“Let her go,” Dez orders.
But the sword stays where it is. I stomp on the relief blooming in my heart because he shouldn’t have come for me, and I know when this is all over, I will have to answer for my mistakes. Blood drips from my cut, hot and sticky, down onto the floor, sweat stinging the open wound.
I see the commander in Dez take over as he must realize two things: First, I cannot help him. A single move from me, and the soldier will push his blade fully into my throat, cleave me in half. Second, Dez is too far away to stop him.
But Dez is no ordinary soldier. His thick black brows knit together as he works his magics. He palms the copper coin I know is hidden beneath his tunic, drawing on it to strengthen his gift of persuasion.
Robári are to be feared because we can leave a mind hollow. But Persuári can sense emotion and twist it into action, making you live out your most hidden impulses.
Dez’s power bends the very air around us. It intoxicates the senses. He can tap into your desire to do good and make you hand over your coins to a stranger. Proclaim your heart’s desire. Jump off a cliff—but only if the impulse already exists.
The soldier grunts as he’s overwhelmed by Dez’s magics, frozen in place. His trembling hand causes the tip of the blade to waver against my skin, digging into my wound. I cry out despite myself, a stinging sensation spreading along my neck and arms.
Dez comes within inches of the soldier. His magics prickle along my skin, like invisible beetles crawling all over me.
“Let. Her. Go,” Dez says again. When he uses his power, his words are accompanied by a hypnotic chime, like a spirit calling out from another realm. Effortless, as Dez’s magics always are.
He must be amplifying the soldier’s obedience and using that to twist his body. Except now he’s taking orders from a Moria, and the soldier screams against the movements he can’t control. The soldier trembles, fighting with all his might. But he isn’t stronger than Dez, and finally he does as he’s told.
Free of the blade’s edge, I stumble away from Dez and the soldier, crawling back toward Celeste’s corpse. I still have to get the alman stone. Blood runs down my skin, but the pain of the cut is nothing compared to the heat that scorched new scars on my hands.
“Drop your sword,” Dez says.
The soldier’s face turns red. I’ve seen others bend easily, but this one strains against the force of it, his body locked in place like a statue coming to life.
This is why they fear us. This power that alchemy and clerics can’t explain. A power that is a gift and a curse.
“You don’t need another soldier’s sword,” I mutter to Dez as I crouch next to Celeste’s body.
“Perhaps not, but I want it.” Dez holds his hand out, and the air undulates around the guard like heat on the desert.
The soldier twitches, his hand shaking until he relinquishes his hold. The metal clangs on the stone floor. Dez is swift to pick it up and turns the bloody blade on the soldier.
“Kill me, bestae,” the soldier spits at Dez. “Do it!”
Dez moves gracefully around the soldier and presses the sword’s point onto the Fajardo family’s crest stitched on the front of the guard’s tunic—a winged lion with a spear in its mandible and flames roaring around it.
“Killing you is easy,” Dez says, punctuating his words with a grin. “I want you to return to your men. I want you to tell them that it was a Moria bestae who spared your life. That the Whispers will take back their lands and you’ll never be able to hurt our people again.”
“The king and the justice will destroy you,” the soldier says, his body overcome with tremors. “All of you!”
While he’s distracted by Dez, I take this moment to turn Celeste’s face toward me. I press my fingers along her throat. I don’t feel anything, but I saw her in Francis’s memory. I watched her swallow the alman stone.
As I pry her jaw open, a soft white light emits from the back of her throat. The acrid stench of vomit and charred skin makes my stomach roil. I shut my eyes and reach in, feeling along the swollen slick of her tongue. May the Mother of All forgive me.
Letting go of an anxious breath, I get my fingers around the alman stone, then pocket it.
“Let’s go, Ren. Provincia Carolina is a day’s ride.”
I nod, even though I know we have no outpost in the Carolina region. The soldier doesn’t seem gullible enough to take this misdirect, even under Dez’s persuasion, but he’ll have to report his encounter in excruciating detail to his superiors. It’ll send the king’s men on a fool’s errand and split their forces, perhaps even give us time to reach our base undisturbed.
“Wait outside and don’t move until we’re long gone,” Dez commands. But the minute Dez is out of reach, the spell will break. We have to move quickly. I chance a look at the soldier. His face is red, spit bubbling at the twisted snarl of his lips. I know today will only fuel his hatred of us. For now, we have to save ourselves.
Dez drapes my arm around his shoulder, and together we hobble out the door and vanish into the smoky streets.
Chapter 4
When Dez and I reunite with the rest of our unit—Sayida, Margo, and Esteban—the five of us head north for half a day, following a winding path through the Verdina Forest. Even the king’s guard can’t be everywhere at once, and the dense trees and gnarly roots jutting from the ground make it a hard enough journey by foot. It would be nearly impossible for the Second Sweep’s horses.
We move with purpose, cutting through dew-covered brush, following the rays of light that filter through the thick canopy of verdina trees. We keep walking until it’s safe to stop, until the insides of our boots wear the skin of our feet raw, until we reach the bank of the Rio Aguadulce. The rapid white river is such a welcome sight. The five of us discard our packs and weapons and kneel at the water’s edge. I tug off my spare gloves and drink until my belly hurts and my fingers are numb from the cold. I remove the makeshift bandage Sayida made for me when Dez and I first returned to the rendezvous point.
Sayida is a Persuári, like Dez, though she is also skilled in medicine and healing. For centuries, when the kingdom of Memoria was free and thriving, those like Sayida and Dez were often medicuras by trade because they can tend to ailments while keeping their patients calm and serene.
I grind my teeth to muffle the cry that scrapes my throat. Splashing ice-cold water onto the wound helps a bit, but now that we’ve got a place to stop for the night, I’m going to have to let Sayida take a needle to it.
“We’ll set up camp here between these boulders,” Dez says, surveying the area by the riverbank, where the roots are so high above the earth, it’s as though they’re trying to get up to take a stroll. It’s a good enough location with plenty of shade and a fallen tree trunk that will be of help when we have to wade across the river. He wastes no time in cleaning his stolen sword.
Esteban frowns at me, which I’m used to. “I worry about the king’s men,” he says, scratching at the uneven tufts of facial hair he’s attempting to grow. With his smooth brown skin and full lips, he’d be quite handsome if he shaved it, though that wouldn’t do anything for his personality. “The Second Sweep will alert the toll men on the route out of the provincia. The inspections will be more thorough or they’ll increase the travel tax—we can barely—”