Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(15)

“Fine.” He gave a sharp sigh. “How much?”

Her eyes roamed over him and he knew she was trying to decide how high he would go. He wished he hadn’t worn a cloak made of such rich fabric.

“One million gold pesos,” she crowed, her head tilting back as she shouted.

“Qué?”

“You heard me.”

Alfie stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “Don’t lose card games.”

Alfie gritted his teeth. “Se?orita, I do not want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said with a bubbling laugh. “You won’t.”

Alfie bristled at the cutting sound of her laugh. “The books are mine. If you hadn’t interrupted the game I would have won them honorably.”

“You think so?” She smirked. He had a feeling that this expression was her default regardless of what face she wore. She glanced down at his shadow, which writhed in annoyance at his feet. “I’d venture to guess that you were using your propio. Not so honorable, if you ask me.”

Alfie’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you to call me dishonorable? You’re a thief.”

She threw her hands in the air as if he’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “And you’re trying to steal from a thief. I’d say that puts you beneath me.”

Alfie glared at her before taking a deep breath through his nose. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice rough with annoyance.

She crossed her arms. “That’s all well and good because I doubt you can.”

Something in her tone rubbed him raw. “Then let me prove it,” he said, his voice level and sure. He wanted to feel dangerous, like the players at the cambió game. He was wearing a fox mask, but he was behaving like a maldito doe. This girl had stolen from him, yet he was still hesitating. Tonight, he would be a fox. “We’ll play a game for the books.”

“Haven’t you lost enough games for one night, muchacho?” she asked with a snort.

“Every time I wound you,” Alfie pressed on, “I get a book. Every time you wound me—”

“Wounding you will be enough of a prize, thank you very much.” She pulled the dress over her head and cursed like a sailor when her arms and head got stuck in it for an awkward moment. Alfie rolled his eyes. This was like dealing with a more violent version of drunk Luka.

She threw the dress over her shoulder. Now she wore the black shirt tucked into her belted trousers that she had worn at the cambió game. Her black bag stretched across her body from one shoulder to the opposite hip.

She sank into a sloppy defensive stance, breaking form to hiccup. “Let’s play, then.”

There was a moment of silence. That tense moment that must boil over before two people can be at each other’s throats. Through the slanted holes of his mask, their eyes locked. With an upward thrust of her wrist, a line of stones the size of his fist rose from the cobbled ground.

Part of his body screamed to attack quickly, desperately. But he waited.

Paciencia, Prince Alfehr. Patience is a magic all its own. Paloma’s voice rang in his head. Alfie moved into a defensive stance and waited. The girl looked at him and let out an annoyed puff of air.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a little sauced. I’d like to be in bed at a decent hour. So let’s make this quick.” She tilted her head and slowly looked him up and down. “Unless you’d like to skip the fight and join me there?”

Alfie stiffened, breaking his stance slightly.

With a splaying of her fingers, the stones shot forward. Alfie clumsily pulled tendrils of water from the humid air and froze it into a sheet of ice to block. But he hadn’t summoned enough. He blocked two of the stones but was pummeled in the chest by the last few. He backed up before pressing a hand to his stinging chest. Blood welled beneath his shirt.

“Sanar,” he said, healing the wounds.

“That’s one.” She grinned. “Let’s say three strikes for this game. It’s a bit late for a kit like you to be without your mamá. We don’t want her to worry, do we?”

Alfie glared at her through the mask.

Elemental magic was visceral, physical. It didn’t require as much study or focus as spoken and written magic did. What it required was instinct, which Alfie always seemed to be in short supply of. And because of the noble preference for written and spoken magic, another holdover from Englassen rule, only rudimentary study of the elements was necessary to complete one’s bruxo studies. Alfie had never defended against it in a fight.

“Why’d you back up? Scared of me already?” Her smirk sharpened.

Alfie ground his teeth. “Fine, three strikes and the game is over.” This time he would be ready. She could barely stand on her own feet. He’d use that to his advantage. He beckoned her with an outstretched hand. “You want to end this fight, then come finish it.”

The girl snorted at him. “If you insist.”

She dashed forward, her steps fast but clumsy. When she raised her hands, Alfie watched her red magic flow sloppily from her body to the ground to pull three large stones from the cobbled street. She’d expelled so much energy just to grab three stones?

Just as she meant to attack, Alfie looked down at her feet and said, “Adherir!”