Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(123)

Luka nodded and knelt beside Finn. Alfie rose to his feet to find Xiomara, but she was already standing, moving toward him with a pained hobble. Luka must have woken her up before rushing to Alfie’s aid.

When she stood before him, waiting for his word, Alfie’s throat thickened. He didn’t want to look into this black abyss again unless it was to see his brother step out, alive and well. But life had led him here for different, darker reasons and he could not delay no matter how much his stomach twisted and his eyes stung.

“Can you open the void?” he finally asked, his voice strained.

Xiomara nodded firmly before she took the vanishing cloak off and handed it to Alfie. She raised her hand in a fist, then splayed her fingers open. Before Alfie bloomed an opening into absolute darkness. The very darkness that had swallowed Dez whole.

Alfie held the dragon figurine out; it sat warm in his palm against the sudden chill emanating from the void. His hand shook. He had never been parted from it since Dez had died. He’d squeezed it between his fingers when he missed his brother the most. To place the dragon in the void was to promise to never open it again. To promise to never try to seek Dez in its depths.

To accept that his brother was never coming home.

While drowning in the depths of his grief, part of him had always held out hope that one day he’d wade out. One day he would open this door of darkness and find his brother. Now the grief faced him with its open maw, endless and swift and harsh.

But he could not let there be even the slightest chance of this magic running free once more, even if it snuffed out the light of his greatest wish. His people must come first. In that moment, he promised himself that he would never open this void again.

“Goodbye, Dez.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks and nose. He ran his fingers over the figurine one last time. “I love you. Rest easy.”

With a ragged breath, he dropped the silver dragon into the abyss and it disappeared, careening into the endless dark.

It was finally over.

For a moment there was only Alfie, Xiomara, and the past that stretched its jaws between them. Though Xiomara couldn’t speak, Alfie could see the question in her eyes: What now?

Alfie felt the weight of that silence. This woman, this murderer’s life, sat neatly in his hands; Alfie didn’t know if he could stop himself from closing his fist over it and crushing it.

“I still want to hurt you,” Alfie heard himself say. “I always will.” Xiomara pressed her lips into a quivering line. “But I won’t.” He would never let himself become that monster who’d choked Finn earlier. Ignacio and the black magic had shown him exactly what he would become if he let his hatred for Xiomara consume him. He refused to be darkened by vengeance, even if it meant letting go of the girl who’d taken his brother from him.

Xiomara curled forward, her hands on her knees, a grimace pulling her face taut.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Had opening the void hurt her?

Xiomara shifted her shirt up. A thick shard of stone jutted from her lower belly, the blood soaking her trousers. He hadn’t been able to see the blood against the dark brown color of her prisoner’s uniform.

“You’re hurt,” Alfie said, taking another step forward to heal her, but Xiomara held a hand up to stop him. She shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alfie said. “You’ll die if I don’t heal you.”

She looked at him with eyes that said, I know.

And Alfie knew what she was thinking. She was the only one who could open this void. So long as she lived, there would be a danger of this magic coming back. Someone could force Xiomara to open it, or maybe she would open it herself, accidentally or otherwise. The only way to truly stop this magic from ever returning was for her to die.

After months of wishing she were dead, Alfie couldn’t find any pleasure in this moment.

“There are other ways,” he said weakly, not able to stop himself. “You don’t have to.”

But Xiomara shook her head again, silencing him. She shakily knelt down, a hand pressed to her sopping wound. Using her blood as ink, she wrote a message on the ballroom floor.

I want to make things right.

Alfie’s heart ached. He closed the space between them and helped her stand. She winced, gripping his arm.

“All right,” he said, his throat burning. “If that’s what you want.”

Alfie didn’t want to watch her bleed out. She didn’t deserve that slow agony. No one did. Alfie pulled a ribbon of water from the air and shaped it into a thick, sharp dagger. She seemed to understand and took it from his hand.

Xiomara moved before the void, the dagger poised at her chest. She closed her eyes.

“Xiomara,” Alfie found himself saying. She looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise at the sound of her name. “Gracias.”

She gave him a nod before closing her eyes once more. For a moment, she stood still, her throat working as tears rolled down her cheeks. She pushed the dagger into her chest and without a sound, the silent prisoner of the Clock Tower staggered backward and fell into the void she’d opened. It closed behind her, never to be summoned by her hand again.

Alfie didn’t know if letting Xiomara die was the right thing to do. He didn’t know if he should feel angry or elated. He doubted he ever would, but there was no time to twist and writhe under the gravity of it all. There was still one more person to save. Alfie dashed back to where Finn lay on the ground. Luka scooted away to give him room to work, his face grave.