Illusionary

by Zoraida Cordova

  When I pull away, our fingers remain intertwined.

  “Are you still in love with him?” Cas whispers.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I trace my thumbs along the inside of his wrists, where his pulse is frantic. “Can you still love someone who breaks your heart?”

  “Yes,” he says softly.

  “Then I do. I love Dez. Part of me always will.” I swallow hard. “But so much has happened so quickly. We aren’t the same people. Right now the idea of love is a luxury.”

  The whorls of my power extend up my left wrist in patterns that remind me of a cresting wave. My power is changing. Only this time it isn’t Justice Méndez or Illan forcing me to manipulate my magics—I’m controlling it.

  He leaps to his feet, watching the light course through my skin with panic. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m all right, Cas.” I stand and brush the crescent scar on his face. “But I should go to bed.”

  “You go,” he says. “I can’t sleep.”

  I recall the one night we slept in the same bed in Acesteña. I woke up nestled in his arms. “When was the last time you rested?”

  His thumb grazes the raised skin of my Robári marks. “That night. With you.”

  “Then let’s go to sleep, Cas.”

  For a moment, his eyes trace down the skin of my neck, the open laces of the man’s tunic Maryam left me to sleep in. He nods softly, and we walk hand in hand to my room. Heat ignites between our palms, right where our matching blood-pact scars cut. We lie down, facing each other. I draw the linens up over our legs. His lashes flutter, and he exhales.

  “Good night, Cas,” I whisper.

  He drifts, uneasily, as if he’s fighting the exhaustion in his body before he allows himself to truly rest.

  At the start of our journey, I fantasized how easy it would be to rid myself of him—the Bloodied Prince who occupied so much of my hatred. Now, when I know our time together is coming to an end, I am overcome with a sadness I haven’t quite felt before. Can you still love someone who breaks your heart? Yes.

  As I follow into sleep, a delicate light wakes me for a moment. It’s coming from me, a new silver coil of memory etching itself on the bare skin over my heart.

  I NEVER BELIEVED I’D STEP FOOT ON LAND THAT WASN’T PUERTO LEONES TERRITORY, but here I am on a sprawling hill surrounded by people I want to call friends. I shut my eyes against the warmth of the sun, and when I do, my own mother’s face appears. I call her memory to me—a woman whose black hair and coloring I share. She’s in the kitchen grinding herbs into a paste, and I watch, awestruck by her magic. This is a memory I keep. This is a memory that carves its mark in the notch between my clavicles.

  “There,” Argi says, pleased with my progress. Alman stones full of stolen pasts litter the lawn. “Hold on to it. Now, Castian—”

  Though I can’t see him just yet, I can imagine him standing a little bit taller at my side, his serious countenance short of becoming a glower as he listens to Argi’s instructions.

  “Illusionári are connected to alman stone in a different way from Robári. Our magics are the only ones that can cull the memories captured within, but you can latch on to those images and magnify them through the crystals—so long as you and Renata are in tandem.”

  Someone snickers, Leyre, I think. The laughter is silenced by Argi’s sharp clap of her hands.

  “First, Renata, you will share your memory, and then Castian, you usher that image through the crystal. Go on.”

  I blink open my eyes. Our training meadow is bleached of color by the midday sun. Cas edges closer to me, and with every step he takes, my face grows warmer. His blue-green eyes are filled with purpose, but he bites his bottom lip, the only hint that perhaps he isn’t entirely sure of himself.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  He nods and extends his palms to me. I brush my fingertips along his calluses. I remember thinking once how coarse his hands were for a prince. I close my eyes and try to pull a perfectly pleasant memory of the ocean or exploring the woods behind the rebel fortress of San Cristóbal. But I’m close enough to smell the sweat on his skin, and instead I offer up the memory of him standing naked on the sandbar.

  Castian’s lips quirk, and his voice is low at my ear. “Is that what you see when you think of me, Nati?”

  I raise my chin and squint my frustration. “I’m trying to focus.”

  “Don’t let me distract you.”

  I retract the memory and wade back into my mind. I could do this yesterday. But now that everyone is watching and Castian is holding me this way, all my thoughts turn to him. And then I find the perfect memory—the night we danced at the Sun Festival. His eyes fly open. I don’t want to share the horrors of my past with our audience, and those that are good I’d very much rather keep to myself. But this moment is a place in between.

  Castian projects the memory through the prisms of the alman stone onto the stretch of green lawn before us. King Fernando is leading me onto the dance floor when Castian cuts in. I didn’t want to notice his beauty then, his golden mane crowned by a circlet, the way he waited for me to meet his eyes. I remember the rage I felt that day because I still thought that he’d killed Dez. As I watch us glide across the lawn, I let that anger go.

  The image fractures, and Elixa claps her hands. “You look lovely all dressed up, Ren.”

  “Thank you,” Leo and I answer at the same time.

  Cas and I try again, this time with the stolen memories. Violent fires and weddings. Faces I begin to recognize as rebels captured by the justice. For a long time I focus on those. If I let myself only think of Castian, then I’m afraid I will forget the reason we aligned in the first place, even if it hurts. When Argi decides we’ve had enough, I fall on the grass and dig my fingers into the dirt. My skin is hot from the sun and the burn of magics. The welcome cool grounds me.

  “Captain, can you choose where those light markings go?” Leo asks. “For instance, if you were upset at someone, but you wanted to save the memory for later, could you put it in a—uhm—delicate place no one would ever see?”

  Argi barks a laugh. “Why, of course. All the memories of my second husband are on my left cheek.”

  Castian frowns, confused, as he looks at the Moria pirate captain. “But there’s nothing on your cheek.”

  “Oh, he is precious, isn’t he?” Argi chuckles and shoots a wink at me.

  Realizing the pirate’s double meaning, Castian mutters a curse and shakes his head as we laugh at his expense.

  “I can’t wait to see King Fernando’s face when you perform your little trick for the entire nation,” Leyre says, stretching her legs in preparation of her training.

  “First they have to perfect their little trick,” Argi says. “I’d be a fool to let you return to the mainland before then.”

  “We’ll do it,” Castian says like a dark promise.

  “Is this how all Moria were trained?” I ask Argi.

  “Once.” Argi picks at a spread of food we brought with us. “I remember how fascinated Fernando was with our techniques. He wanted to control his own Moria army. Before this so-called Hand of Moria you told me about, there was the council provided by ambassadors of Memoria.”

  I sit up and brush the dirt from my hands. Castian offers me an apple and I catch it in the air. “The one Illan was on?”

  Argi hisses a curse between her teeth. “At first, Illan wanted to play the diplomat, show the Leonesse that Moria were capable of controlling their powers. But that was never enough for a king who wanted control of that power. Imagine a phalanx of Ventári at your disposal who can see your opponent’s every move. A front line of Illusionári trapping the enemy in illusions so real their very hearts could stop in the battlefield. A fleet of Persuári assuaging the enemy to drop their weapons, or have them fall on their own swords if they did not want peace. Robári snipers and spies who could erase the memories of all who witness your crimes
.”

  Argi shakes her head, but I catch the dozens of memory lights that flicker up her arm. “I suppose the only solace now is that most of our master strategists and teachers are either dead or on the Madre del Mar living their final days in peace.”

  “We can teach them,” Elixa says with a bright fervor. “We can fight with them, can’t we?”

  “The only thing you will do,” Argi tells her, “is whip these pampered Leonesse into shape.”

  Leyre scoffs. “I’m only half Leonesse, and if you served your year in the Luzouan navy, you’d never utter the word pampered in your life.”

  “Girls, take over,” Argi says.

  Castian stands beside Leyre, picks up a polished wooden staff, and sinks into a fighting stance to spar with Maryam and Elixa. They are equally matched in speed and maneuvers. However, Castian and Leyre have the advantage of experience with true battle. They’ve taken everything the young Moria pirates have taught them in their short sessions and used the knowledge to anticipate each strike. Maryam manages to get a hit across Castian’s ribs, but he shakes it off and grins as if he enjoys the pain. It is such a contrast to the shy, soft smile we shared when we woke up curled against each other at daybreak.

  “I can see why you have taken on this fight together,” Argi tells me as we watch them train. “He must take after his mother because I see none of Fernando in this boy. Perhaps his passion? But where Fernando’s came from a need to control things, Castian’s seems to be the need to free himself and others.”

  There’s a moment when Cas takes his eyes off his opponent and finds me watching him. Maryam uses that opportunity to swing and strikes him across the face. I wince, and a dark voice that sounds incredibly like Dez whispers at my ear. What if that had been a real sword? He’d be dead. Your prince would be gone.

  Argi gives me a long look of knowing. “Have care with your heart, Renata.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you can’t save the kingdom and save your love. Times such as these don’t allow for matters of the heart.”

  I frown but say nothing.

  On the other side of her, Leo purses his lips. “But times are always like this. You still married. Twice.”

  “I also left when Illan and I chose different paths. As for my second marriage, well, it’s not my fault he couldn’t handle his alacrán venom.”

  A look of terror passes between Leo and me.

  “As if you’re the only one who can tell a joke, Leo.” Argi cackles. But her eyes crinkle as a memory lights up around her wedding band. “I loved Illan’s brilliant, arrogant face with everything I had. I am glad he raised the son he always wanted, even if I disagree with the means with which he procured the boy.”

  I think of how different things would have been if both princes had been raised as brothers. Would Dez have learned his courage amid fire? Would Castian have learned kindness out of loneliness?

  That is when Leo, ever the romantic, speaks his truth. “Pardon me, Captain, but your heart is open. Why else would a fearless pirate queen have dedicated her life to her people’s survival?”

  “I like you, Leonardo,” Argi says in that scratchy voice of hers. “But you’re wrong. Fear was the gift the world gave me. I pray I can give my people better than what I knew. That is how I keep them alive, and I want Renata to prepare herself for what is coming. Now in order for this gambit to work, the Bloodied Prince and Renata must create an illusion so seamless that the rest of the world falls away.”

  We nod and silently watch Castian and Leyre leap and strike their way against smaller, younger, but equally worthy opponents.

  “What do you say, two pesos that my girls destroy your compatriots in the next match?”

  Castian and the others return to where we sit, panting and drenched in sweat. “Two pesos?” he asks. “I should feel insulted.”

  Leyre snatches the waterskin before he can grab it. “The only thing that’s insulting is how you drag your feet when you turn.”

  His eyes roll skyward. “My technique is flawless.”

  I shrug. “I beat you.”

  “The Whispers taught you to fight dirty.” Castian’s eyes flash with a mixture of anticipation and challenge.

  “I still beat you.”

  Castian drops his staff at my feet. “Then I must defend my honor.”

  I flash a smile, accepting his challenge. Leo can barely contain himself as he hands me a wooden sword and a string to tie my hair back. Elixa sits giddily beside her captain and claps her hands. That sense of familiarity returns for a moment, and then Castian fills my line of sight.

  We bow.

  I think back to the training grounds at the Whispers’ stronghold. Yes, we had to fight dirty at times, but we were also outnumbered, and using our magics was always a risk. The goal was to survive.

  Castian and I spar across the meadow. He leans back, narrowly missing my blow, and flashes a smile that cleaves me down the center. Perhaps Argi was right. He has a predatory approach, never taking his eyes off me. My only advantage is using my speed to his size. I roll and pop up behind him. As if he expected that, he kneels and blocks my sword with his own, leaving me exposed. He has the killing blow, but he doesn’t take it, and I trip up his feet. He yanks me to the ground as he falls, but I’ve got the upper hand, and I press my sword against his throat.

  He raises his palms in surrender. Straddled on top of him, I feel the moment desire sparks in his eyes as he breathes hard beneath me. He lets go of a low grunt as I press the weight of my sword a little harder.

  “Yield,” I demand.

  He shuts his eyes. He could easily flip us around and overpower me. But he doesn’t. “I yield.”

  Leyre and Argi hand Leo a couple of coins. Now it’s my turn to be insulted.

  “Renata,” Argi says, her café-dark eyes evaluating the scene before her with concern. “A word?”

  Argi leads me down the hill where a gravel road begins. The wind sings a pleasant hum, but when I realize the ocean air is thick with humidity and the thinnest cypress tree branches don’t move, I know it isn’t the wind at all, but a voice. It calls to me from wherever this gravel road leads to.

  “You can hear it,” Argi says, her voice heavy.

  “Is that the Knife of Memory?”

  “It is.” Argi takes a deep breath. “I need you to be honest with yourself. Do you truly want this path?”

  “I choose it,” I say. “I’m ready. Cas and I are so close to creating the illusion.”

  “Leo wasn’t wrong today when he said that times such as these require open hearts. But for those who want to bear the power of the Lady’s Knife, it is more complicated than that.”

  I understand her meaning. “Because of the cost of magic? I’ve already made it clear that I am willing to pay it.”

  “May Our Lady of Whispers, Mother of Shadows and the Eternal Moon, forgive me. I do not wish this fate on anyone. I see the way Castian looks at you. It is the same way Fernando used to look at Galatea.”

  “Castian is not his father,” I say, voice tight.

  “You look at him the same way,” she says, her brow softening under overwhelming sadness. “When you came aboard my ship I saw your fury and your vengeance, but I did not see your love until today. It reminds me of what occurred here once, and I suddenly feel so very old.”

  My panic races through my bones. “What exactly happened when Fernando used the Knife? You showed me flashes, but I feel there’s something you’ve held back. You said you wanted to avoid the mistakes of the past.”

  Argi shuts her eyes and turns away. She takes a step forward, her boot crunching on the pebbles that mark the road. It is like she’s listening to the melody of the divine power calling to us both.

  “When a Robári claims the Knife of Memory, you become an extension of its power. You can command magics that are divine, but there are limitations.”

  “I won’t try to raise the dead,” I promise.

  “But wou
ld Castian? Would Leo or Leyre?”

  The realization shouldn’t slam into me the way it does. I know how magics work. I know that there is a cost for power. I know that all Moria have limitations.

  “After you wield its power, Renata Convida will be gone. And those who love you, that boy who looks at you as if the world begins and ends where you stand, cannot try to bring you back.”

  “Renata Convida will be gone.” I swallow, my throat so dry my voice is hoarse. “Where will I go?”

  Argi brushes my hair away from my face. The gesture draws tears from my eyes because it isn’t her face I see now, it’s my own mother’s. Smiling and beautiful and waiting. “You will become Hollow.”

  Somehow, I have always known that this would be my fate. Isn’t that what Méndez told me once?

  Well, if I was trained to be a weapon, then I will be the only one to wield it. This war doesn’t need hundreds of martyrs.

  Only one.

  AFTER ANOTHER SESSION OF CULLING MEMORIES INTO ALMAN STONES AND SUPPER, I find Castian sitting in the green lawn behind the temple, where rows of juniper hedges obstruct the temple’s glow. I take in the wool blanket, the bottle of cider, and the match in his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He flashes that crooked grin and says, “Attempting to light a match.”

  I scoff and roll my eyes to the moonless night sky. “I mean why?”

  “I discovered something,” he says, lighting a white candle stub.

  I crouch beside him and thumb off the cider cork. I try to drink through anxious knots in my stomach. I should interrupt, tell him that I finally know the true cost of saving our people. But Castian has come alive with a giddy sort of joy. I don’t remember him ever being this way, even as a child. He rummages through his pack and brings out a familiar copper dome big enough to fit in his palms. The alfaro.