Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(110)

“Get up, Prince!” she barked. “If we’re dying tonight, we’re dying in a big dramatic battle, not in some skirmish with your maldito guards.”

Alfie got to his feet as yet another wave of guards moved to surround them. He met her gaze and couldn’t help but smile, his heart curling around the pain of Dez’s memory.

In the books you always have to have a sword fight in a big, dramatic place. And when you shout the whole room echoes. . . . You always need a good echo.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll die somewhere with a good echo.”

Finn cocked her head to one side before nodding with an understanding that made Alfie feel as if she’d been there with him in the palace library, brandishing her own practice sword beside him and Dez. “Exactly.”

Alfie raised his hand and shouted, “Fuerza!” A guardsman was thrown back against the wall of a noblewoman’s carriage.

“Stop this at once!”

Alfie froze. He recognized that voice—Maria, the head of the palace guard. She unsheathed her sword and rushed forward, her eyes narrowed.

Finn stepped forward, spoiling for a fight, but Alfie grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her behind him as the guardswoman raised her sword in an arc toward his neck.

“Maria!” Alfie shouted. The guard stopped cold at the sound of her name, the steel of her blade pressed against his throat. He tilted his chin up and met her gaze. “When I was eight years old I fell down the ballroom stairs and you carried me to the infirmary. I wept so much that it soaked the collar of your cape. You sang me a lullaby to calm me. Look at me! I am no impostor, I am your prince!”

Maria stood stock-still, her eyes sweeping over him. She pulled the sword back from his neck before dropping into a low bow. “My apologies, Prince Alfehr. I did not—”

Alfie waved a hand. “There is no time, just let us pass. And tell the guardsmen to prepare themselves for an attack. The palace is about to be stormed! And protect the palace vault at all costs, do you understand me?”

Maria needed no other preamble.

“Let the prince pass!” she shouted at the guardsmen. They drew back, sheathing their swords, confusion painting their faces. “You!” Maria shouted at a young guard. “Escort the prince and his guest to the ballroom. Now! Let no one stand in their path!”

“No, I pick this one,” Finn said, pointing at the guard she’d kicked in the nose. He glared up at her, his hand still clamped over his bleeding face. “Come on, glass nose.”

With a glower, the guard stood and followed as Alfie, Finn, and the still hidden Xiomara ran through the palace’s open doors and made for the ballroom. Shedding his years of propriety, Alfie barreled through nobles who leisurely walked the grand hallways.

“Move!” he shouted, startling a group of older noblemen as they skittered out of his path. Finn knocked a servant onto his backside as they dashed. Alfie could feel Xiomara’s presence beside them as they ran through the twist of hallways. Guards moved to stop them, but after a nod from their red-caped, bleeding escort, they let them pass.

Finally, they reached the open, towering doors to the ballroom. Alfie dashed down the tiled stairs, nearly tripping over his dirtied due?o’s robes. He stopped at the foot of the stairwell, panting as the ballroom grew silent around him, scandalized whispers curling through the air like smoke.

“Is that the prince?”

“Is he wearing . . . due?o’s robes?”

Alfie tapped his throat. “Amplificar.” He could feel a tingle beneath his chin, the touch of magic that would magnify his voice for all to hear. “Everyone!” Alfie shouted, his voice sonorous, echoing throughout the ballroom. The musicians stopped their strumming to stare at him. “Listen to me! You must evacuate the palace at once! An enemy attack is—”

“What is the meaning of this?” On the far side of the ballroom, the king stood from his throne and the queen followed suit, their guards curled tight around them in a wall of brawn.

Alfie’s heart ached. He had thought he never would see them again. He wanted to throw himself into their arms like he’d done as a child. He wanted to weep and promise that he would never make a mistake like this again. But there was no time for such things.

Alfie ran clear across the sweeping ballroom and stopped before the ring of guards. The nobles scattered, wanting no part of what they no doubt suspected was some ridiculous social faux pas. Alfie undid the magnifying spell before speaking once more. “Mother, Father—”

Upon seeing his face up close, the queen’s anger melted for a moment only to freeze solid once more. “You are not our son; our son is here. You are an impostor to the crown. Seize him at once!”

“Wait!” a voice cried out from the crowd. Luka, still wearing Alfie’s face, moved through the crowd to them. Paloma was at his heels, looking at Alfie with such anger that the glare of it made him want to raise a hand to shield himself. His stomach knotted. She knew. Luka had told her.

“Qué tal, Bathtub Boy,” Finn said.

Alfie’s arms were already open when Luka reached him and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“You’re late,” Luka said as they parted.

“Better late than never,” Alfie joked, though his throat burned with the relief of seeing his best friend once more.