Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(22)
She laughs in reply, the music of it is a beautiful thing.
“What’s so funny?” Margo asks.
She and Esteban drop the swollen waterskins in a heap, then settle in for the night. Margo’s lips appear puffy, and Esteban’s tunic is inside out.
“I was just reminiscing about ángeles,” Sayida says, fighting back a grin.
“Soon we’ll take back the lands of Memoria and you won’t have to reminisce,” Margo says. The fervor of her words brings an end to our silly gossip.
“If we survive at all,” Esteban says.
“Always the optimist,” Dez says. “Tell us, Margo, does he at least smile when he kisses you?”
Esteban grabs a flat stone and throws it at Dez, who doesn’t move at all as the rock misses. I draw my knees closer to my chest, but unless I walk off into the forest, I can’t escape this conversation.
Margo leans forward across her bedroll to me. “Tell us, Ren, does Dez ever stay quiet long enough to kiss you?”
A hot sensation starts at my sternum and spreads across my chest. I glance at Dez. He does delight in being the center of attention. Maybe it’s the impending attack we have ahead of us, or Margo is in a particularly good mood, but I don’t feel on the fringe of their teasing this time.
“Dez has never been quiet in his life,” I say, matching her playful tone.
He winks at me, and everyone falls into an easy laughter. It’s better than thinking about what’s happening at the palace or what this weapon is or what would happen if the king and justice use it everywhere from the populated citadelas to the tiniest hamlet. What if they already have? What if that’s the real reason the justice set fire to Esmeraldas? What if we’re too late?
I snap out of it when Margo lays claim to all the sugar bread the moment we’re back at the ángeles ruins. This time, Esteban doesn’t suggest our demise. Instead, he offers his flask to me. I hate the smell of it but take a swig of the aguadulce anyway. It’s so cold it tastes like ice water at first. Then it burns going down, leaving behind the slightest taste of flowers. I pass it around, and even Sayida takes the barest sips.
The chatter turns to things everyone misses from their childhood, and the drink burns even worse when it comes back around. Dez fishes in his pack for a set of his favorite ivory dice. He and Margo take turns rolling them, using their pocketknives, bootstraps, and pesitos as wagers. Esteban doesn’t play, because he doesn’t like to lose. But we watch and take sides and share this brief moment of joy.
I think about how we are joined by the magics we were born with. It is the one thing that unifies us and makes us Moria in a world where our ancestral lands have been swallowed whole. When Memoria was first annexed, Moria families settled all over Puerto Leones. We were meant to become Leonesse, but our magics would always set us apart. Illan says that there was peace for a time. Esteban’s family settled in the tropical south of Crescenti. Sayida’s family never left their roots in Zahara. Margo’s people were fishermen in Riomar. Dez and I were both born near the capital. I can’t miss a place that I betrayed, can I?
“Are you ever afraid of who you’ll be when this war is over?” Esteban asks, lying on his back. His long fingers drum on his abdomen. “What if we win, but this weapon gets into the wrong hands? Worse than King Fernando. What if we cut the head off the lion but it doesn’t change anything?”
Margo rolls her eyes while Sayida replies, “Can you let us dream a little, Esteban?”
A sad smile tugs at his mouth, but he quiets. I wish I could admit that I share his worries, but I decide it best to keep them to myself.
“Tell me more about your dreams, Sayida,” Dez says, punctuating his words with a wink. “Am I in them?”
Esteban frowns and Margo nearly chokes on her aguadulce while Sayida throws her head back to laugh. “Of course you are. I’ve composed many songs about you.”
Dez perks up at that, though none of us believe it. “Sing us a song, Sayida.”
We beg her enough that she relents. There is one thing Sayida would never part with, and that’s her small guitar. It’s red wood with golden paint that’s chipped away over time. She strums and twists ivory knobs to tune the strings. When Sayida sings about a love lost, we all fall silent. It could be anyone. Friends, parents, siblings, partners. Her soft alto voice wraps around my heart and squeezes. Tears gleam on Esteban’s face, and eventually, he closes his eyes and falls asleep. Margo follows.
“That was beautiful—thank you, Sayida,” I say.
She wraps her guitar in its red cloth, then slips it into a leather pouch. She curls onto her side and whispers, “Buonanocte.”
I echo it, but I’m keenly aware of Dez watching me from across the fire as I settle into my bedroll, too. Like most nights, sleep doesn’t come. When the campfire is nothing but red burning coal and snores join the serenade of night animals, I tug on my boots. With the oil lamp in my hand, I walk away from the campsite and down to the river.
“Are you deserting, Ren?” Dez’s voice, teasing, comes from behind.
I turn, seeing nothing but trees. The silhouettes of moss hanging from crooked tree branches move like the ghosts in my mind. No Dez. And yet—I can feel him. I don’t know how, but I can. Even if we were in a crowded city, I could pick him out from thousands.