king to his son. His only living son. Castian stalks his prisoners like a mountain lion playing with its food. The king watches me as if I’m something to be torn open and later inspected. Where Castian laughed at his victory, Fernando is liberal with scowls of disgust. I physically offend him by standing here. How he tolerates the presence of his Hand, I do not know. This is the same man who allowed Lozar to live until he was caught? I can’t believe it.
“I’ve found you a new Robári, Your Highness,” Justice Méndez says, keeping his head bowed. “As promised.”
“If I’m to understand, you did not find anything,” the king says. Even I feel the cold sting of his words. Méndez only remains as he is.
King Fernando’s a bit shorter than me, but he stands as straight as an elm. I don’t have many memories of him, mine or stolen. I remember seeing him once when he barged into Justice Méndez’s library. He was more muscular then, with ink-black hair and a full beard that made him look older than he was. Now he’s thinner, hair thick and gray as ash with crinkles across his forehead and the angry corners of his mouth. His eyes are the most youthful thing about him. This is the same man who took the throne from his father at seventeen and expanded the borders of Puerto Leones. Who secured himself an ally across the sea and a brand-new kingdom through marriage. His skin is like warm milk, pale against his dark beard and brows.
“Let me see your hands,” King Fernando commands. A voice that’s used to having orders followed.
Méndez hurries over with the small key and removes my one glove.
To my surprise, King Fernando grips my unblemished left palm, confident I won’t suck the memories right out of his flesh.
Do it. Do it and spare the world more of this.
“Tell me,” says the king, flipping it palm-side-up like a common market square fortune-teller. “Why did you not escape the rebel bestaes sooner?”
I flick my eyes to Justice Méndez. He gives me a nod of encouragement because I’m taking a beat too long to answer.
“I tried, Your Highness.” I don’t let my voice tremble because I’m not lying.
“You tried for the eight years you were gone?” His voice dripping with skepticism. The court answers with haughty little coughs.
My mouth is so dry, the corners stick together when I part them to speak. “Every day it became more and more difficult. I lost everything. I lost hope.”
The best lies are like bends of light. They play tricks on you.
“Would you like to see the scars they left on me every time I tried to escape?” I reach for the straps at the back of my corset. It is a bluff, but I have to follow through because any pause might be suspect.
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