“The Knife is bound to you now,” she whispers in my ear. “It is your power to wield, but remember, you’re an extension of the blade and it you. Reveal Fernando’s sins to the land, and then let go.”
“Will it hurt?” I whisper.
It’ll hurt. I remember saying those words to Dez once.
“Will that stop you?” Argi asks. She brushes my hair back from my face and gets a good look at me. “I thought not. You are blessed, Renata Convida.”
When we’re back on our ship, we work in tandem—Leyre and Castian hoist the sail while Leo and I tighten the rigging. My heart is full, and I am ready to go home one last time.
In the captain’s quarters, we gather around a map of Puerto Leones. Leyre sits on the desk and watches Cas move a ship across the board. She picks up the vessel meant to be us and plops it on one side of Citadela Crescenti.
Castian shakes his head. “The Oroplata gate puts us closer to the city, but the Ororosa gate is more secluded.” He drags the ship to the crescent-shaped inlet that gives the city its name.
Leo taps the heart of the citadela on the map. “Now we need a place where you can cast the illusion without pesky fighting getting in the way.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip and touch the hilt of the Knife of Memory for comfort. I add, “And it has to have alman stone.”
“What about the Tresoros cathedral?” Leo asks.
“Leo, you’re brilliant.” Castian adds a wooden soldier to the map to represent us on land. “The cathedral faces the river—it used to be an old temple to the gods of Tresoros.”
“And that would have the stone?” Leyre asks.
“When I was in the palace,” I say, “Lady Nuria mentioned that her family lands were a source of alman stone and platinum, among other riches. Hence why Castian’s family wanted to secure a marriage alliance with them.”
Leyre scoffs. “So the Fajardos are gold diggers?”
“Among many things.” Castian glowers. “The queendom of Tresoros was once the richest nation on the continent. Their temples were legendary. My father did love beautiful things, and even though the Tresoros cathedral was heretical, it was saved when he transformed it into a house of worship for the Father of Worlds. The carving on the ceiling has alman stone.” He glances up at me. “Will that do?”
“It has to.”
“And what happens after you use the Knife?” Leo asks. “I mean, what do we do?”
Castian leans on the desk and stares at the scene before him, probably imagining the fight ahead. “My father won’t surrender, but we will provoke outrage. We will gather allies and take the war to his doorstep.”
“The memory of Galatea and the king’s actions will create confusion,” I say, unsheathing the Knife and laying it flat against my palm. “There will be anger that we can harness. That’s where Leo comes in.”
“Me?”
“You will take a letter to Lady Nuria. Last you said she was traveling to Citadela Crescenti with Justice Alessandro.”
Leo nods. “She wasn’t given much of a choice to stay under his watch.”
“Nuria is safe in her provincia. The people of the region are loyal to her family,” Castian agrees.
I picture the fierce girl I met in the palace who wouldn’t let anyone look down at her. “She will renounce the king and pledge her support to Castian.”
Leyre frowns, unconvinced. “That is a lot of wager on one person. Are you sure you can trust her?”
“With my life,” Castian says.
“So do I,” I add. “With Lady Nuria and her forces, you will be able to spread dissent. I will also write to the Whispers to make a final plea.”
“A letter?” Leyre scoffs. “You’re the Robári who is going to wield ancient goddess-forged power. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of your own rebels.”
An uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest. “Cas, you have to give my letter to Dez.”
“Nati.” Castian says my name, a question in the pinch between his brow.
Leo glances down at the map, and I see the moment when he realizes my intent. “You don’t plan on surviving this, do you?”
Leyre snaps her fingers together. “You’re the only one who can wield the power of that damned knife, but there’s a cost, isn’t there?”
“Cebrián is alive.” Castian raises his voice. “My father survived. Why wouldn’t you?”
“And look at what they became!” I shake my head. “Cebrián shouldn’t be alive. Somehow he recovered from being a Hollow, but he was made into a Ripper. Not me. This is the cost, and I have to pay it.”
Leo stares out the pitch-black window. Castian and Leyre begin to shout, but I can’t answer their protests and questions.
Finally Castian slams his fists on the table. “How could you keep this from me?”
“You know why,” I answer, then level my eyes to his. “This is my choice. I am done with vengeance.”
The maelstrom of our arguing gives way to Leo’s silent tears. He wipes the corners of his eyes with a silk handkerchief. I would laugh about how he managed to acquire a luxury item during times like this, but I suppose it is his own form of magics.
“Renata has made her decision,” Leo proclaims, turning to Castian. “We have prepared as much as we can. All we can do is what Renata needs of us.”
Leyre follows him out of the room, but not before shooting me a look that says, I hope you know what you’re doing.
I hope so, too.
As I move to the door, Cas’s voice rings out. “We are not finished, Nati.”
I shut the door. “I wasn’t going to leave. You can’t sleep without me, remember?”
“How can you mock me in this moment?” He kicks off his boots and yanks off his stockings. I know he feels helpless, but I can’t change this.
A part of me reacts to his anger, and it catches within me like embers in kindling. “We knew there would be consequences.”
“It should be my price to bear.”
“Why?” I approach him like the Lion’s Fury he is.
His anger gives way to a chasm of things left unsaid. “Because I deserve it.”
“And who would lead Puerto Leones?”
“Someone better,” he says, each word an anvil. “Someone else. I should have known you’d do this.”
My stomach tightens when I stand in front of him. I rest my palms over his heart. “I’m becoming predictable.”
Cas takes a lock of my hair and winds it around his finger. “You are many things, Nati, but predictable is not one of them.”
“I have to ask you,” I whisper. “When the time comes—”
“No.” He grabs my shoulders and moves me aside so he can walk as far away as the cabin will allow, cursing every god he’s ever heard of.
“It has to be you. I trust you. I love you, Cas.”
His chest rises and falls so rapidly that he places a hand over his heart, as if he could physically stop it from beating. “Then don’t.”
“Don’t love you?”
“Hate me,” he pleads. “I could endure your hatred. I would devour its fruit if it meant keeping you with me.”
“We both know what being a Hollow means.”
“Please.”
“I hate you, then.” I rummage through the drawers of the desk and find a pair of leather gloves. I shove them against his chest. “And I challenge you.”
He shakes his head, undoing the knot keeping his hair away from his eyes. He looks absolutely feral. He grips my arms and squeezes. “You’ll lose.”
“I won’t.” I bring my fist to his abdomen, but don’t follow through. He doesn’t even try to block me and shuts his eyes at his own mistake. “Because you let me win every time. You have to be the one to give me mercy when the time comes.”
“The world has never deserved you. Neither do I.” He lowers his forehead to mine. I kiss the tops of his cheeks and the crescent moon scar below his lashes. Taste the salt of his tears. I let my fingertips glide down th
e sides of his neck, and he shivers at my touch. My heart is a wild thing against my rib cage. I have never reacted to someone the way I do to Castian. We are intertwined, the same way I am connected to the Knife of Memory. I long for the years we spent without each other. I long for the future that is gone before it got a chance to begin. I long for my terrible, beautiful broken prince. My best friend and my heart.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
And he does.
Castian kisses me, and it is like I’m plunging back into that sapphire sea. For a long moment, I am breathless, clinging to him. He pulls away, and the blacks of his pupils widen in the lamplight. It’s as if he is committing me to memory, and the thought of that rattles me.
I kiss him again and again because there isn’t an after for us. I will never know the king he will be. I will never see the world he will create.
I will never.
I will never.
I nip at the tender skin of his throat because if there isn’t an after, there is a here and now. He blinks rapidly until his eyes focus on me, then grips my arms tightly and backs me against the wall.
“You’re going to be gone, and what will I be left with but to be your executioner?”
“You’ll have a better memory of us, Cas.” I pull the hem of my tunic over my head and throw it to the side. His gaze drops to the Robári marks on my body that now cover both my arms, then traces my clavicle and stops between my breasts. My memories hum along my skin, coming to life in pinpricks of light. “You’re buried deep in my skin. Nothing, not this world or the Lady of Whispers, can take that from me.”
“I love you, Nati,” he says. “I love you, and I’m terrified.”
“So am I.” I stand on my toes. “And I love you, too.”
Our lips collide, and I can hardly keep myself upright. My mind spins, dizzy and drunk on the smell of him. Salt and cedar. I meet his tongue with mine, a kiss so deep it is like we are searching for truth within the other. I pull back first and gasp air, but only for a moment. My heartbeat comes erratically as he strips off his tunic. I remember the first day I woke up in his arms in Acesteña, and how much I didn’t want to admit that I wanted him then. He kisses my naked chest, lingering on each and every new memory and mark I’ve collected. He traces the blunt scar above my breasts. The one that his father made.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s all right.” We wear our past on our skin, and it is unavoidable. I drag my finger along his ribs, down to the scar on his side. The one that Dez left behind. I kiss Cas’s shoulder and bite down gently. He exhales a soft hiss when I undo the buttons of his trousers, and he tugs at the laces on mine. Everything feels so fast and unbearably slow all at once.
He steps out of his trousers, and I watch. I’ve already seen him naked, but I marvel at my reaction every time. I remember the way the sun gilded the tight muscles of his body that day at the sandbar. But this is more intimate. My clumsy inexperience shows when my pantleg gets stuck. Castian rumbles a short laugh but peels the rest of my clothes off, trailing his fingertips back up my leg as we fall backward onto the bed with him on top of me.
“Don’t laugh,” I murmur.
Resting on his forearms, he sinks into the hollow of my throat, parts my knees with his leg. I feel my breath hitch, and he presses a kiss to my lips. “I was laughing because the last time we tried to do this we created illusions that were decidedly unromantic.”
“No illusions now, Cas.” I trace the curve of his spine, to the hard muscle of his back and watch his eyes flutter. “There is just you and me.”
Cas kisses me fast, crushing me with the weight of his body. He positions himself between my legs, kissing my inner thighs, the soft, scarred skin below my belly button.
When I feel like my entire body will shake apart, I call him back to me. His calloused palms grip my waist. I wrap my leg around his thigh and guide him onto his back. He cups my hips and our bodies line up together. I sink against him, sighing as the pressure of him builds in my lower belly, and then we’re moving against each other in a way that is shy at first and then desperate.
Castian gathers me like I’m weightless and rolls me back onto the mattress. His hair falls around my face, and I lean up to catch the kiss he offers. He threads his fingers through mine, our twin scars burning against each other, and he holds me so tightly it is like he is afraid I will disappear right here right now.
I memorize every part of him with my touch. This beautiful, deadly, bruised prince that I will never know again. I will never.
Later that night, when we are tangled and sink into the exhaustion of being awake for more than a day, I go to sleep with a new realization. My heart has always belonged to Castian, even when the world would have it otherwise. We have simply been finding our way back to each other, now another memory lost to a great expanse of sea.
AFTER THREE DAYS AT SEA WITH THE WIND IN OUR SAILS, LEO’S CALL announces land ahead. But as we drift through the fog I realize that it isn’t fog at all—it’s smoke.
“We’re too late,” Leyre says, running to the ship’s side.
Cannon fire rips through the evening sky before we reach the marina. Distant shouts follow. From our vantage point, I make out clusters of Leonesse soldiers on the streets. Pyres burn, and the streets of Citadela Crescenti, renowned for their never-ending revels, smolder.
It’s quiet in the harbor as Castian guides our ship through the Ororosa gate. Thick clouds hang low in the humidity and mingle with smoke, providing natural cover. Our ship cuts through the scent of brine and gunpowder until we find an empty dock among the pleasure vessels and schooners.
“Are you ready?” I ask, but it’s my own heart that stutters when I search for my friends on deck. Smoke hangs low, and every step is like cutting through clouds.
“Not yet,” Leo says.
I turn to find him holding a wooden chest in his arms—Argi’s gift. “We don’t have time for that.”
“I beg you not to be angry with me, but I was searching for weapons and opened it.” Leo scrunches his nose and pops open the latch. A white glow spills from the inside. “And I thought you might like to wear it.”
Leyre and Cas come up behind us.
“What is that?” Cas asks.
“It’s Galatea’s armor.” I touch the white peregrine falcon of the platinum breastplate, fit for a Robári. The delicate chain mail sleeves rattle against the deck as I take it out. I close my eyes and see her—Princess Galatea of the Memoria kingdom with her ravenblack mane and defiant stare, waiting to change the world. Did she know Fernando’s true heart or was she blind to it?
“Leo,” I begin.
He bows his head. “I would love to help you into your armor one more time.”
Before we disembark, Castian’s illusion turns him back into Will Otsoa. He didn’t want to return to Puerto Leones as a stranger, but to reach the Tresoros cathedral without interference, we need to risk using his magics.
I touch the Knife of Memory sheathed at my right hip. Leyre adjusts the strap of her quiver, and Leo touches the breast pocket of his leather vest, where he carries two letters. Castian’s magics settle over our skin. To preserve his strength, he glamours away our weapons and, in my case, armor.
The moment we step onto the dock and tie up our ship, the harbormaster waddles over with a patrol guard a few paces behind.
“Entry papers,” the woman croaks. Her eyes linger on Leyre, with her mixed Luzouan and Leonesse features. Castian hands over the ship’s manifest and our forged documents. I try my best not to move—the illusion might turn my armor into a merchant lady’s dress, but it won’t cover up the sound of clinking metal.
The harbormaster licks her thumb and flips through the parchment folios. “Where you coming from?”
“Got tired of losing at Señora Perliana’s gambling parlors,” Leo says, starting when the eerie quiet of the citadela is disrupted by a loud boom. “Though perchance, we chose the wrong season to visit Citadela Cr
escenti with our coin?”
The woman smiles with teeth yellowed from smoking. She gives the seals on our documents another look, then steps aside. “The Second Sweep will rid the streets of the Moria infestation, worry you not. Though there is an extra tax today on account of our troubles.”
Castian hands over a bag filled with tin illusioned to appear as gold pesos. The harbormaster narrows her eyes at me, and my insides clench.
“Has the fighting gone on for very long?” I ask, forcing my voice into a soft, high pitch. “I’d hate to spoil my fun.”
The woman’s lips become as flat and pink as a worm. She weighs the purse on her palm and steps aside.
“They’ve been at it for days now,” she continues, “but if you want a good place, the Belen quarter on the north crescent has been cleared of rebel filth. Mention Navira for a discount!”
Citadela Crescenti is known for its decadent festivals and Tresorian artisanal markets selling tapestries, chiffon silks, and shimmering jewels. But as we take the cobblestone street that stretches from one tip of the harbor to the other, all I see is smoke and ash. The locals are gone or hiding in their homes, leaving the battleground to the king and Whispers.
With Castian’s illusions, we are a trick of the light right in the open, invisible ghosts crunching broken glass and rattling by as we run down gray cobblestone streets past smoldering piles of broken furniture and anything else that will burn. The shutters of the narrow brick buildings are drawn closed. Some balconies wave the Puerto Leones purple-and-gold flag, but I spot a window with an open shutter that waves a cobalt-blue banner, the one from long ago when this territory was still the queendom of Tresoros. When we turn the corner, I fight the urge to scream as we freeze in the middle of the street. Second Sweep soldiers ride directly toward us.
“How long before the king sends the rest of his army?” a soldier with a cracking voice and brown whiskers asks. “One battalion is hardly enough to keep the rebels at bay.”
I look to Castian, who acknowledges this news with a nod. This is just the beginning of King Fernando’s fight—perhaps we aren’t too late.
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