Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(5)

Still, he could not give up hope. Something within him knew that Dez was still there, waiting to be found.

“I’m sorry,” Alfie said, the lie acrid on his tongue. “I will not speak of it again.”

The queen reached over and took Alfie’s hand in hers before giving the king a pointed look. “You look tired,” she said. “Would you like to rest and discuss this tomorrow?”

His throat dry, Alfie rose from his chair. “Sí, I would.”

“Mijo, remember this,” the king said before Alfie could speedily leave the room. “My great-grandfather was the first free king of Castallan. In time, you will be the fifth. You are the grandson of men who lived in chains, men who were not allowed to learn the language of magic. Do not disappoint them.”

Alfie’s shadow curled nervously at his feet. “I won’t. I’ll make things right, I promise.”

Queen Amada gave a resolute nod, her eyes still wet. “We know you will.”

And he would, but not in the way his parents were hoping.





2


The Thief Without a Peso


Finn had never been a fan of puppet shows. Just the thought of them made her shadow twitch at her feet.

Yet in the boisterous maze of the marketplace, something had drawn her to this one. She stood behind the crowd of children watching, her arms crossed. The show had everything she remembered from the ones she’d seen as a child—a villain swathed in black with a deep, booming voice, a princess in a sparkling dress with sweeping eyelashes glued to her too-large eyes, a valiant prince vowing to save her.

Even as a child, before everything had happened, the idea of strings digging into joints, of painted smiles and unblinking eyes, of a grinning master just behind the curtain wielding all the power made fear trickle down her spine. She’d wanted nothing more than to race up to the stage and hack at the strings, watch the puppets collapse and fall still. Better never to move at all than to move at the will of someone else. Maybe, even then, she’d had the foresight to know what was coming for her, to know what master was lurking just behind the curtain, waiting to bind her with his strings.

Don’t you miss it, Mija? a voice in her head purred. Don’t you miss your father? You’re not faring too well without me, are you? Maybe you were better off strung up. . . .

Finn shook her head free of the voice, every syllable digging under her skin. She couldn’t get swept away by memories. Ignacio wasn’t here to twist her with his words until she couldn’t tell the difference between his demands and her own thoughts. He wasn’t here to tell her to listen, to obey like a dutiful daughter, to thank him for taking her in when she had no one. Her life was her own now.

“Out of the way!”

Before her a boy shoved a small girl who’d been standing on her tiptoes in front of him trying to watch the show. The girl fell, her knees hitting the ground with a sad thunk. But she didn’t cry, rise, and hit the boy back as Finn expected. No, she stayed on the ground silent for a long moment before finally standing and shuffling to the side, away from the boy’s view. The girl folded her thin arms around her middle, as if trying to make herself smaller. As if she’d been knocked to the ground so many times that it was where she belonged. Finn knew that feeling all too well.

She’d never been a fan of it either.

Finn slid through the crowd of children and crouched in front of the boy, blocking his view.

“You want a closer look at the show?” she hissed with a smile. He opened his mouth to protest, revealing rows of gapped, chocolate-stained teeth, but Finn was too quick for him. She passed her hands over her face and transformed herself into the villain of the puppet show—a monstrous man with a red, sinister mouth too wide for his face and eyes as black as ash.

“Close enough for you?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

The boy gave a strangled yelp and ran away. As he turned, Finn pulled the pouch of pesos out of the back pocket of his trousers. She didn’t usually steal from children—even she had her limits—but by the spotless soles of his shoes and the crisp cut of his clothes she knew his parents would replace it without batting an eye.

Finn passed her hands over her face again, returning it to its previous state. The little girl with the scuffed knees stared at Finn, mouth open. Unlike the boy, she hadn’t screamed at the sight of the transformation.

“Well,” Finn said to her. “You’re braver than you look, muchacha.”

Finn took in the shabby state of the girl’s clothes, the thinness of her arms, the dirt under her fingernails. Or maybe this girl had seen more than her fair share of monstrous things already. Finn could understand that. Finn winked at her before rising and putting her hands on the girl’s narrow shoulders. With a gentle push, she moved the girl to where the boy had stood.

“Aquí, front and center, where you belong.”

Finn began to walk away, but then stopped, thinking better of it. Though her empty stomach protested, she took the girl’s hand and dropped the stolen coin purse into it. “Get yourself something sweet.”

As the girl gazed at the purse with a look of wonder, Finn stepped back and melted into the crowds ambling through the marketplace of the Brim.

The Pinch and the Bash—the poorer, outermost rings of the city—were porous, the divide between the two arbitrary and silently understood. After all, the poor hardly needed a distinction between one level of misfortune and the next. The Brim was the third of the city’s five rings, a bridge between poverty and luxury. People of all classes met to spend their pesos here, from sauntering noblewomen in long, belted, ruffled skirts and brightly colored silken blouses to dirt-dusted farmhands in their patched trousers.