Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(61)
It’s a bluff that the king of Puerto Leones is happy to meet. He raises his hand, and I stop short of pulling on the string. He might be a murderer, a bigot, a tyrant, but the thing he prides himself on is a twisted sense of chivalry.
“Leonardo?” King Fernando calls the attendant forward, and Leo is beside us in a few of his long steps. His head is bent, eyes toward the floor, so his curls flop over. “You have dressed this creature. What did you observe?”
I swallow and revisit the memory of this morning. Leo’s tiny gasp when he buttoned me up, and how I stiffened. He didn’t ask how my back came to be a maze of scars, just continued singing his upbeat song.
“I believe the scars on her back were left there by those who held no love for the girl.”
I’ve underestimated Leo. Not only is he trusted by Justice Méndez, but his words are truth in the king’s eyes. He couldn’t be the Magpie. I wonder how a stage actor came to be so entrusted in the palace. Leo’s catlike green eyes flick to my hands but betray nothing else.
On the contrary. He would make the best kind of spy, I think.
“The Whispers do not trust Robári,” I say, holding my hands in front of me. “Even now they keep us in the ranks only as thieves and scavengers. Among my company I was one of two, though we were separated. The other Robári died five years ago during a raid.”
It’s a lie, but I want to see his reaction. This seems to bother the king, and I wonder if it’s because he sees a missed opportunity.
“Constantino,” the king says.
In my focus on the king I somehow missed the two men hovering quietly behind the throne, like pets at the king’s feet waiting for a treat. They’re young, midtwenties perhaps, and dressed in tailored uniforms. At first glance they could be any of the king’s guard, except these uniforms are a stark black instead of the imperial purple and gold. They each wear a medallion over their breast pocket bearing King Fernando’s family crest—a winged lion of legend with a spear in its jaws and flames roaring around it.
The shorter of the two steps forward, and I notice the intricate embroidery is actually made of copper. I look to the other and realize his embroidery is silver. These are Moria, a Ventári and a Persuári—what is left of the Hand of Moria.
While the king has ruled magics illegal, he has always kept his own private collection of Moria, one for each of the four strands of power. After all, what better way to defeat his enemies, fighting fire with fire? What could he do if he controlled all Moria this way?
I don’t recognize either of them from my time here. Then again, Méndez did his best to keep me isolated from the rest. To keep me safe.
“You won’t mind if our Ventári verifies your claims?” King Fernando asks, the challenge clear. “My Ventári has caught every traitor among my ranks.”
Fans flutter and lips whisper and my heart drums like a warning. I extend my left hand. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
“See,” King Fernando comments into the young man’s ear.
Constantino isn’t like Lucia. They haven’t removed his magics, but there’s something not right about him—or the other man who stands to the side of the throne like a living statue. I wonder how they came to be here. Were they snatched from their homes like I was? This would have been my fate had I not been saved. Had Dez not saved me.
I swallow my grief and remind myself why I’m here. I grip the Ventári’s hand before he can grab mine. Esteban taught me how to control my mind when someone tries to skim it. Like all magics, it requires practice, and every Ventári has different strengths. To my relief, Constantino is not as strong as Esteban. I never did learn how to fully close my mind against him. But a weaker Ventári—I can.
I let Constantino see the day I got the scars on my back. It was a young Moria who dragged me into the thorn reeds in the river and I fell, tangled and thrashing so much I nearly bled out. I allow him to see the fights I’ve had with Margo. Illan shouting at me. The time I had to be put in chains because I was trying to hurt myself. Nameless Moria spitting in my path whenever I walked in the cloisters.
I let him see the worst.
He lets go first, breaking the connection so it leaves me with a dizzying feeling. Leo holds out a hand to steady me.
Constantino’s face is blank as a new day. His voice is flat when he says, “She tells the truth, Your Highness.”
King Fernando stares at me in uncertain judgment. Constantino’s youth hasn’t given him the knowledge both the king and I have—that all truths are subject to circumstance. But Fernando does not question his pet mind reader. In the moment he flashes an arrogant smile, I’m hit with how familiar it is. Finally, I can see his wretched son in his features.
With a booming clap of his hands, he signals his palace guards, and I prepare for them to slap manacles around my hands again. Justice Méndez takes a single step between King Fernando and me, as if shielding me with his body.
“At last”—the king slaps the justice’s arm in a gesture that sets the court abuzz again—“you’ve brought me a Robári I can use. My set is nearly complete. You’ve done well, my old friend.”
Beside me, Méndez shuts his eyes and lets go of a sigh, as if he’s been spared from a hangman’s noose. “It is my life’s work to serve you, Your Highness.” He places a hand on my shoulder. Old memories sink claws down my back. Méndez reading to me before bed. Méndez teaching me how to write. I swallow the knot in my throat and stop my body from recoiling.