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“Permanent. Don’t think I forgot.”
Hector kicked at a fallen lily. “Don’t let him win. Don’t let Fabian have the satisfaction when he takes that crown.”
My wicked twin and his enchantress, when they’d crafted my curse so long ago, had woven in a temporary cord of hope, as so many fae curses contained. But that was the most miserable part of it all—for nearly three hundred years, that fingernail of hope had carved my worthless heart into filigree shreds. However, the curse could only be broken as long as Fabian wore no crown. He’d grown tired of waiting and had finally succeeded in murdering our father only seven days ago.
I could sense Hector’s own rage mounting. Turning to him, I saw reflected in his blue eyes the same wretched hope I’d clung to for so long. I lunged for the tent doors.
That woman was either going to kill me or save me.
The crowded market street smelled to the high heavens. Mortals had a certain stench of death and decay to them, of sweat and putrefaction. Too many had rot in their bodies they knew nothing about, and too many hadn’t bathed in far too long.
The curse had a few small advantages, though, such as my heightened ability of smell. I could detect the small vestiges of my enchanted lilies on that woman’s clothes. Following her trail, I slipped through the bustling streets.
People milled around the stalls, even at this hour. I disliked jostling through a sea of mortals in my final hours of freedom.
Two women fleeing on horseback through crowded streets were easy to track. They were clearly lost, darting around kiosks and turning blindly down narrower and narrower market lanes. I sidestepped between two merchant stalls to head them off, seeing they were about to be forced to make a right turn up ahead. They were at the city wall. As she trotted down the lane, her friend right behind her, I edged gently around a booth selling various blooms, grateful for the sweet scent they diffused.
With a flick of my wrist, I encouraged a cart full of glass jars to lose a wheel. It was all the magic I had in me at this hour, but it served its purpose. The cart toppled with a loud crash, glass splintering everywhere. The woman’s horse rose on its hind legs, but she held on. I smiled to myself. I could admire a good rider.
Her friend, on the other hand, bumped to the ground as her horse bucked. The animals were clearly exhausted, and while the white one was well-trained enough to tolerate its rider, the red one was not having any more of this wild ride.
“Talia!” the curly-haired woman shouted, as if her friend would leave her.
Talia hopped off her horse and helped her friend up, glancing nervously about. Her eyes snagged on something that made her drop her friend’s hands.
I paused in the center of the shadowy lane, following her gaze.
“It’s Ortiz,” whispered Talia, pointing.
Tracing her gesture, I spotted the balding head and curving mustache of the man who had recently sold me the perky stallion. He was marching directly toward the two women, a firm scowl pinching his face, though he didn’t seem to be looking at anyone in particular.
“I’m sorry,” Talia said. “It was foolish to come here. To think I could fix this.”
Her friend shook her head, nearly knocking her shawl off. “It would have been foolish not to try.”
Talia stiffened, whipped her head around, and scanned the street before turning back to her friend. She didn’t see me. I probably shouldn’t have enjoyed this, considering it would end in her early death, but I couldn’t help myself. I moved closer.
“If he sees us,” Talia continued, “he’ll ruin our reputations.”
As I watched her, my resolve faltered. She was a lovely mortal. The delicate curve of her cheek, the thin line of her lips, the smooth skin of her neck. No, I couldn’t focus on those things. Sacrificial lambs were meant to be spotless, after all.
I tilted my head to stare down at her. She had risked her own life for a horse, and this made her entirely more interesting than any other mortal woman I’d ever met.
“Señorita Balcázar, what under the heavens above are you doing here?” said the man who had sold me the horse.
Talia, gripping her friend’s arm, jerked so violently that she nearly bumped against me. Her head turned back and forth quickly, presumably scanning for a way out, but a cart full of stacked rugs ambled by, pushed by Hector, who gave me a small nod. The women were trapped.
“And señorita Valencia,” the man named Ortiz added.
As he approached, his eyes immediately traveled to Talia’s leg, remaining fixed even as she tried to close the hem of her dress with her hand. Heat flared inside me as I watched him ogle her.
The tiny twang of guilt was easy enough to dismiss. A mortal’s life was brief and wrought with pain. Perhaps she would end up in the warm embrace of the First and Last, which would mean her death was no more than a doorway to paradise.
Yes, I was only helping her along to eternal bliss. Murder sounded much worse.
“You stole my father’s horse, didn’t you, Ortiz?” she spat at the mustachioed man.
She was a feisty one, unafraid. My lips curled into a satisfied grin.
