Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(33)

Finn reached for it, and just before her fingertip grazed it she felt a zap of magic crackle through the air, shooting from her fingertip through her body. She wrenched her hand back.

“Co?o! What the hell was that?” she said before rolling her stiff shoulders. The stone arms sat there, unbothered, seemingly unimpressed by her attempt to grab them.

Finn made a crude gesture at them with her hands. “Make a statue out of these,” she hissed, catching her angry reflection in the glass case.

In that moment, something clicked into place in her mind. What if what she really needed was a cloak that she couldn’t see?

Finn turned back to the glass case with the empty dummy inside. She pulled the glass door open and reached for the dummy’s shoulder. Where her fingers should have brushed a bare sturdy frame, she felt something light and textured, a patchwork of tiny scales. With both hands she tugged the invisible garment off the dummy.

She pulled it over her own shoulders and felt for the sleeves. At first it seemed like it would be too big for her, but as her arms slipped through, the sleeves shrank and tightened comfortably. She felt the hem come up so that it wouldn’t drag on the floor. But when she looked down at herself, her body was still visible.

“Really?” she said, annoyed. What had she done to make her luck this sour? When she turned back to the glass case, intending to return the cloak, she felt the hood of the cloak swish behind her neck. It was worth a shot. She pulled the hood over her head.

Her body disappeared before her eyes.

She’d done it. She’d found the vanishing cloak.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

Everyone knew the story of how this cloak had saved Castallan from enslavement. Englass believed that magic was a privilege that only they should enjoy. All others were seen as primitive, unworthy of the gift of magic. And if a people’s mother tongue was wiped out, if their connection to their past, their ancestors, their history, was forgotten, then they could no longer call upon magic.

When Englass invaded Castallan generations ago, they’d sought to snuff Castallan’s language, like a candlewick between wet fingertips, destroying their connection to magic along with it.

The Englassen regime destroyed all of Castallan’s books of magic, forbidding them from speaking their mother tongue or using spoken and written spellwork. Generations of being forced to speak only Englass’s language passed until Castallanos had forgotten their language entirely. Their connection to spoken and written magic had been severed. They knew nothing beyond the little they were allowed to do with elemental magic when doing farmwork for their Englassen masters.

Then a Castallano slave had stolen this very vanishing cloak and used it to sneak into the libraries where he found a secret cache of books of Castallan’s language. With each word he learned, he discovered the marvelous breadth of magic once more and taught it to his people in secret. His teachings spread, and Castallan finally rebelled and overthrew their colonizers. This cloak had returned magic to her ancestors and, in turn, had given them their freedom.

She walked in small circles, feeling the cloak swish around her heels. She was wearing history about her shoulders. Her shadow zoomed around her excitedly, visible on the floor. She’d have to keep it curled beneath the cloak to stay out of sight.

With the cloak to keep her hidden, she made her way back to the ornate filigree doors of the vault. She turned back and stared wistfully at the gold that could buy her a maldito ship instead of passage on one. But she needed to get out unnoticed, not alert the guards that someone had ransacked the vault. The pesos in her pockets would have to be enough.

She crept out of the vault and pulled the great doors shut. The two guards were still asleep. Finn had to keep herself from snorting. With the cloak on, she walked away from the guards, not bothering to duck back into the secret passages. She had what she came for, and now she was going to enjoy it. She was going to walk around these royals with her head held high.

And maybe she’d finesse a few things here and there. If the mood struck.

Who was she kidding? The mood always struck.

Luka took another long swig of the bottle as he leaned against a shelf in the wine cellar.

With every gulp he drowned out the memory of Alfie’s empty apologies and seeing Tiago looking so characteristically smug at the dinner party. After he’d finished a bottle he grabbed another for his trek to his rooms. He was in a much better mood than he had been when he’d left Alfie standing in the hall looking so lost. So guilty and sorry.

Luka guzzled the wine to blur that thought. After a few loud gulps, it grew murkier and murkier, until he couldn’t remember why he’d started downing the wine in the first place. But he was no quitter, so he finished the bottle regardless. As he made his way to the grand staircase, Luka handed the empty bottle to the nearest guard with a wink.

Whenever Luka was drunk, he made a point of looking at the patterned tiles on the stairs as he stumbled up to his rooms. The designs wiggled and escaped the bordered squares they’d been caged in, mingling with each other until new patterns emerged.

Sure, this method of walking made Luka fall multiple times. But it was entertaining, and Luka lived to be entertained.

When what felt like the millionth guard tried to help him to his rooms, Luka stared at him in disbelief. “Gods, how many of you are in this place? I can walk myself to my rooms, guard number three thousand and one. You ought to be guarding something more important, like innocent bystanders from Alfie’s awkward dancing.”