Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(3)

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling mural. Alfie concentrated, letting his mind fall quiet until he felt in tune with the magic flowing through the world, through him—a meditative focus that had taken years of study. When he reached this state, it was as if the magic threading through this world had a pulse, a heartbeat, and he could feel it thrumming through the air, slowing down or speeding up to match his own.

As the currents of magic washed over him, Alfie spoke the word he needed: “Contar.”

At his command the mural moved with life, swirling above his head in bursts of color. The magic poured life into the images, showing his people swathed in bright colors, prospering and using magic freely. Then the mural slowly darkened as Englassen conquerors appeared on the shores. They chained his people, and Alfie watched the enchanted chains glow as his people’s magic was drained from them and transferred to their Englassen masters so that they could perform more magic. The Englassen regime destroyed all the tomes of their language, forcing them to forget the tongue that connected them to their heritage—to their magic. Then came the rebellion, with the enslaved breaking free of their shackles and rising against the conquerors and rediscovering their language. The story finished with a great bird shattering the chains attached to its claws and stretching its wings victoriously, the very image on the Castallan flag. Just below the bird were the words of Castallan: Magia Para Todos.

Magic for all.

Alfie dropped his hand and the mural became static once more. He’d tried that spellwork long before he’d left home, and he hadn’t been able to perform it. Now he couldn’t help but shout “Wépa!” in excitement, his voice echoing throughout the library. At the sound of his lone echo, Alfie’s smile fell.

When he was little, Alfie and Dez used to sneak into the library to stage grand duels with their blunt practice swords.

When he’d asked Dez why they always play fought in the library, Dez had shrugged and said, “It’s big and dramatic. In the books you always have to have a sword fight in a big, dramatic place. And when you shout the whole room echoes.”

At that, Dez gave a loud holler, his voice ricocheting off the cavernous ceiling. Alfie followed his lead, his own shout sounding like a chirp in comparison.

“See,” Dez had said, smiling. “You always need a good echo.”

Alfie pressed his forehead to a rung of the ladder. The whole palace whispered of Dez. There wasn’t a single room where he could be free of his fear that he wouldn’t be able to find his brother after all. That he truly was dead, like everyone said.

“Alfehr,” a voice sounded from below, shattering the silence. It was a voice that spoke of the rumble of thunder before a flash of lightning. It was the voice of a king.

Alfie started, gripping the ladder with both hands. King Bolívar and Queen Amada stood beside the ladder, staring up at him, their expressions inscrutable from so high up. Where Alfie was tall and lanky, his father was broadly built. Dez had looked much more like him. Alfie took after his mother, with more delicate features.

“Ven acá.” Her voice shook with emotion—though whether it was anger or relief, Alfie didn’t know.

“Sí, Mother,” Alfie called down. He took a deep breath and said, “Acortar.” The ladder shrank down slowly until Alfie was just hovering above the ground. He stepped off and turned to his parents. His mother’s hands were bunched in her ruffled, violet gown. Her dark eyes were wide, as if she wasn’t certain that he was actually standing before her.

He looked down, avoiding their gazes for a long moment. “I’m sorry I took so long to—”

Before Alfie could finish, the queen stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce embrace. The king wrapped his arms around both of them with a gentleness Alfie seldom saw from his father. Alfie’s back stiffened in shock.

“Mijo,” the king said, his voice soft.

Alfie’s eyes stung. “I came back.”

Queen Amada pulled away from the embrace, her gaze tender as she placed a hand on Alfie’s cheek. “No, you came home. You have been missed.”

Guilt wormed its way through Alfie. He wouldn’t even be here if not for the game tonight. But they’d been waiting for him since the moment he’d left. And now they were looking at him with faith in their eyes, faith that Alfie hardly deserved.

But it would be worth it if there was even the smallest chance that what he found at the game tonight could help him find Dez.

“I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long,” Alfie said, his voice thick.

“It’s all right, my son,” the king said, moving toward a quartet of plush armchairs. He sat, motioning for Alfie and his mother to do so as well. “All men grieve in different ways. The important thing is that you’re home.”

While away, Alfie had worried that Dez had been the glue that held his father and him together. That with Dez gone, whatever was between them would crumble to nothing but filial duty. But he’d been wrong. The love he’d felt in his father’s embrace was just as true as he’d remembered and so much more painful without Dez here to share in it.

When they sat, the queen looked over Alfie’s shoulder toward the library doors, her eyes beseeching. “Luka, please. Don’t you want to say hello?”

At the mention of his cousin and best friend, Alfie jumped out of his seat. They’d been raised in the palace together and only ever referred to each other as brother. His childhood was colored with memories of Luka, himself, and Dez leaving a trail of mayhem in the palace corridors. He hadn’t noticed Luka standing at the library doors, but now his presence was unmistakable, and uncharacteristically cold. Luka leaned against the doors, his arms crossed and his eyes hard. Alfie’s stomach tightened. To see Luka without a smile on his face was rare enough, but to see him looking so angry didn’t feel right.