Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(83)

A pair of gentle hands on his arm startled him. It was Marco Zelas’s mother, grief hanging over her like a veil. Her ink-black dress swallowed her spindly frame. Alfie hadn’t remembered her being so frail.

“Thank you so much for doing this for our family,” she said, her eyes wet at the corners. She bowed and brought Alfie’s hands to her forehead, a greeting of respect for due?os. “My boy did things that weren’t right. He deserved to die here, but he is still mi hijo. Please, send him on as you would anyone else.” Her hands were shaking, and Alfie felt the billowing flame of anger within him flicker and dwindle. He hated when that happened. He wanted so badly to hold on to his fury, to stoke it. Why did it feel like he was betraying Dez whenever he tried to let go?

“Of course, se?ora,” Alfie said, making his voice as low and soft as the due?os he’d heard. She started sobbing outright then. Alfie knew it was inappropriate for a due?o to hug someone, so he stood, stiff backed, his throat burning at the sound of a mother grieving her son. It sounded too much like his own mother. One of her sons stepped forward to the dais and took her by the shoulders.

“Thank you for this,” he said, leading his mother back to the seating area.

Alfie’s mind spun, not knowing what disaster of the moment to focus on. There was the fact that performing this service was wasting his time, that he and Finn should be carrying out their plan to break out Xiomara instead of being here. Then there was the terrible fury building within him, telling him to curse Marco Zelas’s dead body in front of his family. He gritted his teeth, wishing he could release the turmoil burning inside him.

When the guard looked at him pointedly, Alfie cleared his throat and dipped one finger in the bowl of ash on the dais and dipped another into the bowl of chalk. If he wanted to save his kingdom, he needed to get through this ceremony. With a tense finger, he drew a horizontal line of each across Marco’s forehead. He hoped he remembered this right. “You were born at the crossroads of light and dark. The gods kindled light in your heart, stretched a shadow at your feet, and put destiny in your hands. You have reached your final destiny, and to the crossroads of light and dark you must return.”

Alfie froze upon realizing what was supposed to come next. Cremation. Alfie was no flame caster, but the due?o the guard thought Alfie to be certainly was.

The guard gave a quiet cough behind him, urging him on. Alfie’s heart hammered in his chest. He raised an arm, his palm facing the corpse.

Could he tell the guard that he’d run out of strength and couldn’t cast a flame? Should he pretend to be ill and excuse himself? Every lie sounded ridiculous. He needed to light the body now before the guard got suspicious. He did not come all this way to be discovered before he could find Xiomara. His mind flailed, trying to think of something, anything.

A gust of pain swept over him, the dragon warming beneath his robes. Then, just beneath his palm, a flame caught on Marco’s chest and began to spread. Alfie gripped the dais to stop himself from falling, from crying out at the ache that swelled within him, suspended like a note that never ended.

As the body began to smoke and blaze, the flames licking the oil anointing the dais, the family watched on, faces drawn with pain. The guard, a wind twister, guided the smoke up and into the vents of the chamber ceiling with practiced movements of his arms.

Alfie’s body quaked as another wave of exhaustion swept through him. If he let go of the dais he would fall and lose the disguise Finn had given him. Sweat poured down his temples. They were going to get caught, and it would be his fault. Just as this magic was his fault. His hands slipped off the dais. He sagged sideways.

“Steady now,” Finn murmured beside him, her voice anchoring him to the present once more. His head pounding, Alfie righted himself and grasped the dais.

The guard cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take you back to your usual duties now.”

He led Alfie back into the prison. As he followed, Alfie swayed on his feet. But then Finn was beside him again, letting him lean on her shoulder.

“Keep it together,” came her voice in a taut whisper. Together they walked, Alfie using her as a crutch while the guard kept turning back to shoot him strange looks. He must’ve looked odd walking with such a lean. From what he could tell, the guard was leading them inward on the ground floor, through the tightening rings of the prison and toward the center—where they were already supposed to be planting the distraction if not for the maldito service. His head heavy with exhaustion, he couldn’t imagine climbing the eight floors to Xiomara’s cell, but they didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not with Ignacio running loose with that polluted magic.

Alfie rubbed at his eyes. His face tingled the same way it had when Finn had changed him. His heart leaped in his throat. He was getting too tired, and his face was beginning to shift back. He could feel wrinkles pulling taut with each step they took. He needed to get away from the guard and catch his breath before it was too late.

“Young man,” Alfie said, his voice breaking and sounding too young for a moment. “If I might be so bold as to ask that you take me to the nearest ba?o. My bladder is not what it once was.”

The guard grimaced and led him around a corner, pointing to a door. Alfie moved off Finn and walked in slowly to give her time to get in too.

“I’ll be just a minute,” Alfie said to him. When he shut the door he sped to the water basin and splashed his face. Finn’s magic slipped from his hold and the old face in the mirror shifted slowly back to his own.