Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  The guard blinks in surprise. “Sí. How do you know that?”

  “The healer told me,” I say. “How’s he doing?”

  “Some days are better than others. Today is a bad one. If you’re sure—”

  “Pidru,” I say. “I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

  “Ten minutes. At the most.”

  “Fine.”

  The guard nods, and after a small smile, he leaves me alone in the corridor.

  I wait until he rounds the corner. Grinning, I continue my exploring, this time without stopping to look at the paintings. After you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I can only take so many llama portraits.

  I ramble on, making mental notes of how many doors I’ve passed. Most are bedrooms. I turn down another hallway and encounter the stairs heading up to the east wing. This is where Atoc ventures to every day, he and his entourage. Sajra too.

  After glancing to the left and right, I bound up the stone steps, already thinking of possible excuses should someone catch me—I got lost, or I thought I heard something suspicious. A contrite attitude, perhaps a little sheepish, and I’ll come out the other end unscathed. But my guard won’t.

  That brings me up short.

  I reach the top of the stairs, and I look back the way I came. He’ll get in trouble for leaving me. All he wants is to help his son and get him tea from the healer. Pidru might lose his job. I let out an impatient sigh. Where is this coming from? What do I care for a Llacsan guard? Didn’t I just give myself a talk about staying focused?

  My hesitation confounds me.

  What matters more? The revolt or a guard whose name I just learned? He isn’t family. He isn’t an Illustrian. He’ll stand against me if he knows my plans.

  That answers that. I press on toward the east wing.

  Several doors line one side and an iron railing lines the other. If anyone bothers to look up, they’ll spot me skulking around. Moving quickly, I go to the first door and crack it open. A beautiful bedroom. The walls are a pale sky blue, and the bed could fit at least three people on it. A handsome chest stands off in the corner.

  I pull open a drawer full of shirts, vests, and trousers. I spot darker-colored pants and tunics.

  Don’t mind if I do. I quickly tug the pants on under my long skirt and layer the tunics. The loose-fitting style of the Llacsans effectively hides my theft. I dart out of the room, hardly believing my good fortune. I have the makings of a perfect disguise.

  Even during the day Luna watches over me.

  Quietly, I poke my head outside the room, checking to make sure there aren’t any guards patrolling. With a little smile, I leave the room as quietly as I entered it. I retrace my footsteps and veer toward the staircase. Pidru should be on his way back, but it doesn’t matter.

  I have what I need to explore the east wing tonight, thoroughly and without any distraction.

  CAPÍTULO

  I only have four weeks left before the wedding. Four more weeks. The realization sits in my stomach like a rock. Not even the savory smell coming from tonight’s dinner of braised pork in ají amarillo with a side of llajwa calms me. By now Catalina must have received my message about Carnaval and knows when to stage the revolt, but if we don’t find the Estrella, it’s a moot point.

  We need the ghosts to win.

  The maid comes in late to clear away my untouched plate. “You don’t like pork?” she asks.

  “I love it. I’m not feeling well.”

  It’s not exactly a lie. She frowns, concern flickering in her dark eyes. I tilt my head. Why the apparent concern? I thought she hated me.

  “You must really be sick,” she says. “It’s not like you to leave food on your plate. You have a hearty appetite.”

  “I … Gracias?” It’s the sort of thing Sofía would have said to me.

  “I’ll send for the healer,” she says.

  “¿Qué? No! Estoy bien,” I say, scrambling out of the bed after her.

  She shushes me and walks out.

  I stare at the closed door in disbelief. Not only did I not want to see Rumi, I was suffering from nerves—not an illness. He’ll see that immediately and assume I’m up to something, which of course I am. I have to explore the castillo tonight, and I can’t have him coming in here, potentially spoiling my plan.

  The temperature of my arms, neck, and ears soars to feverish heights. Resigned, I tidy up the room. I fold clothes, tuck my shoes neatly in the corner. I chew on mint leaves and then berate myself.

  What the diablos am I thinking? Mint leaves?

  I spit the leaves into the basin, light a few candles, and curl under the covers. I leave the balcony door open to allow Luna’s moonlight to decorate the stone floor. Sinking into the pillow, I vow to keep the visit short. He’ll check for signs of fever and then leave. Hopefully it’ll dissuade him from thinking I’m up to something. He’ll be cold and silent, angry to have been summoned by the Illustrian condesa. Maybe he’ll demand I take something awful and forbid me from leaving the room.

  Restless energy keeps me from calming down. I’m just about to throw back the covers when the guard opens the door. Rumi walks in, takes one look at me in bed, and frowns.

  “You really are sick,” he says.

  I widen my gaze. “What?”

  He comes up to the bed and settles a hand on my forehead. “You’re flushed and a little warm. How are you feeling?”

  I feel like I might die from embarrassment, and yourself? I move away, forcing his hand to drop to his side. “I’m fine. No need to trouble yourself.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Why didn’t you eat your dinner? It’s not like you.”

  I shrug. “Not hungry. It happens sometimes.”

  He lifts a dark brow. Just the one.

  “Does everyone think I’m some sort of cow?” I ask, exasperated. When he opens his mouth to respond, I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Have you been using the koka leaf?” he demands.

  My jaw drops. “What? No. I’ve seen what it does to people.”

  His expression darkens. “Don’t ever use it. Even with one use, you could become addicted. Too many people in this castillo already are.”

  “And you’re the one who looks after them. That must be exhausting.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re concerned.”

  My voice rises. “Of course I’m not.”

  “I’ll ask Suyana to make you té de maté,” he says with a trace of amusement at my loud protest. “You don’t have too high of a fever. Stay in bed and rest tomorrow. I’ll let the king know you’re ill.”

  Suyana? I’m about to ask, but it hits me that he might be talking about my maid. I never thought to ask her name. “If you knew me better, you’d know that’s an impossible task. I’d rather swallow a hornet than stay in bed all day.”

  “If you knew me, you’d know to take my advice,” he says idly. “It won’t be so bad. You can weave—”

  “Except I don’t have any wool.”

  “You can read a book—”

  “Except I don’t have a book.”

  He looks at me.

  My face flushes. I almost forgot. I did have a book, but I left it down in the dungeon.

  I meet his gaze. “Do you think if we weren’t at war, we’d be friends?”

  He seems to seriously consider the query. “I honestly don’t know. But if we can, it’d certainly bode well for the future.”

  I find I agree with him. Maybe it’s not an impossible ask. Things would certainly be easier if Catalina had the full support of the Llacsans. I wonder what it would take. Would Rumi ever stand with the real condesa? A long silence follows. For some reason, I don’t mind his company, despite the heavy stench of ragweed coming from his clothes.

  “You should wash those,” I blurt out.

  He tucks his hands into his pocket, and the corners of his mouth deepen. “What now?”

  “Your clothes. Do you have a pet skunk? They smell like
you’ve been running around with one. I know there’s a water shortage, but I think you could find a stream and a bar of soap somewhere.”

  I expect him to retreat behind his scowl and hunched shoulders. Instead he smiles, a fleeting and private smirk that’s gone as soon as I catch it.

  “A pet skunk. I like that.”

  “I can’t believe your cousin hasn’t kicked you out. It’s that strong.”

  He smiles again. The expression transforms his face, softening the sharp angles. A single dimple appears in the middle of his cheek, just above his scruff. “You’re welcome to wash them for me.”

  I don’t miss the slightly teasing tone.

  He doesn’t either.

  Rumi backs away from the bed as if it’s on fire. I sink deeper under the covers, flushing. The brief moment tricks me. For a second it’s like we’re friends.

  But that’s nowhere near the truth.

  “I think I’ve done about all I can for you,” he says at last.

  I twist the sheets around my fingers. His voice holds a new note. A little sad, maybe. He isn’t talking about me being sick, I don’t think.

  “Rest, Condesa.” He turns to leave.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach for his wrist. “Wait, healer.”

  We both glance at my hand in surprise. I’ve never willingly touched him before. I withdraw my hand, mortified. He peers down at me, blinking in confusion. The candlelight casts shadows across his angular face. He has a smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of his nose.

  “Thanks for coming up,” I mumble, and turn away on my side, my cheek resting on the pillow.

  I pretend to fall asleep so I don’t have to look at him anymore. And then I fall asleep for real. Hours later, I sit up with a start. I blink at the room, confused by the darkness. My dream was about setting a fire, and I remembered I didn’t blow out the candles. But someone clearly did. I fumble for the matchsticks next to my bed and light one of the candles on the nightstand.

  It’s still dark out—perfect for exploration. I throw back the covers and my gaze lands on a book lying next to the candle. A mug of cold tea sits next to it. Leaning closer, I read the title in the flickering light. Historia de las Llacsans. Rumi had gone down to the dungeons and brought it back while I slept.

  Instinctively, I look around for my basket of wool and find it full again. This time in blues and greens. I can’t stop the smile on my face. There’s plenty for more messages and to test my magic. I’ll finally know if my tapestries can come to life.

  A strange and unwelcome flutter passes through me, settling deep in my belly.

  What reason does Rumi have to be nice to me?

  This is the sort of thing that threatens my mission. I can handle surly tempers and cold hospitality. I can handle the Llacsans’ hatred for me and the frank distrust in their eyes. But Rumi’s random kindnesses? My guard Pidru smiling when I asked his name? He looked at me not as an Illustrian but as if … I’m just a girl. Even my maid, Suyana, has shown concern for my welfare.

  They’re getting under my skin.

  I repeat to myself what I know: Atoc is still the wrong person to rule. Catalina will be a much better monarch.

  I hold on to that as I put on one of the dark tunics I stole, leaving it loose and baggy to disguise my frame. Then I think about how to cover my face. I don’t have much to work with. The pants don’t fit me right either. I start to fold the hem but then get a better idea. I tear four strips of fabric from the legs and tie two of them together, making a loose-fitting wrap for my hair. Next I rip holes in the third piece for a mask. It falls over my nose and mouth, stopping at my chin. The fourth piece I store in case I need more fabric for later.

  I open the balcony windows and venture outside. It’s my best chance of leaving my room undetected. I’d checked the door, and while it was left unlocked, there’s still a guard posted outside. A soft rain falls, enhancing the sweet smell of the eucalyptus trees. Cool night air pushes my curls away from my face, and thick swirls of dark clouds block the moon and stars. Because of the rain, Luna isn’t visible. Will that hinder my plan? I need all the help and blessings I can get. Maybe I ought to wait for a clear night.

  But I don’t have the luxury of time. I have to find the enchanted gem. I peer over the railing—Madre de Luna, the balcony below seems miles from where I stand. The fall won’t kill me, but I could certainly break a bone or three. The room below must be occupied, since the doors are flung open to allow the cool breeze inside. If I drop down—my stomach tightens at the thought—the occupant of that room might wake and scream for help.

  But I have to risk it.

  A small whimper escapes me as I swing a leg over. Pivoting, I face my room then pull the other leg over. I bend and slide my hands down the rail and drop my legs.

  Beads of sweat trickle down my back. My room is on the third floor, and as my feet dangle, I sneak a quick peek toward the balcony below me.

  My heart races. For a second I’m too dizzy to do anything but hold on to the railing for dear life. I let out a shaky breath. A mosquito buzzes by my chin and I flinch. My palms start to slide on the iron rail. I have to jump.

  Ignoring the rushing in my ears, I swing out my legs, rocking until I have enough momentum. The time to let go comes and goes. My fingers don’t want to release the railing, and the roar in my head increases.

  I think of everything I’ve lost, and how far I’ve come. I picture Catalina and Ana; I picture Sofía. The hazy outline of my parents’ faces. Seize the night, Ximena.

  I let go.

  The drop takes a second, but I swear it feels like a lifetime. My feet crash against the balcony floor, and I tumble sideways, landing with a loud grunt. The curtains rustle and tickle my cheeks as a breeze sweeps through. I brace for someone’s cry—my fall was the opposite of graceful. But none comes.

  Slowly, I get to my knees. Shooting pains move up along my right side, and my hip bone stings from the fall. There’s no movement in the dark room. Maybe whoever’s inside is a heavy sleeper?

  With quiet steps, I pull back the curtain and go inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness. Peering toward the bed, I try to make out a shape.

  But there’s no one.

  I fall to my knees, air whooshing out of me. Thank Luna there’s no one in here—

  The doorknob turns with a sharp creak.

  I barely have time to press myself against the wall before the door opens in my face. A woman walks through, reeking of that popular Llacan corn liquor. She pushes the door closed and doesn’t notice me as she stumbles forward. A sliver of slanted light draws a thin gold line on the floor.

  “Match, match,” she mumbles.

  I reach for the knob, holding my breath. I grab the knob and pull, holding my breath as the patch of light grows wider.

  The woman freezes, but before she can turn around, I aim a kick and clip the side of her head with my boot. She slumps to the floor in a heap. She’s dead weight and I don’t want to waste time moving her onto the bed, so I leave her where she lies, hoping she’ll be too drunk or too high to remember a thing.

  I make my way down the hall toward the stairs, blazing torches lighting my path, my steps quick and light. The library is on the second floor of the east wing, and I’m willing to bet Atoc’s personal office is too. I just have to get to the other side of the castillo. This takes plenty of patience, as I have to wait until patrolling guards round corners.

  At long last, I make it to the east wing in one piece. My footsteps thud against the stone floor as I pass the library. I keep going until I have to veer to the right, and there in front of me are tall double doors with lit torches on either side.

  This has to be it.

  I pull one of the torches out of its slot in the wall and open the heavy door using one of the iron rings. The room smells like tobacco and worn leather, mixed with the crisp outdoors. A variety of maps and paintings decorate the walls, as well as hanging pots overflowing with ferns. A large
map of Inkasisa in black, white, and gold hangs behind a handsome wooden desk. It takes up the space of the entire back wall. I set the torch in one of the available slots and head over to the map, intrigued by the pins marking a variety of locations.

  I trace the inky patterns denoting each region in Inkasisa with my index finger.

  La Ciudad. The Altiplano and Tierra Baja. The Llaco Valley. Qullqi Orqo Mountain. The great Lago Yaku. I think only Manuel has visited each territory. Except for the Yanu Jungle. People never survive a visit to that place.

  Each area is beautifully illustrated, with strokes of gold denoting rivers and lakes, roads and caves. The gold paint looks like the real thing, judging by the way it shimmers in the firelight. I know about the cave by Lago Yaku, the birthplace of the children of the Llacsan god Inti. Supposedly, that’s where Atoc’s ancestors came from. Centuries earlier they walked out of the entrance, dressed in all their finery, and settled Inkasisa.

  The iron pins are scattered around the map, close to La Ciudad. Some are placed on the mountain, others on areas where there are well-known caves. There’s even one embedded in the imposing watchtower of the castillo. A few pins are placed on forests. Thankfully not anywhere near the Yanu Jungle. Could Atoc have hidden the Estrella in one of the caves surrounding the city? What about in the mountain?

  I take a step closer. If these are possible locations for the Estrella, then I’ve done it.

  I’ve really done it.

  I turn around and grab a loose sheet of paper from the king’s desk. Dropping the quill’s nib into a pot of black ink, I rush to write down all of the marked spots. I don’t have the pretty penmanship the condesa possesses. Mine looks like a long scrawl drawn by someone who has enjoyed one too many glasses of singani. I splatter ink everywhere in my hurry to jot down all the places marked. I can’t help my rush of excitement.

  If one of these spots indicates the actual location of the Estrella, Catalina can send soldiers to check out the places farther from the castillo. I can certainly try to visit the locations in La Ciudad. I’ll just have to determine how to sneak out of the castillo.