Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(81)

They rode in the cart in silence until the wheels began rumbling on new, uneven ground; they’d crossed from the dirt road surrounded by sugarcane into the prison’s clearing, where the ground sat dry and cracked beneath the cart. Then a wave of terrible heat swept over them.

“What the hell is that?” Finn said, wiping her brow.

“We’re riding across the drawbridge over the boiling moat.” He released his nose and gingerly leaned forward. It had stopped bleeding. Now sweat gathered on his upper lip instead.

Finn’s eyebrows rose. “I thought that was just a story.”

“I’m afraid not,” Alfie said. There were rumors that if a grown man fell in the moat, he would be cooked alive before he even had the chance to scream, steamed from the inside out.

The cart gave a bump as they moved off the bridge and back onto land. The wave of heat abated slightly as the cart rolled to a stop. Alfie and Finn scurried out before the prison guards stepped forward to retrieve the goods. Before them stood the Clock Tower.

Alfie had been here before, yet the prison still looked shockingly wide and impossibly tall, like a stone telescope jutting from the earth, its edges perfectly rounded. Not a single window adorned it. Its adobe bricks baked in the sun. The spit of land between the moat and the tower was minuscule, only a strip of parched dirt between them and a torturous, steaming death.

But there was no time to dwell on that. His head still swimming from using the magic, Alfie nodded toward the prison guards carrying the sacks of food into a side entrance of the tower, a small door to the left of the prison’s main entrance—a pair of foreboding double doors that towered over all who entered. They followed quickly behind the guardsmen down a tight hall of sandy stone walls, scarcely lit by enchanted flames hovering in sconces. They were walking toward what Alfie knew to be a food cellar. On the way Alfie spotted a closet door; he cocked his head toward it. They ducked into it as the men walked on.

With the door shut, the closet was dark as night. Alfie was grateful for the cover as he wrenched the cloak off, his body screaming in pain and exhaustion. He slid down the wall and sat against it, his head between his knees.

He heard the scratch of a struck match. A small bud of a flame hovered between them, and Finn’s face loomed out of the dark. She was squatting in front of him, scanning him. He was glad they’d decided not to use the dark magic to transport them here. He couldn’t imagine the pain if they’d tried to travel such a distance on the back of this magic.

He closed his eyes and focused on taking in breaths instead of choking on them. Finn said nothing, only kept the flame glowing between them. She did not tell him he was a fool. She did not tell him that this magic was going to destroy him and that this was all his fault in the first place. She just let him breathe. It was a comfort he couldn’t verbalize.

“Can you stand?” she whispered.

Alfie braced his palms against the cold floor. “Let’s find out.”

She stepped away to give him room. Alfie slowly rose, his back supported by the wall. He moved forward, righting himself, but as soon as he did his vision swam. It felt as if the world beneath his feet was spinning on its toes. A faraway voice told him that he was falling. Finn extinguished the match. As the closet fell dark she caught him in her arms, his forehead falling to the soft juncture where her neck curved into her shoulder. She leaned him back against the wall, holding him there.

When he raised his head their cheeks brushed past each other, a shock of warmth. The darkness of the closet heightened his senses, and he could feel so keenly the heat of her through his due?o’s robes, smell the sweat that trailed down her skin from their journey here. With her fingers splayed against his collarbone, Alfie hoped she couldn’t feel his pulse quickening.

“Luz,” he murmured, his voice hushed. A globe of white light the size of an apple hovered over his palm, casting a glow over her face. He’d hoped the return of his sight would calm the rest of his senses, but it did no such thing. He saw now that wishing for such a thing would be like coaxing a blooming flower to fall into a tight bud once more. It couldn’t be taken back.

“If you faint this often, do you even need to sleep at night?” she asked.

With that insult, his pulse came down easily.

“It’s just the magic,” he said. Usually magic flowed through him, blooming at his fingertips. But this magic didn’t flow, it burned, leaving his whole body singed. It wrung him dry. Just when he thought it had taken everything from him, it only twisted him tighter.

But Alfie refused to let his fear of the magic ruin this accomplishment. He couldn’t help but relish the moment. They’d done it. They’d snuck into the Clock Tower.

“We made it,” Alfie said.

“We did,” she said, her lips quirking at the corners. For a moment that was all there was, their smiles and the soft light that traced them in the dark.

“You do know that getting out is always harder than getting in, right?” she said.

“Just let me have this one victory, thief.”

“Fine, Prince.”

For a long moment, she let him have it.

“All right,” she said. “We should get going.”

Alfie nodded, his throat dry. “You’re right.” He reached for the doorknob, but he couldn’t will himself to turn it. He was here again, for almost the same reason, but with the twist of breaking the prisoner out of jail instead of killing her. He didn’t know what would’ve happened if Paloma hadn’t stopped him last time. He didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself today.