“Drop your weapons,” Castian says calmly. He winks at Dez and says, “Stay,” before striding in our direction, the four of us standing in a helpless line. My memory—Dez’s memory—is so fresh in my mind that it is like I’m seeing two of Castian. There’s the Bloodied Prince clutching Dez’s throat, so full of rage. Then there’s this Castian, flashing a victorious smile.
A third vision of him sparks like lightning in the dark of my thoughts: Esmeraldas. Celeste. A child’s memory of strangers setting fire to his house. The same voice that’s telling Dez to stay like a dog. No one can know I was here, he’d said. But Prince Castian is known for his pageantry, riding from village to citadela protecting them from the threat of the Whispers.
This Castian looks and sounds like the glimpses I have of him, but there’s something different. An overconfidence that reeks of someone who knows they’ve already won.
“Thank the Father you’re consistent,” Castian tells Dez, tracing the crescent moon scar on his cheekbone. “Nearly a year since we last met and you’ve still got a death wish.”
The casual nature of his voice doesn’t belong in this forest, among our unit, while our lives hang in the balance. I hate everything about him. I want to rip every memory out of his head. The Matahermano’s strange blue eyes settle on me, frowning like I’ve spat in his food, before moving down the line.
“Let them go,” Dez growls. His hands are balled into fists, blood blooming like petals on the sleeves of his tunic. My body lurches forward, but Esteban wrenches my wrist.
“Dez!” Margo shouts, and the soldier behind her yanks her back by her hair.
Sayida throws that slender knife of hers and Margo catches it in the crook of her arm, driving it upward into the soldier’s eye. The man’s screams send birds flying from the canopies. Only one of the soldiers helps him stand.
Dez is still watching Margo and whirls around too slowly as a fresh-faced soldier—the one who nearly severed my neck in Esmeraldas—surprises him with two daggers, one at the neck and one over his heart. Dez’s eyes widen, a new stream of blood running down his neck where the knife-happy soldier has cut him.
“You took my sword,” the boy says.
“Stop!” Castian tries to keep the steel of victory on the smooth plane of his brow, but those eerie blue eyes spark with worry. The prince squeezes a hand into a fist, the spikes across his knuckles poised as a threat to the young boy. “I need him alive.”
We shift ranks, the soldiers protecting their prince while the four of us keep our weapons drawn in wait.
“They’re nothing but scavengers,” Dez says, and spits a mouthful of blood at the ground. He keeps his arms out wide. “It’s me you want. Take me.”
Castian’s face is bloody from a red cut on the fine slope of his regal nose. I hope it hurts. He flashes a smile from us to Dez. “Why would I do that?”
Dez takes this moment to slam the back of his head directly into the soldier behind him. The young man falls, cradling his face, but doesn’t get up. Dez reaches into his pocket before anyone can advance and draws out a glass vial. Poison made from the olaneda blossom that grows in the highest peaks of the Memoria Mountains. One of our alchemists created it, trying to develop a cure for the plague that swept the continent years ago. Instead he discovered a quick death.
“Dez,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me.
Castian raises a hand to signal his men to stand back. He bites down so hard his jaw tenses. Is that fear in the prince’s eyes? Dez might not be able to remember the way Castian nearly killed him, but I do. I feel it so deeply that it takes everything in me not to scream.
Castian’s upper lip is a snarl. “You wouldn’t.”
“They are worth my life,” Dez says, his words so even and strong no one could doubt it. “I’m the son of an elder. I’m the leader of the Whispers. It’s me you want.”
“You overestimate your value.”
“Then why’d you come looking for me?” Dez asks. “Because the spy is dead. Celeste is dead. But you must know that already. You want me alive to get your revenge for that pretty scar I gave you.”
What Dez said last night before thrums in my mind. Trust me.
Is this what he meant?
I want to believe Dez would never die by poison. There is no shame in it. But if this is the path he chooses, it means that there is no hope and no chance for the rest of us. And yet, he sets the vial between his teeth. He could bite down and break the glass. The poison would work before he even swallowed any glass shards.
Castian’s hands become fists at his sides. I imagine those pointed knuckles driving through Dez’s skull.
“Ren,” Esteban whispers beside me. “What do we do?”
The only thing I can do. I yank off my gloves and hurl myself at the prince. I just need to lay one finger on him and tear out every memory he has ever had until he’s as good as dead. Hollow, through and through.
“Don’t!” Esteban yells, and I pause, confused.
Suddenly, it feels like roots have sprouted from the earth and wrapped themselves around my ankles. My bones heavy as mortar. My mouth numb, my tongue so thick, I can’t utter a word. Useless. And all around me, the air ripples with Dez’s power. He is holding us back.
It takes a second to register that Esteban’s Don’t wasn’t for me at all. It was for what Dez was about to do. He must have skimmed Dez’s thoughts too late.
“That won’t work on me,” the prince says, but he still steps back from my outstretched fingertips.
“Stop it!” Margo protests just as Sayida’s face grows red with the effort to move.
They are being held in place by the force of Dez’s magics, too. Tears sting at my eyes, blurring the image of the guards waiting for their orders. Castian. He’s a ripple of red and gold, but when I blink, I see the fear in his eyes that his prize might expire before he has the opportunity to torture him. Dez with poison between his lips. I shut my eyes and remember those same lips on my skin, smiling, grinning, laughing, living.
How can he do this?
It is the prince himself who steps between us, his predatory gaze flipping between me and Dez. “I accept.”
“Swear it,” Dez says, holding the vial to his lips. “Swear my unit will walk freely out of this forest and not be harmed by you or your guards.”
“I don’t make promises to Moria scum,” the Bloodied Prince says. He assesses each of us, lingering on my scarred hands. “Will there be others?”
Dez sets his teeth together and hisses, “Yes.”
We say nothing, frozen in different stages of outrage. I try once more to break free of Dez’s magics, but it is as if my body is not my own.
I will never forgive you. The words come unbidden. Are they mine or from my memories coming undone?
“There’s always more, isn’t there?” Castian steps closer to me. His dark brow is furrowed, his golden skin flecked with dirt and bruises and scars. The blue of his eyes fades to a green at the center. I want to claw them out. Perhaps he sees my hate, because he can’t hold my stare and moves on to Margo. “You four will tell the Whispers to stand down. This rebellion is over or your prince of rebels dies without a trial. I will expect your complete and total surrender in three nights, or he will be executed on the fourth day. Do we have an accord?”
“They can’t answer you,” Dez says.
Irritation flashes across the prince’s face. “Then answer for them.”
Without taking his golden eyes, hard and glassy, away from Castian, Dez nods once. The defeat I hear is so foreign I fear I’m staring at an impostor. “They’ll do as you command. Remember everything I’ve said.”
One of the soldiers comes up quickly and knocks the vial out of Dez’s hand. He grabs Dez by the wrists while another kicks the backs of his knees. They tie his arms. And all the while, Dez doesn’t struggle. He breathes fast and hard, and I can’t look away from him. I can’t even lift a finger as they bring out a brown sack to put over his h
ead. His eyes are locked on mine. I hate the brightness of the day. I hate that he won’t let me go to him.
“Remember everything I’ve said. Remember—”
The last of his words is muffled as the guards tug the filthy grain sack over his head.
It’s one of the guards who speaks. His sienna-brown skin is covered in sweat, and he looks like he might get sick on his prince’s boots. “But . . . But, my lord, King Fernando and Justice Méndez—they had their orders. No survivors.”
For a moment, it’s as though Castian didn’t hear the man standing mere paces from him. Then there’s only the sharp metal of his fist flying through the air, spikes ripping into a fleshy cheek.
“Are you on my guard or Justice Méndez’s?” Castian asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I will keep my word to spare these rebels. Is the word of your prince not good enough for you?”
The guard nurses his mangled face, then utters a single cry of understanding.
I want to scream. I want to fight. I want to die.
But I can’t move. How can Dez do this? How can he twist my feelings this way? I refuse to believe there’s even a part of me that doesn’t want to save him. Tears spill silently down my cheeks. All I can do is watch Castian and his guards drag Dez away, leaving the four of us—Sayida, Esteban, Margo, and myself—as living statues, as the forest slowly comes awake with the dawn. Inevitable.
Finally, when Dez is far enough away, his magics release us. Without their support, I stumble. My head spins.
Dez is gone.
A burning sensation like a corrosive liquid runs through my veins. I felt that fire before when I was fighting.
Dez is gone.
I smell rot. Decaying flowers. But it’s not time for the foliage to wilt. I realize it wasn’t only the fight that raged through my skin.
Sayida catches me before I hit the ground. Despite everything that’s happened, it’s my arm that’s heavy, a deadweight pulling me to the earth. My eyelids flutter, and before I sink into total blackness, I hear her say, “Poison.”
Chapter 8
When I open my eyes, it is dark once more. I register a tent. A low-burning lamp on the floor beside me. My lashes brush against soft fabric, not the dusty blanket I’ve been carrying for a week. The skin at the base of my neck is tender, the stitches like cords strung too tight. I let out a pained wail as the last thing I remember crashes over me. Dez’s voice rings in my thoughts.
Remember, Dez said.
“Dez.” I sit up and blink to adjust to the light.
Sayida presses her hands on my chest, and immediately my breaths slow as her Persuári magics move through me in a warm pulse. She’s always described her power as seeing the colors that make up human emotion. I wonder what color mine is right now.
“Stop,” I say, and she does.
I try to stand. Instantly, a wave of dizziness makes me sway.
Sayida puts her hands on my shoulders, gently guiding me back down to the cot. “Please, Ren, you have to stay still.”
“Where’s Dez?”
She pauses, sighing slowly, as if to hold back tears. “You know he isn’t here.”
“I don’t need magics right now,” I say. I need Dez but I can’t say that, even to my own friend. “What happened?”
Sayida hesitates. “You were cut with a poisoned blade. Alacran venom mixed with blood roses, judging from the scent. Illan says you need to lie down.”
“Illan is here?” I ignore Sayida and remain sitting. “And the units? Are they ready to counterattack?”
Shadows of trees playing against the tent’s canvas walls. The same creatures I heard last night when Dez and I . . . We’re still in the Forest of Lynxes.
Over Sayida’s shoulder, Esteban comes into focus. He isn’t looking at me with his usual contempt, but his arms are crossed over his chest to keep his distance. He’s shaved the scraggly beard, leaving smooth brown skin. Softly, he says, “The entire council is here, Renata.”
Renata. Esteban never says my whole name. Incendiary. Scavenger. Hells, even You.
“Am I dying?” I ask Sayida.
She shakes her head and smiles despite the sadness that weighs her down. “Illan got most of it out. But he couldn’t do anything about the nightmares.”
I close my eyes again and I can smell it, like someone holding a poultice under my nose. My stomach lurches. I’m ravenously hungry and nauseous at the same time. I don’t remember nightmares. That’s the thing about the Gray and the more recent memories I’ve taken. They’re always there when I’m awake or sleeping. On the rare occasion I do “dream,” I’m recalling stolen pasts.
“I feel like I was trampled by a bull,” I say. I run my tongue over the inside of my mouth where there’s a touch of numbness. “How long have I been asleep?”
“The better part of two days.”
The Príncipe Dorado’s voice rings in my ear. This rebellion is over or your prince of rebels dies without a trial. I’ll expect your complete and utter surrender in three nights, or he will be executed on the fourth day.
“Two days?” My chest hurts. Blood pounds in my ears, making it hard to think. I press my fists on the cot to try again to stand, stretch my aching leg muscles. “Have they sent a rescue mission to the palace? We can’t surrender, but we can’t let Dez face trial. No one is ever found innocent.”
Esteban’s frown deepens while Sayida looks down at her lap, twisting her copper ring.
“We’ve been ordered to wait,” she says quietly.
“Wait for what?” I shout. She flinches, but she won’t yell back, I know she won’t. Sayida is all softness and warm light, and I am hard edges and shadow. What did Dez call me? Vengeance in the night. “We have to save him. Dez would do it for us.”
Someone pushes back the tent flap, a hand gripping the silver handle of a cane.
“There will be no surrender.” Illan’s voice cuts like the sharpest blade. The elder strides inside, his thick powder-white hair nearly grazing the top of my tent. Eyebrows the same stark black as Dez’s knit together at the sight of us. His cane digs into the forest ground, and he grips the silver fox head even tighter. The mark of the Mother of All, a crescent moon surrounded by an arc of stars, dances across his right shoulder, exposed by the drape of his tunic. All the elders bear this mark.
Illan de Martín, elder and leader of the Whisper rebellion, and the most powerful Ventári alive. He inhales deeply, as if he’s taking the strength out of the tent. “And there will be no rescue mission.”
“But—”
Illan throws up a hand, and the sleeve of his tunic slides back. “If anyone disobeys me, they can take leave of their unit and the Whispers’ safe houses and never return.”
I fight a surge of rage that bubbles in my veins. “He’s your son.”
The silence in the tent is resounding. Sayida and Esteban keep their gazes pointedly away from mine while I glare at Illan. The elder isn’t known for being gentle, but he is known to be just. It doesn’t make sense. He’s staged far more dangerous missions. Like when we snuck into Citadela Crescenti to find the descendants of an old Memoria high-born family. Or when Dez and I attended a masquerade ball at a lord’s estate while two units robbed his stores.
“I need a moment alone with Renata,” Illan says, never taking his eyes from mine. I scowl back at him as Sayida and Esteban scurry out, clearly grateful to be dismissed.
“I don’t understand,” I say as soon as the tent’s flap falls back down.
“What is there for you to understand?” Illan asks. “My parents watched their kingdom stolen by a wretched king. I saw the vestiges of those lands ripped apart by his son. Cut apart. We cannot surrender.”
“It’s Dez,” I choke out.
“We are in the middle of the greatest fight of our rebellion,” Illan replies. “Not fighting just for land but for our survival. I’m not here to discuss Dez. My order stands. None of our fighters go after him or I will see them permanently discharged from ou
r ranks, is that understood?”
I want to disobey him. I want to push back. But I have nowhere else to go, so I turn my face to the side and he keeps speaking.
“What I need from you, Renata, is information about the palace.”
My mouth goes dry. I knew that my value to the Whispers was because of the memories trapped in the Gray. It’s why Illan has trained me all these years to try to unlock it, but nothing works. What value would I have now if I refused to remember a place I have not seen since I was a child?
“No. I will not try to access the Gray until you send a mission out for Dez,” I say, not caring that I’m being belligerent. “Nothing else matters.”
“Need I remind you who saved you from that place?” Illan’s voice is cold, not angry, though he has every right to be—I’ve never spoken to him like this before. It’s likely no one has.
I can’t meet his eyes, but the seeds of my anger sprout like vines, twisting around my throat until I can hardly breathe. “I never need reminding. I see it every day.”
I speak the truth, though not how Illan interprets it. He led the raid on the palace that freed me, the Whispers’ Rebellion. They failed to kill the king, but they stole their children back. Illan even gave me a safe place to call home, but he’s not the person I see. When I think of that night, when I close my eyes, all I see is a dark-haired boy, his hand reaching out from a hidden door in the palace walls, leading me through the smoky stairwell and into a safe embrace. I think of Dez.
Illan nods, satisfied. “King Fernando’s reign must come to an end before there is nowhere left for us to run. I expected your cooperation above everyone. Remember the mission, Renata.”
“End the Fajardo family’s rule. Restore the Moria temples. Reclaim our stolen lands.”
“This weapon stands in the way.”
I know the mission. But all I can hear is the echo of Dez shouting as he was dragged through the forest by our enemy. Remember.
Illan exhales hard. “Who will live on these lands? Who will visit these temples? If we do not keep the Moria safe, who are we? You know what Celeste discovered. There is nothing more important than destroying the weapon the justice has created.”
Incendiary (Hollow Crown) Page 10