Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(25)

“I don’t know if I’m built to keep fighting like you,” I say, and speaking the words feels like pulling a cord out of my heart. “Sometimes I think I was built to be used and nothing more.”

He takes two steps forward, and his hands rest on my shoulders, careful not to disturb the bandage over my wound. The touch shocks me into stillness. His hands trail down my arms, and there is nowhere to look but the endless gold of his eyes.

“Renata.” There is no emotion in the word—no hint of pleading or passion or fury. It’s just my name, like a final wish. “You’re the strongest person I know. I’ll prove it to you.”

His hands slide down to my wrists, to the very edge of my gloves, and suddenly my heart is wilder than the rush of the river as he waits for me to say yes.

Slowly, I nod.

He tugs off my gloves one by one.

Instinctively, I curl my fingers into a ball, trying to hide my scars, the scars I’ve gained from every memory I’ve stolen, the evidence of my thievery. He unfurls my hands, presses our palms together. His hands are almost twice as big as mine and marked not by magics, but by the kiss of steel. I shut my eyes and memorize the calluses of his palms. He closes the distance between us, until all I have to do is tilt my head up to feel his lips against mine. He leans down, his mouth grazing my ear. He leads one of my hands to his face.

His temple. “Take a memory.”

My eyes fly open. “I knew you were reckless—”

“I’ve never claimed to be anything but,” he says playfully.

My words are a staccato, breathless whisper. “Something is wrong with my power, I told you. I’ve been away from Illan’s training for too long.”

“Let me help you, then.” Suddenly, the play is gone, replaced with a vulnerable thing that feels breakable. “I trust you. I know you.”

“Dez.”

“You’re not the only one whose nightmares won’t let them sleep.” He brushes a thumb over my cheekbone. “Please.”

I wonder if he can feel my heart racing. That’s the thing, isn’t it? I want him so much I stay away, out of fear of hurting him. If I touched him, and my power got ahold of me. If I injure him. If I break the connection too soon. If I drain every memory. If I make him forget me. There are so many ifs that flood my mind. But I don’t move away from him. I sink into his hold around my waist, trace my fingertips along his forehead.

“It’ll hurt,” I warn. “During and after.”

He shivers against me. “I know.”

The raised scars that trace the pads of my fingers heat up, as if there’s a fire ignited from within. He’s never seen me use my power this way, just the aftermath of it when it goes wrong. Dez’s eyes widen at the sight of my hands, at the light that races along my palms. What startles me most of all is that look on his face. Not fear but wonder.

No one has ever looked at me this way.

“How does this work?” he asks. “Do they all go into the Gray?”

I shake my head. “The Gray is my own creation, I think. I’ve never known another Robári long enough to compare. But most of my memories up until I was nine are locked in there.”

“Why nine?”

“That’s when the Whispers burned down the old palace. That’s when I met you.” I press my hand over his heart and smile when I feel how fast his pulse is. “This memory wouldn’t be locked away. It would just be mine.”

The wrinkle on his forehead deepens, but he holds on to me tighter. His voice is nearly pleading. “Do it.”

And I do.

I reach for his temples and take hold. He gasps through the pain, hissing when his skin burns under my glowing touch. I’m an intruder, breaking down the walls of his past. But Dez is all too willing to let me in now, and I dive into the vivid memory he offers.

Even the sea is on fire.

Ships break apart and sink beneath dark waves.

Bells ring from the cathedrals.

Bodies are draped across gray stone streets, their blood running between the cobblestones like rivers searching for a way back to the ocean.

He knows he shouldn’t be there. The Whispers have retreated. Riomar has been lost. But he has one last thing to do.

Dez stumbles over the dead. He can’t tell the broken bodies apart. He’s searching for familiar faces. He hears his name, a strangled cry from a man trying to keep his insides from spilling out. General Almonte. The man who taught him how to wield a sword. Now Almonte’s gray beard is streaked with blood. He shuts his eyes, and then he’s gone.

Dez looks up at the darkening sky, but he cannot scream. Everything within him is numb. The purple-and-gold flag with the Fajardo crest of Puerto Leones is being raised in front of the palace. Up on the balcony is a sight that splinters his vision. Prince Castian watches Riomar descend into chaos. People ravage the dead like vultures, seizing the Moria’s jewelry, weapons, armor. Desecrating bodies. The prince just stands there taking in his victory. Hate and anger surge through Dez, propelling his body into a run. He climbs the carved walls of the palace, his hands caked in dirt and blood and sweat. There is still one thing he can do to end this.

Kill the prince. Kill the prince. Kill the prince.

Dez lands on the balcony with heavy boots.

Prince Castian’s long golden hair is matted to his face. A tender bruise blooms on his high cheekbone like spoiled fruit, his full lips split open and bloody. He’s still in his chain mail, though it’s been hours since the Moria forces, what’s left of them, retreated from the citadela.