Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(56)

“Please, go away,” I cry out. “Leave me alone.”

I plunge my head beneath the water’s surface. It doesn’t stop the memory of flames from coming:



I am nine years old, and after two years in the palace, I am a proper little lady. I warm my back by the small pinecone fire in the library, sitting on a long settee in front of a window as tall as the ceiling. If I look out, I will be able to see all of Citadela Andalucía. The capital with lights along twisty streets that turn at strange angles and wrap themselves around alleys like the mazes in the palace. The justice and the king love mazes, and so I decide I love them, too.

It’s late, and the other Moria children were sent to bed ages ago with their attendants, but Méndez said I could stay awake until the next bell chimes.

I pop a stellita in my mouth and sigh with contentment as its sweetness covers my tongue. They’re my favorite, specially made by the king’s candy maker, crafted from honey caramels that look like marbles flecked with bits of edible gold. The shimmer matches the paintings in my book. There’s Queen Penelope, sitting in her garden. I try to flip the page of the storybook, but the parchment sticks to my sugar-stained gloves. The page rips slightly as I move to the next picture—the Lord of Worlds standing on the horizon of his creation. The orange inks are so vivid, it’s almost as if they glow, filling the library with light.

I look up, squinting. The light’s not coming from the storybook. Setting it down, I turn my head over my shoulder and peer out the window.

An incandescence has settled over the capital, like an illustration of the Lord of Worlds come to life. Like the glow of angels. At first, the fire is just a line against ultimate darkness, consuming the small forest that borders the capital.

My hands begin to prickle.

Today, during memory lessons with Justice Méndez, I saw a picture of that forest in my mind. He brought a man to me whom I recognized—an old neighbor from my village, named Edgar. I liked the picture I pulled out of Edgar’s mind, the one of Mamá and Papá outside our wooden house, Mamá culling weeds from the garden and Papá chopping wood. Mamá’s hair is less black than I remember, more gray. And Papá’s shoulders, always broad, seem to slope. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since I got lost. I pulled away from Edgar, and excitedly told Méndez that I knew where my house was! I knew where my parents were, and if I could please bring them to the palace to see me? Mamá would love a stellita, and I knew Papá would love one of the little chocolates crafted to look like a roaring lion.

Méndez promised he’d send them a message.

Now, not only are my hands prickling, but my heart feels itchy, as if it were about to explode. Why is the forest on fire?

As I watch, the fire spreads from the forest and toward the city. I can’t look away. I press my hands, small and chubby against the window, leaving sweet smudges on the glass panes. The fire is even closer now, racing through the narrow streets, as if trying to finish the maze as fast as it can.

I start to scream. People cluster in the streets set aflame. They dash away from the fire, some holding torches and others becoming them.

Their screams find their way to the palace, and then within the walls.

There are shouts in the hallway.

“Watch out, Illan!” a woman’s voice cries. “The king’s men are behind you!”

There’s a clang of sword against sword, but the pounding of my heart is even louder as I run away from the door. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I need to hide! I stuff myself behind a plush armchair, its feet carved into lion paws.

The door opens, and I hear someone enter. At first, I think it’s Méndez, but the footsteps are too light. Then I see a pair of boots standing in front of the armchair.

“You!” A young boy’s voice is a whispered rush. “What are you doing here?”



The sound of water slapping onto the tiles is suddenly louder than the clatter of swords in my memory. Opening my eyes, I realize the faucet is still running, and the water spills over the tub and pours onto the floor. I quickly turn off the tap.

The entrance of Dez into my life has come and gone in segments, never continuous like that. Renata Convida, the Robári of the Hand of Moria vanished that night in the flames. But here I am, back in a similar room decked in finery. What if she’s not gone from me, after all? Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in coming to this place where my mind can never know peace.

That night the Whispers’ Rebellion was able to rescue me along with a handful of others. The rest, sleeping in their rooms, were killed by the justice before they could fall back into enemy hands, knowing too much about the interior workings of the justice and the palace.

It was also the night that María and Ronáldo Convida died in their little wooden house, set ablaze by a raging fire.

And all of it started because I wanted more sweet things.

I submerge myself beneath the surface of the water again and hold my breath, knowing no matter where I am or what I do, I will never escape the heat of flames and the taste of ash. But I no longer want to escape. I want to wield that fire and watch this place burn.





Chapter 14


The next morning, I struggle to blink open my eyes, rubbing away a layer of crust. This bed is too large, too soft, too—beautiful. At the San Cristóbal ruins in ángeles, everything we own is modest, and when I was old enough to start training as a Whisper, we slept out in the woods. Where are Sayida and the others sleeping now?