Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(77)

Underneath her facade Alfie could see a flash of understanding. As if she’d once had people to protect. “I want to,” Alfie said. “But I can’t.”

His mother’s voice rang in his head, clear as a bell: You never think things through, Alfie. If you’re to be a king, you must think of your people before yourself. Always.

This magic threatened his entire kingdom, not just his family. And so he had to take responsibility for his actions. He must take care of the black magic first. Without delay.

Finn nodded at him, taking his flaring emotions in stride. He couldn’t understand how she could be so calm. She’d witnessed what he’d witnessed in the Blue Room. How was she so relaxed when he could barely stop himself from shaking?

“You’re not worried about that man?” he asked. “Ignacio?”

She flinched at his name, like a child would at a crack of thunder, but she recovered quickly, smoothing her face into nonchalance. “I don’t have much fear in me, Prince. I’m not going to waste it on him,” she said, her mouth curling into a snarl around that word.

She tossed him a smirk that almost covered the turmoil churning beneath it. Almost.

“That’s enough rest for these beasts,” she said before digging her heels into her horse’s sides and easing into a sprint, leaving Alfie in her dust.





25


The Man Who Could Not Die


As yet another body burst into ash before him, Ignacio sucked his teeth in annoyance.

He sat in the Blue Thimble, the blood-caked pub that he’d marked as his own when he’d received his power—when the thrill of it all had slaked a bloodlust in him that every man in the pub had paid dearly for. The corpses had been removed by the guardsmen, but the blood remained, staining every surface with red-tinted proof of his might. The pub had been closed after the massacre, and Ignacio had taken it as his own private sanctuary, a place to draw victims from the Brim to infect.

He’d spent the night prowling the rings of this city, hunting for bodies to claim as his own, but in each ring they merely burst into dust. After hours of failure he’d returned to the Blue Thimble, frustration coiling tight inside him as the morning sun poured through the pub’s windows. Though the magic begged him to continue, Ignacio couldn’t be bothered, not when her name beat in his mind like a drum.

Finn. Finn. Finn.

He took a swig of spiced rum, toeing his boot through the ashen remains of another imbecile. He’d come all this way for her. His vision nothing but a blur of colors and lines, his pockets empty, he’d charmed his way onto a ship with a story of a long-lost sister he hoped to find in the city, so that he wouldn’t die blind and alone. A sailor pitied him enough to offer him a sudden opening on the boat. One of the passengers had disappeared the night before. It was all very curious. Well, not to Ignacio. He’d killed that man. Dragged him into an alley and cut his throat. But to the rest of the world it was all very curious. And Ignacio didn’t mind indulging the rest of the world.

He’d come to the capital city because when she was young, baby fat still padding the panes of her face, she’d always said she wanted to be here for the Equinox Festival. So he’d found his way to San Cristóbal and received this power like a gift from the gods themselves. He’d shown her how powerful he’d become, and still she had not fallen into line. She’d slipped through his fingers like water. His hands curled into fists, his blackened nails biting into the flesh of his palms. The dark magic within him healed it immediately, so quick he barely had a moment to savor the pain.

He could remember the day he’d taken her as his own. The memory sat in his mind in brightened shades, colors that spoke of a turning point that would redraw the course of his life. He’d been watching her for a few days then, the shadow moving at her feet calling to him, a mirror of his own. She’d been scavenging for scraps in a garbage heap between pubs. Her bones had shown through her skin like moonlight through glass.

He approached her from behind. She sensed him immediately even though he hadn’t made a sound. Instinct like that was what it took to survive on the street.

She’d glared up at him, her hackles raised. For a skinny little thing she was fearsome.

“Where’s your mamá, papá?” Ignacio asked, cocking his head at her.

“Gone.” She pulled a small dagger from the dirty sheath at her waist. “Dead and buried a few days now. Worm food. Same as you’ll be if you touch me.”

Ignacio had only smiled down at her, unfazed. He was sure she’d faced more than her fair share of people with less than savory intentions on the street. He could hardly blame her for flashing the dagger and her teeth.

“I don’t think so,” Ignacio said, waving her threat away with a smile. “I won’t be dying tonight. Not any night, for that matter.”

She squinted up at him, unconvinced. “Everyone dies.”

She’d said that with a certainty that no child should know.

Ignacio shook his head. “I won’t die. My word is law, more powerful than death.” He gestured at his moving shadow, which curled on the ground before his feet. “If my body tries to perish, I’ll just tell it not to. And I’ll do the same for you too.” His gaze locked on hers, a promise in his eyes. “If you like.”