Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  His words surprise me. “How do you know what my favorite is?”

  “Anything fried is your favorite.”

  He grins the moment a smile stretches across my face, but it fades as soon as I catch the priest’s man still lurking at the corner. I walk into my room, shuddering. That had been deliberate. The priest wants me to know I’m under his watch. The air in my room feels thin, as if I stand miles high on a mountain cliff. My Llacsan dress clenches around me, as if I’m caught in a fist. What does Sajra’s threat mean?

  I am someone he won’t let go unnoticed.

  Darkness descends and Luna’s moonlight washes over me as I change into my disguise and I strap the sword to my belt. On a whim, I take my three little woolen ants and tuck them into my pocket. I’d been thinking of bringing some animals with me on my adventures in case they prove helpful. Better to start small. Then I throw open the balcony doors and look down.

  Hello, old friend.

  Sighing, I throw a leg over and face my room. The animals leap from the tapestries, their hiding places during the day, and come to watch my progress, creeping out onto the balcony as if they want to go with me. “Sorry, amigos,” I mutter, looking over my shoulder as I turn around. “I’ll be right back.”

  I pray to Luna I’ll find the Estrella hidden in that damn tower.

  Chanting reminders to myself to keep my knees loose, I drop to the empty room’s balcony, and then climb over the rail and drop again before heading straight for the entrance of the watchtower.

  A torch blazes near the tall iron entrance. Orange and yellow light bathes a yawning sentry standing next to it. The guard lazily casts an eye around the garden before leaning against the doors, his arms folded across his chest.

  I reach for the small canvas bag I took from my room. It’s filled with moondust. Choosing the right moment to use it will be tricky. I can’t be seen using it, or else I’ll draw suspicion. The guard has to look like he fell asleep while on duty.

  Massive potted plants flank each side of the door. I tiptoe over and hide behind the sprawling greenery. Quickly, I blow the moondust in the sentry’s direction. All it takes is one breath.

  The sentry yawns again and I smile into the night. A palm frond tickles my cheek. Frogs croak their eerie song. In seconds the guard slumps to the ground.

  I pull the door open and peek inside. Darkness shrouds the entry room. I bend over and then hook my hands through the guard’s underarms and haul him inside before his snores draw the attention of other patrolling guards. It isn’t easy, and even harder to do without cursing myself into a frenzy, but I manage the task, sweating the whole time.

  Once inside, I wait for my eyes to adjust and at last catch sight of a dim archway. I take cautious steps toward it. My breath comes out in huffs—it’s sweltering inside this circular room. I steadily climb each step. There are cracks in the stone, and rays of moonlight shimmer inside the tower like shafts of mercury.

  When I reach the top, there’s a single wooden door with a heavy cast-iron lock waiting for me. My breath catches as I palm the handle of my sword. What if the Estrella is hidden inside? I know, I know, that it won’t be this easy, but my heart flutters as if it were a bird rustling within a cage, yearning for freedom.

  But first, the lock. I dip my hand into my tunic pocket, pull out the three woolen ants, and place them onto the lock. “Do your worst.”

  They scramble into the hole and the lock falls to the stone floor with a heavy, ricocheting clang. I collect my bugs, stuff them back into my pocket, and push the door. It swings open, creaking loudly from the rusty hinges. I step inside, blinking in the dim room, and I’m brought up short by a sputtering candle propped on a three-legged stool that looks precariously off-balance.

  Someone has sealed shut all the windows with heavy wooden planks. There’s a narrow bed, a small dining table, a couch, and a writing table. A basket of multicolored alpaca wool sits at the foot of a large loom.

  What is this?

  A sound comes from behind me and something heavy hits the back of my head. I drop to my knees, my vision swimming. I can’t stop myself from falling forward.

  The world blinks to black.

  When I wake, the first thing I feel is the cold stone under my shoulder blades. Then it’s a dusty pillow that props my head off the floor. I sneeze. My mask is lying next to my fingertips. I blink, my gaze fuzzy, when a scorch of heat burns my arm. I wince and reach for the spot.

  “Oh, damn it,” someone says. “Sorry, so sorry. Now I’ve gone and dripped wax on you. I’ve already knocked you unconscious too. Lo siento.”

  My vision crystalizes. There’s a girl hovering over me, long hair framing her face. She’s frowning and poking me with her bare foot.

  “Will you make it?” she demands. “Please don’t make me scream for help. Talking to my brother is the worst, and I’d rather not if it can be helped. Why don’t you try sitting up?”

  “Stop doing that,” I say, wriggling away from her when she tries to poke me again. I do sit up, feeling the back of my head and finding a bump the size of a small lima near my left ear. “What did you hit me with?”

  She holds up a massive tome with hundreds of pages squeezed between the covers. “My brother’s biography. It’s practically a murder weapon.”

  My gaze narrows as I try to read the title. There’s a painting of Atoc on the cover, but it looks nothing like him—it hardly does the size of his nostrils justice.

  Then it hits me. I scramble to my feet. “You’re his sister!”

  “Of course.” She chucks the book onto the cot and turns to face me, hands on her hips. “You must be my future sister-in-law. I’m terribly sorry for your bad luck.”

  I let out a startled laugh. “How do you know I’m the condesa?”

  She merely shrugs, but there’s a mischievous glint in her honey-colored eyes. The look sends a ripple of panic through me. What else does she know about me? I take a step forward, reaching for my sword, but I come up empty.

  “I’ve hidden it.”

  I scowl at her. “How do you know who I am?”

  She smiles, and I remain scowling as we examine each other. Princesa Tamaya doesn’t resemble her brother. Which is to say that she’s very beautiful. Glossy black hair, high cheekbones, and dark slanting eyebrows. My age, but more sophisticated and refined. She wears her threadbare cotton wrap as if it’s the finest gown in all of Inkasisa. No wonder Rumi is in love with her.

  I feel unaccountably murderous.

  “Bienvenido a mi hogar,” she says, sweeping her arms wide.

  I’m forced to look at the room in a new light. It’s dreary and dark, and utterly wrong for her. I don’t know her at all, but anyone can see she thrives around people. Yet she’s locked away from all the world. The princesa of Inkasisa. Why would Atoc keep her trapped up here?

  She eyes me shrewdly. “Dismal, isn’t it?”

  “Regrettable.”

  “I don’t have much in terms of refreshment,” she says. “As you can see, I’m sometimes forgotten up here.”

  The only thing on the table—aside from the one candle—is a half-eaten bowl of cold, unflavored quinoa. I’d be bitter about that too. “You don’t get any visitors? Not even your brother?”

  Her words are said with a hint of bitterness. “Especially not him.”

  “Why are you locked up?” I ask. This is Atoc’s sister.

  She motions for me to have a seat.

  “Hasn’t your betrothed mentioned it?” Instead of sitting next to me, she paces the room. Despite her polished exterior, she’s a ball of barely contained energy, even in the middle of the night. Stacks of books litter the stone floor. The princesa uses her foot to push them away in order to clear a path for her pacing. She has a weaver’s needle tucked behind her ear. The pockets of her robe are stuffed with wool.

  “No one mentions you,” I say. “Well, no one except Rumi.”

  The princesa smiles. “I haven’t spoken to him in ages. How is
my old friend?”

  “Well, I guess. Smelly.”

  A startled laugh escapes her. “Smelly? What do you mean?”

  “I mean he really ought to clean his clothing. The whole court smells it. I even said something to him—”

  “You talked to him about how he smells? What did he say?”

  I shrug. “I forget. Something contrary. He’s really bothersome.”

  “Bothersome,” she echoes. “Interesting. I’ve always found him to be polite.”

  “That’s because he’s in love with you.”

  Princesa Tamaya throws her head back and laughs. “What an idea!”

  I smile, half surprised by the easy nature of our conversation, and half amused by her denial of Rumi’s feelings.

  “Nobody mentions me? Not even my brother?”

  I shake my head.

  She throws a scowl my way. “So he still doesn’t know what to do with me.”

  I open my mouth to respond but catch myself in time. Is it possible she doesn’t know her fate? I’m certainly not going to tell her. I can only imagine how well that conversation would go. The princesa observes me. She smiles again, this time a grim sort of smile that endears her to me. Maybe because she’s just as trapped as I am.

  “He’s changed,” she says shortly. “My brother.”

  “How so?”

  “He lost his childhood love in the revolt,” she says. “It made him angry, bitter. All of his energy turned to governing Inkasisa. The throne became everything: his family, his love, his best friend. Soon all he could talk about was ensuring his legacy. He stopped talking to me and talked at me. My brother used to sneak into La Ciudad to buy me orange rinds dipped in dark chocolate. He’d tell me stories while we ate them under the shade of a toborochi tree. We haven’t eaten them together in a long, long time.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the man I know.”

  “Have you visited his museum yet?”

  “What museum?”

  “The one constructed in our village near the mountain. It cost thousands of notas to build. It has the bed we slept on when we were kids, all of his old clothing, his cacho playing set, painting after painting of him on a horse, on the throne, or with a slingshot.” She lets out a mirthless little laugh. “It even has his old chamber pot.”

  My stomach churns. “That’s disgusting. I haven’t heard about—”

  “It’s not open to the public yet. I think he means to announce the grand opening during Carnaval.”

  I settle back into the cushions, my eyes following her as she paces up and down the length of the room. This girl is like a caged parrot. Desperate to flee and soar the skies.

  “I don’t particularly care to talk about your brother,” I say. “Unless you’re dying to.”

  “He makes for an atrocious topic of conversation.” She sits down heavily on the couch. “I admit, I’m surprised to see you here. I haven’t seen anyone—outside of my guards, I mean—in weeks. I’ve been wondering what you’d be like.”

  “How do you even know about me?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she says with a laugh. “Just because I’m locked away doesn’t mean I don’t have access to the outside world. Spies planted in the castillo and throughout La Ciudad. I also have many resourceful friends. I think you even met one of them the other night.”

  My mouth drops open. “El Lobo? He’s your confidant?”

  She winks at me. “We’re getting away from the topic, I fear. Tell me about yourself.”

  I avert my gaze, buying time to consider what and how much to share. It’s clear there’s bad blood between the princesa and her brother…. Perhaps opening up to her might be useful. Another ally against Atoc, and there’s her connection to El Lobo to consider too.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything! What do you like to do? What are you afraid of?”

  “That’s very personal. And specific.”

  “Have mercy on me. I’m alone most of the time,” she says coaxingly.

  “I like to stab things. Heights really bother me. I need coffee every day, and I’m not that excited about getting married.”

  The words are out before I realize what I’ve said.

  Everything I mentioned describes me—not Catalina. I forgot that I’m playing a role. But the princesa has a way about her that feels familiar, like walking into a house that is cozy and inviting. It makes me want to relax. Which is dangerous. I can’t afford to slip up again in her presence.

  “Considering the groom, it’s not surprising,” she says dryly. “And I love coffee too. Atoc refuses to give me some. I think he’s hoping I’ll sleep all day and not cause any trouble.”

  “Do you cause trouble?”

  She looks at me intently. “When the occasion calls for it. How old were you when the revolt happened?’

  “Eight,” I say. “I only have one clear memory from that night.”

  Princesa Tamaya doesn’t press me for details. Part of me wishes she would, and a larger part wonders why she asked the question at all. Now I want to ask her what she remembers from that night. If she remembers the ghosts. If she remembers how many Illustrians died at their hands. If their deaths made her sad … or if she’d celebrated with everyone else.

  “Do you remember what your life was like when an Illustrian queen sat on the throne?” I ask.

  If she’s surprised by my question, she doesn’t show it. She tilts her head back and shuts her eyes. “I wasn’t allowed to go to school. My parents didn’t have a lot of money. There were more of us back then, and lots of mouths to feed. I remember being hungry.”

  “You must have been pleased with the victory.”

  She lifts a dainty shoulder. “Was I? We lost my parents, and two brothers. I was the baby of the family and was sent away to live with an aunt. I don’t think even Atoc celebrated that day.”

  I avert my gaze and trace a pattern on the pillow with my finger. I’ve never thought about what that day must have been like for the Llacsans. It’s easier to focus on what we lost and what they gained. Beyond that, anything else makes the solid ground I’m standing on wobble. I want to remain standing … not topple over and forget where I came from.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re here, Condesa?”

  Her question was inevitable, but I haven’t decided what to tell her. She seems to hold contempt for her brother, but that doesn’t mean I can trust her. The vigilante is one of her loyal friends, and he’s about as trustworthy as a convict’s wink.

  Princesa Tamaya leans forward, an impish gleam in her eye. “Or perhaps I can show you?”

  I blink.

  She strides to the handsome wooden loom. Using her foot, she drags the stool over and delicately sits, her knees spread apart. She inhales deeply and pauses for a long moment, as if waiting for inspiration to strike. I drum my fingers on the cushion as the minutes drag. What is she waiting for? I’m wasting my time. The Estrella can’t be hidden here. At last she seems to settle on an idea and then proceeds to warp the loom, readying for a new tapestry.

  I get off the couch and stand behind her, peering over her shoulder. Her elegant fingers fly across the loom, from one end to the other, and within minutes the bottom of the tapestry is done. I’ve never seen anyone weave faster than I do, but she’s working the loom as deftly as if it were part of her.

  “Recognize her yet?” she murmurs.

  I bend and peer closely at the tapestry. I gasp—Madre de Luna. The image is of a girl with long, curling hair, dark eyes and brows. In her hands, she’s holding a shimmering gem encased in a bracelet.

  It’s me grasping the Estrella.

  Princesa Tamaya slowly pivots on the stool and looks up at me with a curved smile. “Well, well, Condesa. You’re more ambitious than I’ve given you credit for. Looking for the Estrella, are you? Wanting to have your revenge against Llacsans.”

  Which is exactly our plan.

  I step away from her. “How—how—”

/>   She smirks, getting to her feet. “I was very popular at parties. Useful bit of magic, isn’t it? Of course, no one liked being the subject of one of my tapestries, but they certainly had a laugh when it was someone else.”

  She read my mind—my desires—through her weaving. “Explain how it works,” I demand. “Thoroughly.”

  She arches an elegant brow, fiddling with her weaver’s needle. “No, I don’t think I will. Suffice it to say that what you’re looking for isn’t here.”

  “I gathered.”

  Princesa Tamaya taps her index finger against her chin. “I’d bet all of my good health you don’t know what the Estrella actually is.”

  “Oh, I know,” I say softly. “It’s a weapon. Don’t forget that I’ve seen them.”

  “And yet here you are, seeking the gem. Do you know who the ghosts are, Condesa?”

  “No. What does it matter?”

  “It matters because they’re Llacsan. Miners who were forced by your people to empty our mountain of its silver for four hundred years.” Her voice drops to a sorrowful whisper. “Men, women, and children died to satisfy the greed of the Illustrians wanting to line their pockets with the precious metal. It’s their souls that are trapped inside the Estrella. It’s our people you want to use, Condesa. Just like your ancestors before you.”

  The ground seems to vanish beneath my feet, my stomach plummeting as horror sinks its talons into me. No one told me. But what’s worse, I never thought to ask about the gem’s origins.

  “The Estrella is actually the reason I’m in here,” she says almost nonchalantly. “I tried to steal it.”

  My jaw drops. Whatever I was expecting, it absolutely wasn’t that. “You tried to steal the Estrella? ¿Por qué?”

  Princesa Tamaya opens her mouth, but immediately stops. She tilts her head, her gaze narrowing, as if listening intently to something. I don’t hear anything, but that doesn’t stop her from marching to one of the covered windows. She must have done this before, because the wooden plank gives easily, swinging upward, allowing her to peer into the night.