Illusionary

by Zoraida Cordova

  We’re brought into a bright parlor with tall windows that let in the salt breeze. The Queen sits in a high-backed chair of black wood. Ledgers and scrolls are spread across her desk, where a few gold pesos tip a brass scale. I note a slender oil lamp, a bowl of pink fruit, and a lace fan—everything she might need to keep working late into the night. The strangest thing is a large stone turtle in varying shades of white and brown. Colorful beads are strung around its neck. I wonder if they mean anything, like the painted doors and shutters throughout the city.

  I can’t tell whether it’s her hawk stare or my possible dehydration, but I have a sinking sensation in my stomach. I bite the inside corner of my lip so the pain can keep me grounded.

  “State your query, travelers,” says the Queen, unfurling a pleasant smile that conveys little patience for us. Castian clears his throat and approaches the desk.

  “My lady,” he says, bowing courteously. I wonder if it costs him anything as prince. But Castian has been a ruthless royal, a musician on his honeymoon, and a rebel on the run. What’s one more disguise? “My companions and I seek to acquire a vessel.”

  “To what port?” she asks quickly.

  He hesitates for the barest moment. “Porto Cebou.”

  “The capital of the Luzouan empire?” She scoffs. Shrewd brown eyes reassess us carefully. “I am not a ship’s captain, and I do not sell passage. You’re a stone’s throw from the harbor at the other end of the pier.”

  “Ah, you see, therein lies the problem. We do not have travel documents out of the kingdom,” Castian explains. I have never heard that waver in his voice, even though it’s slight.

  The Queen points at us. “There it is. Lead with the thing you want, Mister…?”

  “Otsoa,” Castian says, and stiffens slightly when he realizes that he’s given the wrong name for the wrong illusion.

  I catch Leo’s wide-eyed expression with my own. Castian clears his throat again, nervously smoothing out the front of his embroidered jacket. “This is my wife, and my brother. We have a letter of request from a friend at the capital. Perhaps you know—” He reaches into his vest and two guards step forward.

  Castian holds up one hand and reveals the red envelope. The guards relax, and he presents Lady Nuria’s seal. The Queen breaks the red wax, and her clever eyes scan the elegant handwriting. I look at Castian, but he won’t meet my eyes. That strange sensation in my stomach returns.

  “Lady Nuria,” the Queen says. “I owe her a very great deal. She was in this provincia recently. Brought wagons of grain and crates of fabric for the orphanage. She procured medicine for relief after hurricane season.”

  “Lady Nuria has always put herself before others,” Leo says. Is that why she wanted me to speak to the Queen instead? To soften her heart to my plight as a memory thief on the run?

  The Queen dismisses her guards with the flick of a hand. She fixes her eyes on Castian, taking in his clothes, his tousled hair. I suppose it’s a good thing that he chose an illusion almost as beautiful as his true face. Then she looks at me, and I find myself holding my breath.

  “Now, what are you all after?” she asks.

  “I’ve been searching for my brother,” Castian says, all courtly pretense from his voice gone. “And I mean to reunite with him.”

  “I thought this was your brother,” she says, pointing at Leo.

  “You can have more than one,” Castian counters.

  It’s not a lie, not exactly, but I suspect a woman like the Queen can sense that.

  She adjusts items on her desk. Moves a couple of coins from one side of the scale to the other. It doesn’t quite balance. “That’s not the entirety of your story, is it?”

  “Lady—” he tries again, frustrated and impatient. I can sense how badly he wants this because I want it, too. I need it.

  “I am no lady. My name is Perliana Montevang, and you will call me Señora Perliana or Señora Montevang as everyone else around these parts does. I’m sorry that you came all this way, but I cannot help you.”

  “You will help us,” Castian says, his voice like the snap of a whip. He realizes too late that he’s let his temper fly. “Señora Montevang, I beg you—”

  “This is not begging,” she says, leaning forward, her sharp nails spread out like claws. “Begging is what that boy did in front of the butcher so his hand wouldn’t be cut off and hung for the strays to chomp. You come here with your pretty manners and pretty face. You come to me with a letter that shows how connected you are. Tell me, if you’re so well connected to the palace why not beseech their help? Why not beg of the king?”

  Castian’s fists are at his sides. I feel this possibility slipping from my grasp. I squeeze his wrist, wishing more than ever that I had the power of a Ventári as strong as Esteban to communicate with him.

  “We cannot beg of the king,” I tell her. “The boy spoke of raids. Know that there will be more where that came from. But we are on more than a voyage to find his brother. We mean to stop this war before it starts.”

  “Who are you?” the Queen asks. When the lie begins to leave Castian’s lips, she touches the stone shell of the turtle sculpture on her desk. Do I imagine the pulse of light, or is it the sun’s rays? “I know you’re wearing a glamour.”

  Castian takes a step back, but I grasp him tighter. His features are twisted in indecision, confusion, failure.

  “I protect this port and these people,” she says. “I have helped refugees. I have helped bad people, too. But do you know what they had in common?”

  I shake my head.

  “Honesty.” Her lips pull back, showing all her teeth. “Now, get out.”

  As we’re escorted from the mansion, I realize why I felt strange in her office. The turtle sculpture on her desk had the faintest glow. It was made of alman stone.

  I RACE DOWN THE MANSION STEPS, PAST THE NOISY DOCKS AND VENDORS ADVERTISING their wares. I have to keep going because if I stop, I must face the fact that we have come all this way for nothing.

  “Ren, wait,” Castian shouts after me.

  I reach the end of the boardwalk—to my left is the glassy Castinian Sea, straight ahead, the marina busy with sailors docking luxury yachts and schooners. To my right I see an out—a sign that reads THE LIONESS OF THE SEA hanging from a rusty chain. Wood splinters off the open tavern door, weathered gray from years by the sea.

  Inside the quiet Lioness, three patrons drink pints at the bar. The barmaid, a Luzouan woman with ink-black hair, points to an empty booth. I slide in and try to reel back everything I feel. The Queen of Little Luzou knew that Castian was an Illusionári. She had alman stone. Could she be a friend to Moria?

  Castian and Leo quietly slide into the seat across from me. Leo picks at a paint splatter on the table, and when the paint splatter crawls away, his face twists with equal parts revulsion and disbelief. Soon, a Luzouan girl of about ten years old approaches. Her hair is braided in two long plaits, and her round, hazel eyes are piqued with curiosity. “What can I serve you? We’ve got a fish fry special but are out of the chicken caldo.” She grins at a bright woven bracelet around Leo’s wrist. “This is pretty. Can I try it on?”

  “I’ll tell you what.” Leo chuckles, tugging the bracelet free and dangling it before her. “You can have it. It would look far prettier on you.”

  “Oh, thank you!” She holds it in her palm as if it’s the most precious thing that’s been given to her, and even though the intention is different, I can’t help but think that this is what I must have looked like every time Méndez showered me with gifts.

  “What are you doing?” the barmaid hollers, hurrying after her daughter. “Maya, I told you to take the orders, not bother the customers.”

  “She’s not bothering us,” I assure her. “We’ll have three pints and three fish fry, please.”

  “Told you, Mamá,” Maya says.

  Relieved, the barmaid ushers her daughter away. When they’re gone behind the swinging doors of the kitchen, I lose my smil
e and face Castian.

  “What in the Six Hells happened to you back there?”

  “We’ll find another way,” he says.

  My anger simmers. I see red. “How? We spent all our pesos getting here. You can’t fix this as—yourself.”

  He sinks his face in his palms. “I’ll write to Nuria again.”

  Leo shakes his head. “That would gravely endanger her. She’s under constant watch. Her husband intercepts any correspondence. Even letters from Lady Roca. A judge goes through her laundry. Need I remind you, her assets are frozen.”

  “I should have trusted my instinct,” I say, more frustrated in myself than anything else. I’ve struggled with my magics and memories for longer than I’ve traveled with Castian. Why did I doubt myself earlier?

  I imagine snaking my hands around the back of his head and slamming it on the table. I glance around the tavern and for a moment wonder whether anyone would care if I broke his face. Two of the patrons have fallen asleep in their seats, and the other stumbles out into the bright day. The barmaid carries over three pints and wipes her hands on a dirty apron.

  “Salud,” she says, though she doesn’t linger.

  “Salud,” we repeat, drinking to our health and prosperity.

  Castian sets down his pint and scrutinizes the moisture rolling down the glass. “What was I to do? Tell her the truth?”

  “She was the single person that could help us,” I remind him. “What do we do now? Without a ship, your logbook is useless.”

  “She wanted too much,” he says.

  I feel my eyes go wild, my body tremble. “We both knew we’d have to make sacrifices. At some point you’re going to have to decide how much you’re willing to give. How long are you going to hide the most important part of yourself?”

  Castian leans his arms back and scoffs. “You’ve never had a funny bone in your body before, Nati, so why are you starting now?”

  Leo takes in a sharp breath, then raises his hands as if he’s getting between rabid dogs.

  “Stop, both of you,” he snaps. “Your husband might be right, Lady Otsoa. We will have to figure out another way.” Before Castian can look too smug, Leo whirls on him. “You may want my head when this is all over, brother dearest, but the reason your charm failed in front of the Queen is precisely that. You thought she’d take one look at you and swoon. But you forget, you might be impossibly handsome, but even if you looked like a horse’s ass, you used to have the only title that mattered”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“prince of Puerto Leones.”

  I don’t know whose mouth is open wider, mine or Castian’s.

  “How dare you,” Castian seethes. He slams his fist on the table. It makes the drunk at the bar jump. The barmaid and her daughter chatter from somewhere in the back in rapid-fire Luzouan.

  “You don’t know how to talk to women who aren’t there for the purpose of adornment or to take to bed,” I say, and drink deeply from my ale.

  Leo looks from Castian to me. “Why do you think the pair of you fight so much?”

  “I don’t want—I’m not trying to—” the princeling starts and stops, looks at me, then back to Leo. “I resent that.”

  “Oh? Your father’s counselors are men. Every duque your father calls upon—”

  “Every member of the justice, too,” I add.

  Castian frowns. “You’ve made your point.”

  A seagull flies through the open tavern door, walks across the bar, and drinks from the dregs of the sleeping patron’s ale. The bird knocks the glass and wakes him. The drunk checks his pockets, and coming up empty, he staggers out.

  Castian raises his glass and whispers, “Nuria and I were able to have an equal courtship. She is the descendant of queens.”

  “Lady Nuria was betrothed to you before you were both born in order for your family to secure her lands. When you cast her aside, no matter how noble you believed the cause, she was used as a bargaining chip to maintain your father’s control of this kingdom. You might have been to hundreds of political meetings with dignitaries, but no one speaks of you the way the Queen spoke of my lady.”

  The barmaid and her daughter return. Maya carries one plate and her mother two others. The fish fry is crispy and golden, served with small round potatoes coated in crystal salt.

  “Another round?” she asks.

  We’ve barely finished our drinks, but I can see the desperation in her eyes, how empty this tavern is.

  “Yes,” Castian says, nudging Leo.

  “My treat,” Leo says dryly. He leaves a nice tip, and the barmaid beams with watery emotion in her eyes. She brings out another round, plus a small bottle of aguadulce and three small glasses.

  “On the house.”

  When we’re alone, and there’s only the sound of the pier and the kitchen, Castian knocks on the table. In the blink of an eye, I can see his true form flash. It’s for a moment, but a soaring sensation takes hold of me.

  “Perhaps I should have done what Nuria wanted and told her the truth,” Castian says finally. “But I’ve spent my whole life hiding—even these past few days with you, I’ve been someone else. If I become king, I will have to tell my people everything. Not solely what I have done in the name of my father, but that I have Moria blood, that I am an Illusionári.”

  “What are you afraid of?” I don’t mean to ask it aloud but it slips. I’ve wanted to know since I saw the flecks of fear in his blue-green eyes the first time we fought.

  “What if who I truly am, beneath the magics and illusion, isn’t enough to lead Puerto Leones into a new age?”

  I want to reach across the table and squeeze his shoulder, force him to look at me. I want him to know that I believe he can do this. That as angry as I am at him, I know he is fighting for our future. The kingdom’s future. But as the silence stretches, I can’t find the right words.

  “The good thing is, you still have time to figure it out,” Leo says, diving into his potatoes.

  Castian shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I force myself to eat because I don’t know when our next meal is going to be. That was something I learned with the Whispers. Plus, it’s my best excuse to not make eye contact with my princeling.

  My princeling. The words sound ridiculous even thinking them.

  My thoughts are interrupted by two men entering the tavern. They’re dressed in violet silks and velvet worthy of King Fernando’s court. One brings a handkerchief to his long nose and sneers in our direction. Maya steps out of the kitchen and freezes when she sees them.

  “Be a dear, child, and get your mother.”

  Maya runs back. I look down at my plate, preparing myself for what is going to happen. It is what the Second Sweep said when we were in Acesteña, and it was what the thief said in the market today. Raids. The tax collectors have come again.

  I glance at Castian, who gives a single shake of his head.

  “Olya ginara, Anna!” the taxman says in a saccharine greeting using the Luzouan tongue.

  “Señor Vernal, did you forget something?” the barmaid begins, her voice climbing to a high pitch. “I paid my share not six days ago.”

  Vernal glances back to the boardwalk, where two men in black wait to be summoned. They don’t wear any official seals or carry weapons. By the looks of their muscles, they are the weapons. “The kingdom is in dire need, Señora Anna.”

  “I simply can’t be here for another moment,” the second taxman says, grimacing as his suede slippers barely touch the ground. “Give us what you have, lady, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Castian’s hand falls on top of mine. “We can’t.”

  I know that we shouldn’t get involved, but my heart doesn’t see it that way. Anna reaches into her apron and hands over a fistful of coins, most of which were the ones Leo gave her. Maya yanks her mother’s hand in protest. “That’s everything we have!”

  The coins fall to the ground, and Maya dives to gather them. The tw
o brutes lingering outside are summoned, and Maya’s scream pierces the air.

  Castian exhales, and I see the moment he decides that he can’t stand by and watch this happen. We scramble out of the booth and block the taxmen’s path.

  I turn to the mother and daughter and say, “Go, now.”

  The pair of men who make their way inside are built like twin ginger oxen with faces that have seen their fair share of fights.

  “You must be new to Little Luzou,” one purrs in a baritone voice. “Even the Queen knows it’s best to leave the king’s men to work.”

  “Is that what you call work?” Leo asks. “Scaring families out of their last coin?”

  “No, this is.” The brute swings.

  I pick up a chair and crack it against his body. We are a fury of fists and kicks. The tax collectors begin to run, afraid of fighting, but Leo slams the door shut, bolts it, and hits one unconscious.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Vernal shouts.

  I channel the rage that is always beneath my skin. It is a living thing that slumbers, something that I have always hated, but in this moment I know it is all I have against them. One of the brutes charges at me like a bull, and I use his momentum to swing him against the brick wall. He swallows a grunt as he falls with a heavy thump.

  “You can’t do this,” Vernal keeps shouting, backing into a corner and covering his face.

  I try to block a fist flying at my head, but I’m too slow and it knocks me to the ground.

  “Nati!” Castian shouts.

  “Behind you!” I point, watching as the world slows down and Castian is hit over the head with a bottle. His eyes roll back, and I scream as his illusion unravels. His blond hair shines through, his face changes, and when he hits the ground, he is Castian, the kidnapped prince of Puerto Leones.

  VERNAL AND HIS BODYGUARD ARE BOTH STARTLED INTO SILENCE. THEY LOOK AT each other, then at the prince attempting to sit up, bleeding where the bottle cut him. Leo helps Castian stand.