes, and then he’s gone.
Dez looks up at the darkening sky, but he cannot scream. Everything within him is numb. The purple-and-gold flag with the Fajardo crest of Puerto Leones is being raised in front of the palace. Up on the balcony is a sight that splinters his vision. Prince Castian watches Riomar descend into chaos. People ravage the dead like vultures, seizing the Moria’s jewelry, weapons, armor. Desecrating bodies. The prince just stands there taking in his victory. Hate and anger surge through Dez, propelling his body into a run. He climbs the carved walls of the palace, his hands caked in dirt and blood and sweat. There is still one thing he can do to end this.
Kill the prince. Kill the prince. Kill the prince.
Dez lands on the balcony with heavy boots.
Prince Castian’s long golden hair is matted to his face. A tender bruise blooms on his high cheekbone like spoiled fruit, his full lips split open and bloody. He’s still in his chain mail, though it’s been hours since the Moria forces, what’s left of them, retreated from the citadela.
His blue eyes light up with fury as he realizes he’s not alone. But he does not call for his guards or for help. He unsheathes his sword and walks across the balcony.
“Run home, boy,” he spits to the side. He levels those cold eyes of his at Dez’s still-approaching figure. He’s tired and injured. It must be why he gives Dez a chance to leave. “Do you have a death wish?”
“I do,” Dez says, rage strangling his words. “Yours.”
Prince Castian swings his sword first, and Dez raises his to meet it, the clash of metal drowned by the ringing of the bells. The crackle of fire. The cries of the dying down below. The revelers.
Each blow strikes Dez, rattles him down to the bone. The prince is stronger than he looks when parading on campaigns. His footwork fast, like he can predict each and every move Dez makes. Dez’s arms are growing tired, but he pushes through the fire in his muscles, the sting of sweat and blood in his eyes. He draws the prince’s blood, slicing across his cheek. Castian hisses. For a prince, he seems too accustomed to bleeding.
There’s a loud boom as one of the ships blows up in the water. It draws the princeling’s attention long enough for Dez to ram into him with every ounce of strength he has left. They hit the ledge of the balcony. Castian’s sword goes over and down into the pit below. Fighting. Fire. Screams. Singing. Somewhere, on a night like this, someone is singing. Dez inhales the scorched air. Blood is like rusted iron filling his mouth when he breathes. He cannot let go of the prince, and he cannot throw him over without killing them both. But isn’t that why he walked all the way back there?
Castian slams his face into Dez’s. Pain flares through his nose. He shakes his head, but the night stars and fire of the city spin in front of him. He’s too weak to call on his magics, and in his hesitation, the prince recovers. Using his fists, punching and smashing Dez’s face like a common river rat. He drives his knee into Dez’s chest. Dez’s hands are too slick, and his sword slips through his fingers. Pitch-black flashes. Dez falls. Can’t breathe. The balcony tiles are slippery. It’s begun to rain. The air is thick with it. He tries to turn around.
“You should have gone home,” Castian says, his voice distant.
I am home, Dez thinks, but he cannot get his body to breathe.
Air scrapes through his throat. He crawls on hands and knees to the glint of his sword. His hand is around the hilt, and he staggers to his feet. Castian lets out a growl. Dez lunges and strikes true. Castian’s eyes flare with surprise. Dez’s blade pierces the weak break in the prince’s armor just beneath the breastplate, while a sharp sens
ation stabs him at his side.
They are a mirror image, falling to their knees. Dez grabs the prince’s throat and the prince does the same. They will bleed and choke together and be the ruin of one another, but he will end this.
“Ren,” Dez gasps.
Castian’s hold on Dez slips, but he grabs hold of the copper pendant around Dez’s neck, so tight the leather cord breaks. His eyes are confused and full of rage, then they move past Dez. Whatever the prince sees makes him falter. For the first time, Dez sees fear on his face.
“Andrés!” comes a strained, familiar voice.
“Father?” Dez cries.
I gasp for air, pulling my hands from Dez’s temples as the memory fades into black. I crawl on top of the blanket, breathing hard. Dez rolls onto his back, and both of us stare, breathless, up at the sky. The wound on my neck pulses with a sharp ache.
“You were right,” he groans. “It hurts.”
I turn my face toward him, and I press my hand on his chest to feel the seed of his heartbeat. “I didn’t know you went back. You almost died!”
“But I didn’t. No one knows.” He presses his hand over mine. The brush of his thumb across my new scars helps the dull pain to fade. “Except my father and his apprentice Javi. When they saw I left the caravan, they doubled back for me. The Príncipe Dorado finally called his guards and we barely got out of there.”
“Thank Our Lady.” The strain of his injuries from that fight settles into me. I can still feel his helplessness, the fear that he would die and the last person he would see was someone he hated.
“That was the day we lost the last stronghold of the kingdom of Memoria.”
“Memoria was lost half a century ago, Dez.”
“I know,” he says softly, regret in his voice. “Some part of me hoped our allies would come to our aid, to stop Puerto Leones from seizing total control of the continent. But no one came. We fight alone.”
“Why give me that memory now?”
“You’re afraid that you might have to face Justice Méndez again. I’m terrified that I won’t be strong enough to do what needs to be done. That I’ll fail like I did that day. I wanted you to know that.”
Incendiary (Hollow Crown) Page 8