Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(16)

“I have nothing to give you, Dez.” Emotions swell in my chest. I lean into him with my eyes closed, because if I look into his eyes I will be weak. I will take his trinket. I will soften when I should be sharp edges and steel. He kisses the mound of my cheekbone, and then I can’t help it. I look.

“You give me your trust, and I know how hard that is for you.”

I’ve known him for too long, and I don’t think he’s ever spoken so honestly. Dez never hides his feelings, but I wonder if there’s something he isn’t telling me. Something about the mission and in the alman stone that is more dangerous than we thought. When he looks at me, I see a flash of fear in his eyes. The Dez I know is not afraid of anything. But maybe I imagine it. Maybe it’s the excitement of the day and the shadows of the setting sun.

“I will cherish it.” I hold the copper coin close to my chest and kiss him once more, too briefly.

From our camp in the distance comes Dez’s name. It’s time to read the alman stone and discover what Celeste San Marina died to protect.





Chapter 5


As the sun sets, we gather closer around the fire. I’ve never transcribed an alman stone outside our fortress in ángeles. It has to be done in the presence of at least two elders and a Ventári. Because of our pasts, they don’t trust Robári to tell the truth.

Ventári like Esteban can see if I’m lying. He’ll look into my mind as if peering through a window and write everything down. The day I don’t need one of the mind-reading Ventári to prove I’m telling the truth is the day I know the Whispers trust me.

Margo and Sayida watch quietly from the other side of the fire pit while Dez paces around us in that slow, predatory way of his. I take the alman stone from my pocket and set it on the makeshift tabletop. I have the passing thought that this is what a fallen star might look like—a white crystal with light trapped inside.

I pull off my glove, then rest one hand on top of his. The pearlescent whorls and scars are a bright contrast to the rest of my olive skin.

Esteban’s onyx eyes roam my face. “Ready?”

He wears a silver bracelet, the metal conductor for a Ventári’s powers. Esteban once described the bracelet as a torch, helping him illuminate the deepest thoughts in the human mind. The Moria are said to have metals in their blood, that they’re the key to strengthening our powers. I always remember the stories Illan would tell us as children about Our Lady of Shadows plucking the veins of metal beneath the earth and imbuing them with her power. She gave that magic to the Moria to protect the world she created. That’s one story, at least. It is difficult to protect anything when all you can do is hide.

“Ready,” I say.

I shudder as the chill of his magics seeps into my skin. Esteban is the only Ventári I’ve let read me. If you didn’t know what was happening, the tension behind your eyes might be confused with the start of a headache. For me it’s close to having someone step into my skin. The intrusion brings a shock of panic because when I look at Dez, all I can think of is the kisses we traded not too far from here. Breathing deeply, I try to keep my mind as blank as a lake on a windless day. No need for Esteban to know—

“Know what, little incendiary?” Esteban smirks.

“That you’re an ass. But I suppose we already know that.” I concentrate on the time Esteban accidentally fell into the compost pile back in ángeles, and Esteban’s eyes flash dark.

“I’ve told you,” Esteban says. “You can always fight against my power. Show me what you want me to see. If you’d only bother to practice.”

If I did that, it would only incur suspicion and he knows that. “Get on with it.”

Holding the alman stone at eye level, I concentrate on the core of light pulsing in the stone like a still-beating heart. No one, not even the elders, knows why only Robári like me can read the images an alman stone captures. The stone itself was once so sacred it was only used to build the temples and statues of Our Lady of Shadows, divine mother to the Moria. When the kingdom of Memoria was conquered by Puerto Leones, many of the histories and texts were destroyed. Though elders tried to pass down stories, we don’t always know what is myth and what truly happened. Ten years ago, during the King’s Wrath, all remaining statues and temples were crushed to dust. The pieces of alman stone we’ve been lucky enough to find are used to communicate across the network of Whispers in the provincias.

This stone means everything to me.

The lines on my palms light up the same way they do when I’m about to take a memory. Unlike when I enter people’s minds, the images in an alman stone have bright white edges. Everything about them is too bright, as if the sun were right above the scene no matter where or when it took place. The sound is like trying to communicate from behind a wall of glass. As the forest fades away and the warmth of Esteban’s magics snake up my arm, the last thing I hear is the scratch of his quill.



“Hurry, Rodrigue,” a hushed voice, hidden beneath a black cloak, says. “Get her and get out. The guards change posts at midnight. You have but moments.”

The hooded figure heaves open the heavy wooden door with rippled glass panes. Rodrigue watches his reflection in the warped surface. His dark brown skin glistens with nervous sweat. He can’t recognize himself in the stolen palace guard uniform—too violet, too tight on his broad shoulders. He nods once more to the cloaked figure and hurries into the dungeon.