Nocturna (A Forgery of Magic #1)(96)

Finn looked around. There were uninfected prisoners trapped in their cells, screaming for release. She didn’t want to use the dragon, she knew it would hurt the prince, wherever he was, but she needed to find him and get him out of here. She owed him that. Finn gripped the dragon in her hand and imagined what she wanted.

On all ten floors of the prison, each cell door clattered off its hinges with an earthshaking boom. The remaining prisoners took off running and shouting for help. The black-eyed horde looked about like dogs hearing the feet of new prey, bounding after new bodies to exterminate. Finn watched two black-eyed prisoners leap onto one of the men who’d run out of his cell, pinning him to the ground before snapping his neck with a rough twist. He wasn’t dark enough to carry the magic. Finn shuddered at the sight of his still body before shaking herself free of those thoughts. She had to hope that this would distract them long enough to find the prince and escape with the prisoner. She squeezed the dragon again, preparing to ask for its help once more, her stomach twisting with guilt at the thought of the prince curled over in pain, blood pouring from his nose.

“Lead me to him!” she snapped at the dragon, promising herself that this would be the very last time she used it. “Find him!”

The dragon gave a pull that led her forward and to the left, where a small passage took her away from the circular floors of cells down a long corridor. She hoped it would lead her to the prince instead of more trouble. But she’d settle for both.

The lock clicked open. His heart pounding in his chest, Alfie stepped in and shut the door behind him.

Then came a chorus of ticking.

The room was small, with a cot and a grimy waste bucket. There were no windows. Built into every brick of the cell walls were clocks.

She could not be placed under the large clock with the common prisoners, so they had made her cell a terrible reminder of her time left in this prison. There, sitting with her back pressed to the wall farthest from the door, her head tucked between her knees to block the sound, was the girl who had taken his brother from him. Xiomara Santoro. She hadn’t even heard him, hadn’t looked up. At the sight of her, adrenaline surged through him in a wave, numbing his pain and searing his body with unbridled fury.

His head ringing with the ticking, Alfie shouted, “Silenciar!”

The clocks fell silent and Xiomara looked up, shocked. She was smaller than Alfie had remembered. Had his nightmares made her seem bigger? She started at the sight of him before her and he knew she was wondering if he was some sort of illusion. Her face was gaunt and sallow, and her hair was shorn short, as if someone had hacked it off with a razor while she struggled. Her clothes were filthy with grime and dark circles rimmed her eyes. She stared at the prince in shock.

A deafening silence passed between them, one that carried all he felt; he need only tip it and let his anger flow free and rapid.

“Do you know who I am?” Alfie heard himself say, his body shaking with barely contained rage.

She nodded, eyes wide.

“Do you remember what you did? What you took from me?” His voice was teetering on the edge between cold anger and uncontrollable rage. He felt as if he might split in two and whatever crawled out of the tear would be someone else entirely.

She nodded again. Alfie’s fingernails bit into his palms.

“Do you know how you ruined my life, my family’s lives, in one moment? The future of our whole kingdom was forever changed! All because of what you did.” She still said nothing, looking more alarmed than anything else. In three quick strides Alfie was upon her, wrenching her up from the ground and slamming her against the wall. “I don’t even know how my father let you live. You shouldn’t be here, because he’s not here! He was supposed to be king, not me. History had eyes for him, he was born with it. Now everyone is left with me. All of that falls on you, do you understand?” When she still said nothing, Alfie jerked her forward by her dirtied shirt. “Answer me!”

She only looked at Alfie, a procession of emotions marching over her face, from fear to guilt to sorrow and back again. This was not what Alfie had wanted. He wanted someone who had no shame. Someone who he could justify beating to a bloody pulp. This scared husk of a person was so much worse. He couldn’t take this. He wouldn’t.

“Say something!” Alfie shouted. An anger-fueled burst of energy overtook him. He could live just a little longer if he could make this woman answer for her crimes.

But she only looked at Alfie, her dark eyes soft with remorse. She opened her mouth and pointed in. Her tongue had been cut to a stub. She was mute.

Alfie let go of her. She crumpled to the ground, skittering as far from the prince as she could manage. Especially horrible criminals were often made mute so that they could never speak a word of magic again. At the thought of the bite of a blade against her tongue, Alfie felt it welling within him, like sap from a tree—pity. He felt pity for this girl who deserved every punishment that came her way. Why couldn’t he hold on to his anger? Why was he so soft that he could look at her and feel sorrow instead of fury? His mind had split in two, butting heads against one another—half of him angry at this girl and all that she’d done, the other half angry at himself for feeling even a drop of sadness for her.

Alfie massaged his temples. “Gods.”

His hands were shaking and he wanted so desperately to be home spending a lazy afternoon in the palace with Luka that his heart ached. He didn’t know why he ever thought seeing this pitiful woman would make him feel any better. And now he couldn’t even exact his revenge. Now he had to sneak this cretin out of prison, away from the punishment she so deserved, to fix a problem that he himself had stupidly unleashed.