Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(91)

As soon as they’d met eyes, Alfie felt filthy with shame. What was he doing? What would any of this do? With a dismissive hand from Paloma, the guard was quick to leave, stopping his begging that she not report him for sneaking in a prince. Then there was only silence between the prince and his teacher.

“Let me pass,” Alfie had demanded, but beneath his steel resolve he felt a quiver of hesitance.

“If you are here for anything but vengeance,” Paloma had said gently, taking Alfie by the shoulders. Alfie shrugged off her touch. “I will step aside.”

“I am your prince. You do not give me ultimatums. Let me pass.” Alfie stepped toward the door, but Paloma did not move.

“All true, but you are also my student. And a teacher’s first duty is to protect their student.” Her eyes softened. “Even if it is from themselves.”

Alfie gripped her by the robes, pulled her forward, and threw her back against the door.

“I could make you let me pass,” he heard himself say. It was as if someone else was in his skin. Someone blisteringly angry. Someone he’d never wanted to be.

“You could,” Paloma said. “But I know you too well. I know the difference between ‘could’ and ‘will.’ Those words spell the difference between a good man and a bad one. The light and the dark. I know which you turn to.”

Alfie slowly let his teacher go and punched the stone wall beside the door, the bones of his knuckles reverberating beneath his skin. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Why couldn’t he hold on to this anger? Why was he so easily swayed? Why couldn’t he do what needed to be done to avenge Dez?

Why was he so weak?

Paloma’s voice came again, gentle. “I cannot stop you from whatever you seek here.” She stepped away from the door, granting him a clear path to the monster inside, and Alfie burned with the need to throw the door open and let his anger run free. “Do what you must, and I’ll wait for you here, for when you’re ready to go home.”

The word home was what had undone him. His shoulders had sagged. His hands dropped from his face, and all the anger he’d been nurturing within himself for this moment wilted. What would killing this girl do aside from prove that he missed his brother so much it was driving him mad? He was already well aware of that. Though he hated himself for it, he just wanted to go home.

When Paloma had taken him by the arm, Alfie let her lead him away.

He would have to use that memory to travel to Xiomara’s cell.

To use this risky form of magic to travel a vast distance would be asking for death, but since he was transporting from one part of this prison to another, maybe he would survive it.

If he made it to Xiomara’s cell, this time there would be no Paloma to stop him. This time he hadn’t come for vengeance, but he wondered if he would be able to stop himself from taking it. And if this risky magic even worked, what if there were guards roaming the prisoner’s hall? He did not have an escort this time to make sure the hall was clear, or a vanishing cloak. What would he do if they found him? And with his fading shadow, did he even have the strength to do this?

Alfie turned another corner and found a closet. He stepped in, shut the door, and leaned against it. He would risk it. He would try to transfer to the hall on the strength of memory and hope that he could pretend to be a lost due?o if he was caught.

He pulled the doorknob out of his robes and tossed it. It rattled before sinking into the wall. Alfie thought of that day, of Paloma and the door to that cell. Of his anger, his hopelessness.

“Voy,” he said.

For a long moment, nothing happened. He felt no shift in the magic. Then the doorknob glowed with light. Alfie twisted the doorknob and the wall gave way to the threads of magic that he knew so well.

The magic pulled him in, jostling him painfully before spitting him out exactly where he wanted—the lonely hall with only one door. He landed roughly on his knees on the stone ground. Exhaustion swept through him. His face was tingling. He broke into another fit of coughing, blood splattering the floor. Fear trembled through him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The transport had been too much for him in this state.

Is this how it ends? he couldn’t help but think.

Then he remembered Luka handing him that pouch. Alfie dug into his pocket and pulled out a vial of the healing draught. He tugged the stopper out with his teeth and downed the shimmering liquid in one gulp. A calming tingle rolled down his body, a small boost of energy he so desperately needed. He wanted to drink the other vial, but Finn might need it. If he ever found her again.

Alfie forced himself to rise and lean against the wall, his body in agony just from standing upright. He gritted his teeth and pushed the pain away. He must break this girl out of prison and put a stop to this black magic. Alfie took one staggering step forward. The hall was strangely silent. How had the fireworks stopped so quickly? Something had gone wrong. He knew in his bones that whatever had happened wasn’t some silly accident with the fireworks. Finn must be in trouble. But did he have time to go find her when he stood so close to Xiomara’s door? Would it be another selfish choice to seek her out instead of moving forward with their plan?

Alfie’s warring thoughts quieted when he felt a strange warmth spreading through the pocket of his due?o robes, something wet. He reached into his cloak and pulled out the roll of parchment, but it was soaked to mush with something sticky and sweet.