Illusionary, Page 2

  There was a collective held breath, followed by the faint plop of the fly falling to the wooden surface, dead.

  “No one?” King Fernando tented his fingers. The lion’s head of his family ring was the only adornment he allowed himself during the somber occasion. He glanced around the room. “You were all there. One of you must have witnessed something out of the ordinary. Something to help me piece together how I have been betrayed.”

  King Fernando traced his finger along his alabaster cheekbone, rubbing away the dried blood. He wanted them to see him this way. He wanted to make them feel as if their blood would fill his tub and he would bathe in it.

  “I have told you everything—” Alessandro began.

  “And you will tell me again,” Fernando shouted. “Spare no details. Mistakes were made by all, even by my most trusted friend, Justice Méndez. May he rest in peace.”

  “May he rest in peace,” they echoed.

  One by one they recounted the Sun Festival. Even his wife, the young queen, wasn’t excused from this inquiry. She accounted for every moment it took her to get dressed, and the tour of the grounds she gave her parents, the king and queen of Dauphinique.

  “And where did you disappear to during the dance?” her husband asked.

  Queen Josephine’s mouth was a perfect circle of surprise. Her lovely black skin caught the gleam of the fireplace, and a part of him loved to see her squirm. “One of the courtiers from Dauphinique. I showed him the statues you built for me in the garden.”

  King Fernando glanced at Analiya, who corroborated the queen’s evening with a single nod.

  Then came Alessandro, who spoke the longest, reminding them all how he had never trusted Renata Convida, the Robári who had made a Hollow of Justice Méndez.

  Lady Roca confessed to a marital indiscretion but claimed she’d rather die than aid the rebels. She vouched for all her ladies, who had spent most of their night watching Prince Castian dance with the memory thief.

  “How he held her—” Lady Roca said dramatically.

  “Like he’d claimed her,” Duque Arias chimed in. He finished unknotting his cravat and shoved it into his pocket. “I saw them. If Méndez hadn’t interrupted them, I was sure Castian meant to—” The duque looked at Lady Nuria, who kept her face impassive. “I thought he meant to bed her.”

  “Instead she tried to kill him,” Leonardo said softly.

  “You were in the library when the prince was attacked!” Alessandro pointed a finger at the attendant. “How do we know you weren’t aiding her?”

  Leonardo cleared his throat and sat forward in his chair. “I was, uh, engaged with a paramour of mine. That room has always been empty.”

  Lady Nuria reached out and squeezed the boy’s shoulder, ignoring the round of titters from the others. “I’d hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t been up there to save the prince from certain death.”

  Lady Roca clucked her tongue. “I could have sworn I saw Prince Castian in the ballroom at the same time we heard the screams of his attack.”

  “Perhaps the other Moria created a distraction,” Alessandro offered. “While the wretch Renata attempted to murder him.”

  “What about you, Lady Nuria?” King Fernando asked. “You spent quite a bit of time with her, if I recall.”

  Nuria stiffened. Her onyx eyes locked with the king’s. There was shame there. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. I had been attempting to convince the girl to remove one of my memories.”

  “What memory would that be?”

  Her chest rose and fell quickly. She touched her temples and squinted as if trying to see into a far distance. “I no longer have it. But I know it was between myself and… Castian.”

  Alessandro did his best not to grimace at the prince’s name. Even if Nuria no longer possessed the specifics, they could all guess at the intimacy of the memory. As the table began to descend into chatter and unkind whispers, General Hector stepped forward from his post near the door.

  “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but we should be asking how a band of rebels was able to get into the palace in the first place. The Robári never left her room. I saw to it.”

  “Perhaps she snuck away when the drink made you pass out,” Alessandro accused.

  Stunned silent, General Hector retreated, nursing his wooden hand against his chest.

  King Fernando’s chair grated against the floor. He sauntered to the fireplace, letting the flames kiss his fingertips. The pieces of that night were coming together, but there were still things he could not explain.

  “Why save my life and then try to kill my son?” he asked.

  “To destroy the king’s last heir, of course,” said Duque Sól Abene.

  At the implication of his dead son, King Fernando felt something ancient and withered within him stir. After Castian drowned his baby brother, the king had feared Penelope’s madness had weakened his last heir. But Fernando had set the boy right. Castian proved strong. Ruthless. Clever in a way that troubled even Fernando. There was a duplicity to his son that the king could not figure out. But soon, he’d have the answers he needed.

  “This is what I know,” the king said, returning to his seat. “We were attacked in our own home by our enemies. Our justice was murdered. Hundreds of prisoners were freed. A small infantry was slaughtered. They were able to attack Soledad prison and take years’ worth of progress and kidnapped my son.”

  “There were dozens of them,” Alessandro intoned quickly. “We were outnumbered. I swear, on my life, we will get them back.”

  King Fernando cut his black eyes to Alessandro. “My new justice, you don’t have the marrow to do half the things Méndez did. Do you know what I see in this room? Lies. Excuses. They have my son. What do we have? I am left with no choice but to…”

  Alessandro dabbed a cloth at his face. Lady Roca was positively green. The priest roused from his sleep to mutter a prayer for their souls.

  “… raise a toast,” King Fernando said.

  Despite their confusion, every person picked up their crystal goblet.

  “One of these glasses contains alacrán venom. There is a liar among you. If you have been true and faithful, drink.”

  Eyes darted from one person to the other. The queen drank first, followed by Lady Nuria and Leonardo. Then Alessandro. Lady Las Rosas and Duque Sól Abene. Lady Roca. The priest.

  “Your Majesty,” Duque Arias said, looking up at King Fernando. He was the only one who hadn’t tipped back his drink. He reached for the inside of his doublet. Analiya and Nazar were on the lordling, drawing their swords. “Please, I beg you, let me explain!”

  Duque Arias was a scoundrel and a poor loser. He’d lost several of his family’s lands repaying gambling debts. Fernando had once sailed with his late grandfather, the decorated admiral Joaquín Arias, and he’d been forgiving of the young duque’s behavior, as his father was killed in the Battle of Riomar. This louse of a boy was not the voice he’d expected to step forward. King Fernando arched a brow but nodded once. “Go on.”

  “Castian was at my estate a few months back for a night of revelry. I lost a wager. He bet me any item in my manor. I believed he’d go for my father’s hundred-year-old cask of aguadulce, but instead he took something else.”

  “What did he claim?”

  The duque’s voice rasped. “My grandfather’s chest from his admiral days. It isn’t worth anything. Seashells and compasses and an old senile sailor’s logbooks full of gibberish. Maps to places that don’t exist. I offered him gold, land, anything, but nothing would do. Castian wanted it. My mother’s furious with me, more so after losing that ship to pirates. I thought—you see—the night of the Sun Festival, while the prince was preoccupied, I went to his room to take it back.”

  “You stole from the prince?” Alessandro asked incredulously.

  “I didn’t! I never found it. I’ve been racked with guilt since the news that Castian was taken.” Arias shook so hard that wine sloshed from his cup, but
he did not lower it. “I should have come forward. I don’t know what use Castian would have had for my dead grandfather’s ramblings. I swear—”

  King Fernando gazed upon the lordling and smiled. Clever boy, his son. All these years and Fernando had never considered…

  “You are forgiven, Lord Arias. I am a benevolent king. Remember that, when you leave this room. As for the rest of you, return to your provincias. Increase patrols along the major routes. Freeze outgoing ships in the ports. Gather those of fighting age and send them to the training yards. Speak to your people. Tell them that now, more than ever, we must be vigilant against the threat of the Moria. War will not be easy, but it will all be over when my son is returned, and our enemies have surrendered. Now go.”

  One by one, they left the room.

  “Not you, Lady Las Rosas.” King Fernando beckoned.

  “You honor me with so much attention, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  “Honor is perhaps not the word you wish to use, but it is good to know the Luzouan court hasn’t robbed you of your manners.”

  The girl frowned and clenched her fists but remained silent. She glanced at the door, the windows, but they were the only ones in the room.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured her.

  “Then what do you require of me, Your Majesty?”

  “You left a promising naval career to help your mother run a small trading empire. You find rare and beautiful objects for her to sell from all the corners of the known world. Recently you haven’t been able to do that due to her illness. Combined with your father’s imprisonment, you must be adrift.”

  “I have managed.”

  “It has been a trying time and so I will be direct, Leyre Las Rosas.” He spoke her name softly. Lay-reh. “Your father’s life is in my hands. And I need your skill as a tracker of rare things.”

  “You presume I care about what happens to my father,” she said, her alto voice hard.

  “When we arrested your father, I visited his house. I like to see for myself the homes of those who betray me, and do you know what I found?”

  She shook her head.

  “A man who loves wine. A man who loves his daughter. A man who loves this kingdom. I know your father was framed. But by whom? I can only guess the Whispers, though that would be difficult to prove in a trial. I could be persuaded to pardon him, to show my benevolence. You see, I have read every letter you’ve ever written to your father. He’s kept every parchment you’ve scrawled on since you could write. Despite being the bastard product of an affair, you are his, and he loves you. I give you his fate, Leyre. All you have to do is find the object I desire. Two, but they come in a set.”

  He picked up Duque Arias’s wineglass and drank. “This was a very good year. The bottle is a tempranillo from your family’s region, I believe.”

  Realization dawned in Leyre’s jade-green eyes. “Were any of the glasses poisoned?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know someone wouldn’t rather drink the poison than face your wrath?”

  Fernando cocked an eyebrow. “At the very least that would show conviction. I’m more interested in ferreting out the cowards who don’t want to die. The Fajardos have always taken chances. Do we have a deal?”

  “What will happen to me if I fail?” she asked.

  “Your father would remain in Soledad prison. You would return to Luzou, and the Las Rosas estates would be remanded to the crown.” He flashed a smile at the way she simmered with rage. That was the key.

  She offered her hand, and when they shook, she did not let go first. “What is the object I am to track?”

  King Fernando got up to pull open a hidden compartment on the fireplace mantel. He retrieved a wooden box and laid it in front of her. “Inside is everything you need to find that which was taken from me.”

  Leyre reached into the box and pulled out a golden sextant, small enough to fit around her fist. Diamond constellations were etched in the gold.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “There’s more.”

  She kept digging and pulled out a slip of parchment with an illustration of a magnificent weapon. She scoffed. “You want me to find you a knife?”

  “It’s not just any knife,” he said with a fervor he didn’t mean to display. “It was taken from me long ago. I thought it lost to time and space. But I’ve discovered a plot that threatens everything I have ever worked toward. Now I know someone else is searching for it. He will lead you to the location, but what he doesn’t know is that you need this sextant to get there.”

  “And after I have the weapon?”

  “Kill him.”

  She frowned. “Whose life am I taking?”

  His own blood and bane. “My son, of course. Prince Castian.”

  I REMEMBER STANDING IN THIS MARKET SQUARE NOT LONG AGO, AND I DON’T know what has changed more: the village or myself. The old dirt road is now paved with worn cobblestones. New wooden stalls form crooked rows offering dates and imported nuts by the barrel. A vendor, whose teeth have as many holes as the hard cheese he’s peddling, offers me a sample that I decline. Faces I know so well are etched with wrinkles and gray. When did the inn at the top of the hill add two more stories?

  In the back of my mind, a girl whispers her name to me over and over again. I am Renata Convida, she says, and she repeats it until I feel myself slowly fade away.

  I remember standing in this market square, but this memory is not mine.

  I am Renata Convida, and I am trapped inside my own mind.

  My body, numb and still, is planted in front of a market stall. I’m aware of the baker asking a question, but the sounds of the stolen memory imprison me. The corners of my vision blur with color, like looking at the bend of light through a prism—laughter and music warped behind glass. Then all of it, the village green, the baker, everything, is leached of color. I am slipping into a void that swallows my memories whole, where there is nothing but a terrifying quiet.

  But somewhere, a sound hooks my belly and tugs me back to reality.

  “I said, are ye going to stand there,” the haggard baker shouts, “or are ye going to buy something?”

  Perhaps it is the shrill pitch of her voice that frees me from the occurrence, but I’m so grateful that I gladly return her grimace with a smile. These moments have come and gone over the last two weeks. They start with an uneasy sensation in my gut and end with me trapped inside a memory that’s so vivid it feels as if someone is possessing my body and mind. This one lasted the longest.

  All my life, my power has been as much a mystery to me as it was to the elders of my people. I can steal memories from the living, and they become mine forever. I have taken so many memories that I have a vault in my mind, the Gray, to store them. Sometimes memories slip out like frail ghosts. But this, whatever it is, feels different. I walk down a road, and without warning, I am overcome with the sensation that I am not myself. I see a familiar face, and it takes every ounce of strength not to call out a name. I stand in this market, and I see the way it used to be.

  I’ve discerned that I can snap out of a memory occurrence when I go through my mental list of reminders: I am Renata Convida. I am a Robári. I am of the Moria people. Once I was a rebel, one of the Whispers. Now I am just a traitor. It has been thirteen—no, fourteen—days since I betrayed my people and chose to follow my enemy, Prince Castian. Though, to be fair, they betrayed me first.

  The smells of candied walnuts, ale, and bread remind me of where I am: the quaint village of Acesteña, in the Sól Abene region of the kingdom of Puerto Leones.

  Bread.

  That’s what I left the inn to get.

  The baker scrutinizes me. Like most people from the Sól Abene provincia, she has a fair complexion, obsidian eyes, and thick black brows. Her hair, white as milk but still full, must have once been black, too. Her simple brown tunic is dusted with flour. Her shrewd stare lingers on my clothes—cream blouse with long
sleeves and a modest high collar, deep blue linen skirt with a dusty hem. My hair, dark as crow feathers, is braided in a crown, and wisps unravel at my temples because I have never been good at this sort of thing. My scarred hands—which would give me away as a Robári—are gloved in delicate white lace. But here, in Sól Abene, married women keep their hair tied back and their hands, legs, and necks covered, so I do not stand out. At least I hope not.

  “Two loaves, one hazelnut tart, and an olive oil cake, please.” I dig into my pocket for my coin purse.

  The baker’s wrinkled scowl turns into a pleased nod. “Here for Carnaval, are ye?”

  I nod. We are not here for Carnaval de Santa Cariña, but the festivities are the perfect cover. While the village is full of revelers from all over the provincias, Castian and I will appear to be two tourists enjoying the culinary offerings and dulcet sounds of bagpipes when we meet with Castian’s informant.

  “And honeymoon,” I say sweetly. I hope it’s sweet. Whenever I try to sound like Sayida from my old unit, I end up shouting in people’s faces and smiling as though I am deranged. Sayida would probably get free braided sugar bread.

  The baker turns away from me. Yes, definitely deranged over sweet. She wraps the olive oil cake in brown butcher paper and ties it up with pretty gold thread. “Don’t look very happy about it, do ye?”

  I blanch. I should be used to the brusque nature of the Sól Abene provincia by now.

  “Don’t worry, dearie. Yer still a bit young for it, ain’t ye? Why, my first marriage was for love. Love can survive anything, except the plague, of course. My second marriage was for the bakery. If the first one doesn’t work, make sure ye outlive the second so ye will always have a trade.”

  Still speechless, I dig deeper into my coin purse, wishing it was large enough to hide within. “Uhhh—thank you. That is very wise.”

  “Wisdom is free. The bread and cakes will be twenty pesos.”

  “Twenty?” Neighboring vendors crane their necks. I lean closer and lower my voice. “A week ago, my—husband—bought this and paid ten.”