Illusionary

by Zoraida Cordova

  “Give me the Knife,” he snarls.

  I hold the hilt tighter and lean toward him. “No.”

  “Very well.” Cebrián sheathes his anger long enough to turn to Dez. “I suppose we’ll have to resort to stronger methods, don’t you think, Commander Andrés?”

  At Dez’s order, two Persuári subdue Castian and Leo and drag them through a dark passageway. I try to run forward, but Dez stands in my way. He takes my hands gently in his.

  “Ren, please. This is the only way to finally have peace.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I recoil at his touch. “You could trust me.”

  His brow furrows, and I see the hopelessness that tugs at the corners of his eyes. “This is what we have to become.”

  “If you think I’m going to give Cebrián that kind of power, then you don’t know me at all.”

  Dez looks down the passage where Castian was taken. “I suppose I don’t. Take her.”

  IT ISN’T A STRANGER WHO USHERS ME AWAY, BUT SAYIDA. AT THE SIGHT OF HER, I am overcome with the urge to cry. She is exactly the same—her stark fringe of lashes, the curtain of black hair brushed taut, away from her face. Her diamond nose ring winks like a star in the dark halls of the cold cellar. But as she guides me away from the crowd, from Cas, I find I’m not afraid. Part of me knows that she’s using her Persuári magics.

  “This is all wrong, Ren,” Sayida says. “You were supposed to come back to us.”

  I try to hone my senses, but all I can focus on is the sadness in her voice. It makes memories of the last time I saw her swell.

  “I have missed you so much,” I confess. “But I don’t regret leaving. I didn’t belong with the Whispers. Do you see it now?”

  Sayida unlocks a door, and I enter a storage room. There is an oil lamp on a barrel, and cedar wood shavings cover the ground. I sink against the wall, my body weighed down by an invisible force.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, and sits at the threshold.

  Then her magics fade quickly, leaving me with an overwhelming tangle of emotions. Doubt in myself. Fear that Cebrián is right. Worry for Cas and Leo. And Dez—he has no idea the “ally” he has made.

  “The Sayida I know wouldn’t want innocent people to die for the sake of King Fernando.”

  “A lot has changed since we forced you to choose Castian. But so have you.” She exhales deeply. “You seem—alight. For as long as I’ve known you, there’s been a terrible burden on your shoulders. It isn’t gone, but it’s eased, as if someone is helping you shoulder it. Would you tell me if it was him?”

  I don’t know why, but her acknowledgment of that makes my voice waver. “Yes, it’s Castian. But it’s more than that. I wish I could show you.” Then I remember, I can. She takes my hand, and I share the memories of Isla Sombras, Argi, and the pirates San Piedras. I show her the terrifying beauty of being out at sea. Elixa and Maryam training us to fight. Leo and Leyre—who has disappeared. When I break the connection, I rub the palm of my hand to quell the sensation of power.

  “You’ve had quite an adventure with the prince,” she says.

  “We have never forgotten our purpose,” I assure her, my voice sharp. “I know Dez chose you because you’ve always been the one to make me see reason. But if I hand over this kind of power, he could make things worse.”

  “But you can wield it?”

  “I’ve never wanted power. All I want is to set things right and return what was stolen. I don’t trust Cebrián. He’s a liar, and he’s manipulating Dez.”

  “I may not agree with his methods,” Sayida says, getting to her feet. “But he is the strongest of us. He is a miracle.”

  I shake my head with frustration. The Whispers have lived in the shadows for so long they’re starved for a divine sign to remind us that we are blessed. How can I show them otherwise?

  “He is a lost soul who has been tormented for decades. He is full of vengeance and hate. Why can’t you see that?”

  “Because I have to see the good in him. I saw the good in you.”

  “I am nothing like him, and you’re wasting your time.”

  “I can see that.” Sayida shuts the door and turns the key.

  I pace so long that I leave a clear imprint in the dirt floor around the barrel. I have to believe that Castian and Leo can handle themselves. In the meantime, I go over what happened in the Tresoros cathedral. I felt the power of the Knife, opened myself up, forged the connection—and nothing happened. What does Cebrián know that I don’t? Argi’s words ring in my head:

  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.

  I breathe out a low sigh. Did I let go? The last thing I was looking at before the Whispers arrived was Castian. I clung to the sight of him because I was afraid. I was afraid, but I was ready. I unsheathe it and lay the crystal blade flat against my palm.

  “What did I do wrong?” I ask.

  Part of me, the part that recently learned to believe in impossible things, expects the Knife to answer back. Slowly, I feel a deep ache. The blade quietly hums in my hands, like the tail end of a bell chime.

  Not a chime, I realize.

  Screams echo from somewhere in the cellar. Cas? Leo? Cebrián was tortured by Justice Méndez himself, and I know what that can do to a person. Still, there is nothing that Leo or Castian could confess that would give the Whispers information. No, Cebrián’s torturing them to break me. With the hundred rebels present, they could have easily overpowered me and taken the Knife of Memory. But that wouldn’t solve Cebrián’s problem of me being connected to its power—unless they kill me. Would Dez allow that?

  I sheathe the Knife and bang on the door until the sides of my fists ache. My hands tremble, trickling blood from where I tried to twist the nails and screws on the locks. After what feels like hours of hearing my boys scream, Sayida opens the door. Her eyes are hard and distant. She’s been under Méndez’s knife before, and the screams must have echoed through every part of the cellar. “Come.”

  I run, and she does not try to stop me. I take panicked shallow breaths and let the light of my Robári marks guide me. This is how the justice used to play with his prisoners. He’d set them free, let them think they were going to find their way out. Some escaped, but most returned to his torture table. His cells became worse than unmarked graves.

  I turn the corner and find Cebrián standing right where I left him in the cellar. There’s a figure at his feet, and it takes me a heartbeat to realize it’s Cas. The Ripper’s pale hand yanks on Castian’s hair. Leo is on his knees with his mouth gagged and arms tied back. Cebrián has them lined up for slaughter.

  “Stop him,” I beg to Dez, to Margo, to Esteban. Other Moria bear witness but don’t move. I plead with Sayida close behind me, but she joins the others.

  “Renata,” Cebrián says softly. “I hope your time alone has given you space to reflect. That is how I spent my days in Soledad prison, listening to the crush of the waves.” Cebrián pulls on Castian’s hair to expose his throat. His blue-green eyes are unfocused, and his arms are slack at his sides. He’s barely able to remain on his knees.

  “Stop it,” I shout.

  “Andrés. Did the prince not take your ear? Nearly gut you like river trout? Perhaps that is a place to begin.” In a breathless moment, the Ripper plunges a dagger into Castian’s side. He breathes hard, but grinds his teeth to stop from screaming.

  “Cas!” I shout. Someone holds me back and takes a stand between us.

  “We never agreed on this,” Dez says, looking down at Cas.

  Cebrián raises a thin finger. “Our friends need to understand what we are willing to do for our people, don’t you think?”

  Dez swallows and nods once. He falls back and pulls me with him. I throw my elbow at his face, but he clutches it with a vise grip and pins my arms at my sides. I throw my head back, but I only hit the solid mass of his chest.

  “You know the only
way to stop this is by turning over the Knife,” Cebrián says, his voice even and calm as he removes the dagger from Castian’s side. There’s something about the Ripper’s manners that remind me of Méndez, how he’d blame the victims on the table for their own pain. Leo screams through his gag, nearly doubled over on the floor. Cas can barely stand, so Cebrián tugs on his hair harder.

  “Your silence is my answer,” says the Ripper, and takes Castian by his ear, slicing half of it off in a clean sweep. My vision blurs, and a scream rips from my chest. I have been here before, and the living memory of it tears through me as Castian bellows. He falls on his face, then rolls to his side, wood chips sticking to his bloody wound.

  “Stop it! Stop it, please. Dez!”

  “We’ve seen enough,” Dez barks as he lets me go.

  What if this isn’t real? What if it is? I have to believe that no matter what has happened, he is not the kind of man who would simply stand by and watch his own brother be killed. That the tremor in his voice is because a part of him, deep down, cares that Cas might die before things are settled between them.

  “Have we?” A cold rage passes over Cebrián’s face as he pulls Castian against his chest and threatens the dagger against his throat. Red runs from Castian’s ear, and his eyes roll back into his head. The gash at his side spreads across the fabric as he bleeds out. I know what Cas would tell me to do. He would sacrifice his life for the good of everything. He would fall on Cebrián’s knife if he had to. But this isn’t sacrifice. It’s torture.

  Leo screams and screams, attempting to crawl to me.

  “Ready the next one,” Cebrián says, sparing a glance at his next victim.

  I blink away tears, and I can see them both, my ridiculous, beautiful boys laughing across yellow fields and mountains, fighting side by side.

  I unsheathe the Knife of Memory. My throat is raw, but I say, “Let them go.”

  Cebrián’s smile unfurls as the grip on his dagger goes slack. “Release your connection from the Knife, Renata.”

  I remember the cave, the whispers of the magics. I imagine the thread that connects my power to the primordial, ancient goddess who created this weapon. Who are you? she asked. I am a thing too easily broken—that is why I failed then and now. The very air around us sighs, and the Knife of Memory goes cold in my hands. I can’t feel the hum of its chime or the spark of magic in my veins.

  “There,” Cebrián exhales. He lets go of Castian, who slumps to the ground. Tears roll down Cas’s temples, and he cradles the wound at his side. “I am overjoyed we could come to an agreement.”

  I get to my feet and close the distance between us, the Knife flat against my open palm. Cebrián’s face is expectant, triumphant. Even without my connection, the Knife of Memory is still a weapon.

  I thrust it upward.

  Cebrián, somehow expecting my move, sidesteps and grabs my wrist, then twists the blade from my grip. In one swift motion, Cebrián clutches the hilt with both hands and slams it into Castian’s chest.

  “No!” Dez shouts.

  Everything inside me splinters. The air is ripped from my lungs, and the cellar descends into chaos. Margo is screaming, too. Sayida gasps and falls beside Castian, clutching his chest. There’s a ripple of emotion among those present, and as the illusion falls away, I understand why.

  Where Leo once knelt is Castian, whole and alive, sobbing on his knees. I let him fall against me, shaking at the solid feel of him. Beside us, the dead boy with the crystal blade protruding from his chest wears Castian’s face for a moment before his crooked nose and brown eyes reveal Félix.

  “Where is Leo?” I demand.

  “Locked away for safekeeping.” Cebrián plucks the knife out of Félix’s heart and wipes the blood against his trousers. “Let that be a lesson to all who will stand in my way. I’m disappointed in your resolve, Andrés. It is clear you do not trust me, and that the Whispers are in dire need of new leadership. But worry not. Tonight, we ride to the capital. We will destroy the kingdom of Puerto Leones once and for all.”

  THE WHISPERS LOCK US IN A STORAGE ROOM WITH A SINGLE WATERSKIN. WE can hear victory cheers fading in the cellar as they follow Cebrián back out into the citadela. Dez paces, Castian lunges against the door, and Leo sits nearby. I lose track of time. Every time I close my eyes I see Castian die over and over.

  I suppose that was what Cebrián wanted—not to kill the prince, but to leave me with the memory of it. Dez said Félix was from Citadela Riomar, an orphan and new recruit who wanted revenge for his family. I wonder whether he offered up his life for Cebrián or was surprised at the very end. I should have known it was a trick, but Dez’s worry gave me pause. None of the Whispers believed that Cebrián was capable of this. I warned them, and once again, they didn’t listen to me.

  “Nati,” Cas whispers, crouching in front of me.

  I feel the absence of the Knife of Memory, like a gash in my chest, too. I take off my breastplate and rub at the ghost of a wound. Castian takes my hand and presses my fingers to the center of his palm. I feel for the rice-grain scar there. “I am right here.”

  But when our eyes meet, I see the fear we share. I see him die again, and I break. I touch his face, and he kisses the inside of my palm. The moment is so intimate that I forget we are not alone.

  Leo clears his throat and busies himself rummaging for something to eat. Dez is watching me with something worse than betrayal in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, then chokes on his words, and resumes his pacing. When Cebrián ordered Dez to be locked up with the rest of us, I thought that he’d beat through the door or that perhaps Margo would have interceded. But Cebrián has instilled the fear of the Six Hells and guaranteed the loyalty of the Whispers. I was foolish to discount him, to think he’d simply run out of the prison to what? Start a life? Resume the one he was taken from? Forty years of captivity by the crown and justice. I should have known he’d want revenge. Wouldn’t I?

  I pull my hand away from Castian, avoiding the look he gives me. Though he recovers and gives me space.

  “Are there any hidden passages?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Dez says, avoiding looking in my direction. “Esteban was tasked with scouting while I was on the streets fighting his men.”

  “They’re your men, too, brother,” Cas taunts with a cruel grin. “You keep forgetting.”

  Dez charges Castian, who’s on his feet in a single breath. I hear the crunch of bone and Castian’s groan as he spits blood on the floor.

  “Don’t make me regret sparing your life for her sake,” Dez growls.

  Castian swings hard and knocks him on his back, heaving. “Her sake? You stood by and let that lunatic torment her because you’re consumed with jealousy. If you’d joined me when I begged for your help, I wouldn’t have had to endanger her in the first place.”

  “Stop,” I say, but my voice doesn’t carry beyond their fighting. Castian is wrong—they would have needed me in the end. This was always supposed to be my path.

  When their shouting turns into flying fists, I grab an empty crate and toss it in their general direction. It won’t hurt them, but they snap out of it.

  “Oh, look,” Leo says, loudly trying to defuse the argument. “Wine. A good vintage. If I’m going to perish down here, I might as well be drunk.”

  Dez sweeps raven locks out of his bruised eyes. He offers Leo a begrudging smile. “I’ll join you. I’m sure Cebrián has alerted the Second Sweep of our location to cause a diversion for his escape.”

  Castian touches the tender skin on his jaw and winces. His anger seems to clear, and he slumps beside me, offering a sheepish stare. “I’m sorry, Nati.”

  Dez’s eyes widen with questions I can’t answer. “Why in the Six Hells do you keep calling her that?”

  “It’s what my father used to call me,” I say.

  “I see,” Dez mutters.

  “Whilst you were pretending to be dead,” Leo reminds Dez, “our dear Robári discovered a great man
y things about the Príncipe Dorado. For instance, they’ve been friends since they were about wee high.”

  “You were the Moria boy from the palace that helped Ren escape.” Dez looks Castian up and down and scoffs. “Of course you were.”

  Castian reaches over to Leo and snatches the bottle. He drinks, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and returns it. The four of us sit like the cardinal directions on a map, and Leo places the wine in the center. I explain to Dez as much as I can. I tell him of the island and the pirates San Piedras, of Argi and her marriage to Illan, of my armor belonging to Galatea. Through it all, he either stares at the hard-packed dirt floor or shakes his head in disbelief.

  “You have no right to be angry with her,” Cas says. “When I told you the truth about who you were, you ran.”

  Dez snatches the bottle from Castian’s hand. He takes a deep breath before drinking. “And I regretted it as soon as I left. You don’t know what it was like for me. It felt like my entire world had ended. To have you show up in that cell and tell me that we were—brothers—that a monster was my father. And then to join you on a search for the Knife of Memory? I ran. I’m not proud of it. I found passage, and after a day of being out at sea, I knew I had to come back. I took the life raft and rowed back to shore.”

  “You’re wrong,” Castian says. “I do know what it’s like to have your entire world shatter. It happened when I thought I was responsible for your death. And it happened again when I discovered you were still alive.”

  I want to go to both of them. The strongest boys I know, who can barely look at each other. I rub my hands for warmth, but when that doesn’t work, Leo passes me the bottle of wine. I try to imagine Dez rowing in the dark, making it back to Puerto Leones. How did he find the Whispers? Why did he push me away?

  “Cebrián said that we slipped through your fingers,” I point out. “But your note told us to stay away. Why did you lie?”

  Dez cranes his head back, as if he’s asking Our Lady of Shadows for forgiveness. “Because you weren’t tracking me. I was tracking you.”