“I suppose you have the whole platinum dress,” Esteban tells me.
I laugh, and even that hurts.
Margo cautiously puts on five solid-gold rings; each one fits at a different joint, divided between both hands. She wiggles one hand and creates an illusion at the center of the road ahead of us. A boy we all love looks back at us. He smiles his cocky grin, and when he takes a step toward us, he vanishes.
We take a moment for Dez, but I know that we have to keep going. I have to keep going.
“What’s this?” Esteban asks.
A slip of parchment sticks out from the pouch.
“Well? Speak, woman,” Margo says.
In delicate handwriting is an address in Sól y Perla, a coastal city near Soledad prison, with heavy port traffic that goes to Luzou. I don’t understand what it is at first. But then it dawns on me. An address—26 Calle Tritón.
“The Magpie’s safe house,” I say. “We need to go there.”
“Ren,” Margo says slowly, “I know we have to destroy the weapon. But you already tried going at it alone, and you failed. We tried doing this without you and failed. Let’s go home, incendiary. We fight together.”
This time, the name does not bother me. She’s right. I did fail, but for the first time she admits that she failed, too. There are voices in my head that won’t let me rest. Méndez. Castian. They tell me that I can’t trust the Whispers.
But they’re wrong.
“Let’s ride,” I say.
My stallions break into a gallop, and when we’ve made it up the sloping hill and past the rows of flags, we hear the distant warning bells singing. We’re out of the city, we made it past the most dangerous part, we just need to go a bit farther. My shoulders relax. I’m surprised by our smooth getaway, thinking luck, or Our Lady, has finally smiled down upon us.
My mind is swirling with Méndez’s memories. There are moments when he shows a guard kindness by giving him leave to be with his family. Then there are the moments when he enjoys cutting people, watching them bleed. Every time, I end up staring into his daughter’s eyes. I can hear him say, Lina will never. Lina will never. Over and over again until it syncs with the rhythm of hooves and spinning wheels on the dirt roads.
I think of the soldier who stood in the house in Esmeraldas. He told me I didn’t have the eyes of a killer. He was wrong.
Wasn’t he?
As we ride, plains give way to forest roads, and we do not stop. My hands cramp around the reins and my hips ache. My mind hurts worse, speeding through moment after moment of Méndez walking through halls. Drinking his sorrows, or praying them away. I search and search for a visual of the weapon. There is no doubt in my mind that he used it.
For a flash I see Castian at the Sun Festival. But my vision flickers as the memories shift. Colors bleed into one another.
I see my scar-covered hands being healed by Méndez. Then so much light, I have to close my eyes. Then a terrified, whimpering voice screams, The pass is on the eastern ridge! The pass is on the eastern ridge!
That was the weapon. That brightness was blinding. I pull on the reins and shout, “Whoa! Stop!”
“What is it?” Margo asks, sticking her head out of the carriage.
“Do you want the bad or the worse of it?”
Margo and the others pile out. Sayida touches her new pendant for comfort. Esteban holds his stomach and keeps his eyes on the ground.
“Speak, Ren,” Margo says.
“I got a glimpse of the cure,” I say. I describe it to them, but they’re skeptical. “It might be Méndez staring into the sun, or Méndez looking into the throne made of alman stone. But I could feel Méndez’s thrill as he shut his eyes against the light. There’s a room beneath the palace that is full of the stone. Somehow, they’re using alman stone in the weapon.”
Esteban crouches down. He rests his hands on the dirt road, then brings his thumb over his torso to make the symbol of the Lady. “Perverting the sacred. Cruel, even for this king.”
“What’s worse than that?” Margo asks.
“Méndez was telling the truth. He knows about the pass in the mountain range,” I say. “I could hear someone yelling it. They were being tortured.”
“He couldn’t have had time to send someone after us,” Esteban says. “Could he?”
“Did you see the traitor?” Margo asks.
The coldness in her voice shocks me. Her golden curls spill over her tense shoulders. I know that somewhere something broke inside her, and I’m not sure if it was with me in the cells or watching Sayida get tortured. I look at where Esteban is nearly doubled over with pain. Fresh blood trickles from a cut near his swollen eye.
“No,” I say. “I only heard the voice.”
Margo shouts a string of curses as she climbs up to relieve me, and I climb into the carriage with Sayida and Esteban.
We ride, a storm that no one can see coming until it is too late.
We come to a complete halt on the main road that leads to the Memoria Mountains pass. At the border between Puerto Leones and the land given to us by treaty is a city of ruins. Ángeles. Stucco buildings with the roofs torn off, overgrown grass and white weeds that have started to reclaim the land. It is a place of ghosts. Beyond that, in the valley, are the cloisters we call home, safe within the protection of the mountain. The Leonesse forces could never pursue what was left of the Moria army beyond this road and into the mountains because they couldn’t find out how to breach the natural fortress. What was once the capital of the small kingdom of Memoria is now crumbled houses and a castle with one wall standing.
We abandon the carriage and split up on two horses to get to the pass. The road is steep and dusty, with narrow footpaths that could mean our death if our horses get scared. The mountains have a way of making you feel turned around. Sprawling gray rock looks the same everywhere. I hold Sayida around the waist the entire time, closing my eyes against the flashes of Méndez’s mind.
Castian and the king screaming in the middle of court.
Alessandro knocking over a tray of knives in a gray room.
Myself as a young girl.
When we make it, I could kiss the ground. The San Cristóbal cloisters are nestled at the center of a small valley, fully intact because of its location. Square sandstones with intricate circles, pillars with angels guarding the entrance. The entire western wall is dilapidated, but the rest of the building is fully functional.
Birds flutter from treetops and the wild green grass on the main lawn is absent of the usual groups studying, sparring, or playing the occasional game. We canter through the main archway and stop at a water fountain filled with murky rainwater.
This is the place I called home for the majority of my life, but as I stand here, coming back to what should be my safe haven, I’m suddenly filled with doubt.
The four of us linger a brief moment. I don’t know how, but I can sense that we’re thinking about Dez. He’s a missing limb, a spirit haunting us all.
We unsaddle our horses, and Margo and Esteban lead the way, but I hesitate, immobilized by nerves. Sayida stays by my side, concern clear in her expression.
“The elders aren’t going to listen to me,” I tell her.
“I will support you,” she says. “Swear it.”
I squeeze her shoulder gently, thinking back to all the times she tried to provide comfort, and I brushed it away. This is my second chance with the Whispers. I’ll do it differently this time, if they allow it.
With a deep breath, I follow the same path Margo and Esteban took. As we walk, I have that sense of remembrance. I am walking in the place I’ve called home for years but in the skin of another. It is like looking at these walls, the windows, all of it for the first and last time.
We march down an open corridor with chipped gray stone archways. My ears echo with the memory of my first meeting with the king.
We enter through a set of double doors, different from the ones of the throne room at the palace, but I can�
��t shake the irony that I’m once again standing before an entryway, preparing to convince a leader of my worth.
Margo leads us into the council’s hall, where they’re already gathered. There are only five council members present out of the usual eight. I wonder if the others are dead or simply in hiding. My presence is greeted with cold reservation. I push back my shoulders with false confidence.
Truth be told, there is only one face I’m nervous about seeing. Illan’s. My boot steps echo in the halls as the old man watches me approach from the center of the long table. He’s in his familiar dark tunic and trousers, gripping his silver fox-head cane with a wrinkled hand. The lines around his eyes are far more pronounced. He is more ravaged by sorrow than by time. I take a deep breath.
“Illan, I’ve returned from the Palace of Andalucía.”
“Back from your rebellion, or your betrayal?”
I flinch at the words. If he knew the whole truth, what I did to Dez by taking his memories in his sleep, would I even be allowed to set foot in this room?
“I went there for revenge and learned many things that I think will be useful to our cause, but the most important thing is a warning. I do not believe we’re safe here anymore.”
“Why not?” Elder Octavio, with his nearly blind eyes and wrinkled brown face, turns to me.
“Because I have turned Justice Méndez into a Hollow. I have seen his mind. He knows about the passage into the mountains.”
There’s a rumbling among the elders.
Margo steps forward, and they quiet. “We all heard him say it, and Renata saw it when she took his memories.”
“I’ve seen the weapon. I know where to find it. We need to move out now. This minute.”
“And leave the safety of the cloisters?” Octavio asks, incredulously.
Margo clears her throat. “Someone betrayed us. They told the justice about the hidden pass. The king’s guard is coming for us.”
“But you said Méndez is dead,” Illan says, though his voice is distant.
“He’s one of hundreds of judges,” I say, frustrated. They aren’t listening.
“There’s a new safe house where we can take refuge. We can’t stay here,” Margo says.
It’s a strange feeling being on the same side of an argument as her, but I am thankful for it.
“Tell us everything,” Illan says. “From the beginning.”
“There is no time,” I say.
“How can you ask us to trust you if we do not know everything you have done?” Filipa asks.
When I glance around, there are rebel Moria gathered all around the walls and on the second floor of the hall, leaning over the wooden banister. Sayida stands close behind me, keeping her promise, but Margo and Esteban flank the rectangular table of the Whispers council. Daylight beams through the circular window facing me, and I realize I am not pleading for a mission. I am pleading my case at my trial.
I explain what happened in the Forest of Lynxes, when Prince Castian captured Dez. I explain about sleeping by the riverbank, how I was trying to calm Dez’s sleep. There’s a fury of whispers. I’ve been waiting for that blame. It is Illan who silences it with the beat of his cane on the stone floor. I tell them how I wanted revenge after seeing Dez die. When I describe Lozar’s memory, I choke on my words. The elders’ surprise shows on their faces. They didn’t know Lozar was still alive, but were aware of other Moria in the cells.
I continue with my plot to spy in the palace, to go undercover and find the weapon. Everything I saw in the court. It is like baring my scars to them all, and despite the snarls or disinterested stares of others, this tightened, suffocating weight around my heart begins to come undone.
The elders are infuriatingly still until Illan leans forward, tenting his trembling fingers. “What do you want us to do, Renata?”
“Retain a small unit to find and destroy the weapon and retreat with what is left of the Whispers.”
“Retreat?” Octavio asks sharply.
“What do you call what we’ve been doing?” I ask. “Puerto Leones isn’t safe anymore. The king will amass his forces. He’ll use the weapon. We won’t be able to hide this time if he can detect our magics.”
“He’ll be weakened by the news of Méndez—”
“Prince Castian will have Méndez replaced!” I shout.
“I for one am not satisfied with what you gathered while frolicking around the palace,” Filipa says.
“We have to leave,” I shout, anger bubbling in my throat. I empty my pockets and set the rubies from the gloves on the table. “These will buy everyone passage to Luzou or the Icelands. Six Heavens, it would buy us a new ship! We have one final safe house. We have one last chance to save this rebellion.”
“How are you going to board this ship and also get to the weapon, Renata?” Illan asks me, his eyes unwavering.
“I’m not going to board the ship. I’m staying to finish this. I request a unit to help me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a one-way mission, and I understand if you’d rather stay, but I’m going to finish what Dez started. What you started, Illan.”
“I see,” he says, his fingers shaking as he sits back into his chair. “We will take what you have told us into consideration. Wait outside for a moment.”
“But—”
“Please, Ren,” Illan says, and there’s a weakness in his voice that tugs deep in my chest. He already looks defeated.
I storm out of the room and head for a place that reminds me of Dez. One of my own memories floods my mind as my feet carry me there. In the small grove behind the cloisters, there’s a waterfall that empties out into a basin. This was Dez’s favorite place in Ángeles. Illan used to say that his son must have been born part fish because he could spend hours swimming. I run there now because it feels like the only way I can be close to him, and I need him now more than ever.
“They would have listened to you.” I speak to his memory and stare at the water for so long that I don’t realize I’m not alone until a foot snaps a branch.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Illan says. His voice reminds me of someone trying to carry a great, heavy load and running out of breath. “The last time Dez was here I had a fit trying to get him to put his clothes on.”
I can’t help what I do next, but in the middle of all this sorrow, all this confusion and anger, the image of Illan desperately trying to dress Dez makes me double over in laughter. These are the only muscles I haven’t used in a long while, and it hurts to laugh this hard. “He always loved attention.”
My laughter stops, my voice caught in my throat.
“I know what you meant to him, and what he meant to you. I saw it and I worried, but Dez was always in control of his own decisions, his own heart.”
“I’m so sorry I took him away from you,” I say. “I’m going to make this right. Please, you have to make the council listen.”
“My dear Renata.” I hate the way he says that because Méndez said it the same way. “That’s what I came to tell you. The council has agreed to go through with your plan.”
A part of me didn’t believe that they would ever agree with anything that I had to say. “And the mission?”
“You already have volunteers.” He stands, his body so slender it’s like he’s disappearing before my eyes. “There’s something I want to show you before you go.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t think I can store any more memories. My head is too full. My thoughts unruly.
“Good, because I have questions.”
He only takes a few paces toward a willow tree that hangs low near the waterfall. With his cane he taps a polished stone I didn’t notice before. It could be just another stone, but there’s a name etched into it. Andrés.
I have so much I want to say. Why did Illan never tell us he knew Queen Penelope? What would he say if I ask him about the memory I found in the garden? But then my thoughts return to Dez. I want to tell Illan that I loved his son. I want to tell him that I’m going t
o make him proud. That I owe him my life. This fight isn’t over. I’m going to end it.
But I can’t say any of that.
Because screams spring from within the cloisters.
We’re under attack.
“STAY BACK!” I SHOUT AT ILLAN. HE STARTS TO FOLLOW ME, BUT HE CLUTCHES his side and grimaces. He’s grown too old for battle, I suddenly realize.
“Hide!” I scream. We have no time for all of my questions, still unasked—how he knew Queen Penelope—how he could tell what Dez meant to me—what other secrets are lying dormant in his past.
I watch as he limps toward the trees for just a moment, before I turn and run into the cloisters, where the purple uniforms of the king’s men dot the courtyard. Blood splatters on the stone path ahead of me, bodies cut down without warning. The world has turned upside down. My stomach seizes and I resist the urge to retch.
I have to fight back.
“Ren!” I hear my name called through the fray, but I can’t find the direction it’s coming from. Then I notice the shadow behind me. I whirl around in time to see a soldier’s sword slicing through the air.
Without thinking, I lunge forward, wrapping my bare hands around his throat. My magics rise to the surface as his scream pierces my eardrums. The platinum feels like a wave pushing against me. I don’t fight against it, but sink into it. I take just enough to put the soldier in a light sleep. His memories are sharp, clear.
A boy learning how to wield a sword.
A girl waiting for him on the docks.
They slip like silver water through my fingers until I see pitch black, hear the whistles of solitude.
Panting, I steal his sword just as it’s about to clatter to the ground and race up the stairs to the council hall.
Even in death Méndez kept his promise. Who did he break?
A soldier appears from behind a pillar. She screams through her fear as our swords clash. My blood runs as hot as lava, and I fight with an anger I’ve bottled up for nearly a decade. I am so close. I cannot end here.
Incendiary Series, Book 1 Page 35