Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(108)

“Shut your mouth,” a man’s voice shouts. There’s a slick wet sound, and Margo lets out a muffled shriek. I’ve watched Margo undergo worse and never cry out. But now there’s a whimper that hits me right in my heart. I shake my head, spitting the rag out.

“Let her go,” I say, trying not to choke on the smell. “I’m the one who fooled you.”

“I’ll get to you, Renata.” Méndez’s voice is right in front of me. Even with my head covered I can smell his cool breath. “But for now, I’ll give you the honor of choosing which one of your rebel friends gets to die first.”

The sack is lifted off my head. Sweat blurs my vision, and my hair falls over my eyes. My unit comes into focus.

Sayida and Esteban are tied to the wall beside Margo. That’s when I realize it wasn’t Margo’s whimper that I heard. It was Sayida’s. Esteban seethes, his mouth biting hard around the cloth gagging his mouth. I let out a cry when I see his injuries. One of his eyes is swollen shut. Blood is crusted on his chin. His dark brown eye looks from me to Justice Méndez, and I see the moment his anger becomes hate.

“It was very clever of you,” Méndez says, his stare settling on me. “Injuring yourself to save the king. When you returned, I so wanted to believe you were my Ren, come back to me. I let you wander around the palace to see if you’d expose the spy. But even Illan’s informant didn’t trust you enough to reveal themselves. You were alone as ever.”

He walks up to me and each step rattles my insides. I turn my face to the side and bite down to keep myself from screaming.

“I am disappointed, Ren. We will work it out later. Right now, what I want to know is how you got your little friends into the palace.” He grabs my chin, digs his fingers into my jaw.

I spit at him, and he lets go with a slap.

“You could have done great things, Renata. I was a fool to have believed you could return to me whole. You’re a broken shell of the girl you once were. You’ll never have a home with those who claim to be your people. They’ll never trust you.”

“You put me in a cage,” I manage to say.

“And what did the Whispers do? You told me of their cruelty. We verified it with our Ventári. It seems to me you’ve only been moving from one prison to the next. At least here you know where you stand. With power. With loyalty.”

Castian’s voice breaks through my thoughts. The Whispers taught you to fight well. He has no place here right now.

“Do not pretend to care for me,” I throw back at him.

His salt-gray eyes water, but he blinks it away. His lips pull back to accentuate every word he speaks. “I protected you when you lived here. You wanted for nothing. Do you remember how you screamed when they took you away from me? Do you remember how you cried out?”

My memories push against the Gray, color against the void, and I feel a well of tears prickle in my eyes.

A tiny girl lost in the woods was lifted onto a woman’s shoulders and taken away. Please don’t take me! Please! Papá!

I was that little girl. “I remember.”

His features soften. Fingers caress the side of my face. Gray eyes harden like icebergs.

“And yet you chose them. You have cut me deeply, Renata.” His calmness evaporates, and I jump from the loud bang as he flips over a small wooden table in rage. “You betrayed me! After everything I’ve done for you. I gave you a home twice over.”

I writhe against my bonds, but the manacles are tight. “You gave a home to a weapon. That’s all I ever was to—”

“And what do you think you were to the Whispers?” He chuckles, brushing his disheveled hair away from his eyes. “You were born to be a weapon, Renata. Tell me the Whispers see you as more? Tell me that you’ve felt at home in whatever hovel they decided to sleep in night after night?”

I catch Margo’s blue eyes. Think of her words. That I was the one who rejected their friendship. There’s some truth to that. But there’s also my truth. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. The only home I ever knew was with my parents. And with Dez. That alone is worth fighting for.

“Let them go,” I say. “I’ll be your weapon, but let them go.”

“How noble, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I want you to choose. Choose who goes under the knife, Lina!”

Lina? Our predicament is momentarily forgotten in my confusion. All color drains from Méndez’s face, and his fists clench as he catches his breath, as if he’s seen a ghost. He wrenches his eyes from me and turns to a table against the wall, unfolds a leather roll full of knives and pliers in all shapes and sizes. He picks out a small knife with a serrated edge and a pearl handle. Méndez always loved beautiful things. Deadly things.

“Bring me the girl,” he tells a guard. “The other one broke too easily.”

Esteban shakes, and I see the effort it takes not to cry. The guard has been so silent in the corner of the room that she’s almost become part of it. She clears her throat and asks, “Which one, my justice?”

“The Zaharian with the dark hair. The other one wouldn’t last an hour with the way she looks.” He polishes the blade, then sets it down. Picks up another, with a curved edge and holds it up, candlelight bounces off of it and around the room.