Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  “Time for you to go,” someone says in my ear.

  I spin to find Juan Carlos at my elbow.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Have a guess,” he says, yanking me from the balcony. He pulls me along even though I’ve stopped resisting. The door to my room opens with a snap and he shoves me inside. “Do you need anything before I shut you in here? You’re always hungry.”

  “Espera,” I say. “I can’t leave?”

  “Better you stay out of sight.”

  “Fine. But it will cost you.”

  “Uh-huh. Payment in fried food acceptable?”

  “Yuca frita,” I say. “With the cilantro lime sauce I like. But tell them to add more jalapeño. They never add enough. And more wool.”

  Juan Carlos nods before closing the door behind him. Within a half hour he’s delivered everything I’ve asked for, and more. There’s a lime-and-jalapeño dipping sauce for the yuca, and fresh jugo de piña to wash all of it down. He sets the tray on the dresser, cracking a disarming smile. I don’t like that my first response isn’t to give him the cold shoulder.

  “Why have you been so nice to me?”

  “Because my mother raised me right?”

  “We’re enemies,” I say. “Remember how your people overran the city and kicked us all out of our homes?” My gaze narrows. “Are you spying on me for your king?”

  Juan Carlos laughs, even as another quake lurches under our feet. “If I were, do you think I’d tell you?”

  For some reason El Lobo pops into my head. The way that the vigilante stands and speaks reminds me of this guard. Shoulders thrown back, chest squared. They’re the same height. Both have dark eyes. Once again I imagine Juan Carlos dressed in all black.

  “I don’t know. Would you?” I press. I want to keep playing his game. If I win, it might lead me to the identity of El Lobo.

  “Absolutely not,” he says. “I’d keep you guessing the whole while. Do you think I’m spying on you?”

  “Yes. Otherwise I can’t understand why you’d be this nice to me. I’m your enemy,” I reiterate. “I’m your job.”

  His hand is light on the cast-iron doorknob. “I suppose it’s because you remind me of her.”

  “Who?” My voice comes out breathless. I’m sure he’s going to say the princesa, given the connection between her and the vigilante.

  “Mi mamá.”

  Oh. His mother. Not the princesa. “What about me reminds you of her?”

  “She was fearless,” he says quietly. “And her temper was truly frightening. Mamá reacted first and explained later. She worshiped the heavens and was a potter. Like you, she loved to create things with her hands.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m not fearless.”

  “She hid her fear much like you do. Buried beneath an untrusting exterior. My father made her laugh all the time.”

  “And you too, I bet.” I pause. “What happened to her?”

  “How do you know something happened?”

  “The pitch in your voice. The past tense.”

  He ducks his head. “Right. She died in the revolt.”

  “I lost my parents too. In the revolt.” I don’t know what makes me say it. Maybe it’s the earthquakes and how they’ve brought my parents to the forefront of my mind. Maybe it’s because I want a friend. It’s a truth I share with Catalina. She lost her parents too.

  Another earthquake rumbles, softer now. Atoc’s magic must be taking its toll. Juan Carlos is staring at me with a glimmer of speculation. “Is that all, Condesa?”

  At my nod, he leaves me with my thoughts. So many families were ripped apart that day. Gone in agonizing hours, minutes, days. Another war will shred more families. More children will grow up speaking about their parents in past tense.

  I’m tired of it.

  I’m not allowed to leave the room for the rest of the day. The castillo stays silent and gloomy until the moon glides into view. Restless energy courses through my veins. The lizard and frog huddle on the chair, gazing forlornly at me. I sense they’re aware of my disquiet.

  I fold every stitch of clothing. Make and remake the bed until the sheets are perfectly flat. I’m too agitated to nap. Too irritated to think. I’d give anything for one of my daggers and a target. But somewhere my people are reuniting with their loved ones. That’s something, at least.

  The problem of El Lobo weighs heavily.

  As darkness descends, my loom beckons. I sit and take a deep breath. My fingers fly across the loom as I weave a jaguar and a condor. What other dangerous creature can I weave? My mouth twists into a grim smile. I’m clearly in some mood. It doesn’t occur to me to be afraid of the creatures. They creep and glide around the room, sniffing and hissing as they explore. They make friends with the other woven animals.

  I have quite the menagerie in my room now. Deadly, slithering, and the creepy-crawly. My kind of people. When guards walk too close to my door, they drop to the ground, flat and unblinking, or if they’re close enough, they slide under the bed. The frog returns into its own tapestry, flattening and weaving itself back in place.

  When I’m done with the tapestry, I venture out onto the balcony and keep watch for … I don’t know what. Guards come in and out of the castillo gates throughout the early evening. They examine every inch of the garden and the side entrance. I wait for a guard to come for me. Someone must have seen me dressed as El Lobo, fighting Sajra’s men. The priest’s threat hangs ominously over me like a black cloudy night without any stars.

  I rest my chin in my palms as I contemplate the guards scrambling below, looking for signs of disturbance. Three of Atoc’s men search the watchtower, and for a moment I wonder if Princesa Tamaya will betray me. I discard the thought. Somehow I know she won’t.

  I have to go back to the tower and get her to tell me about the Estrella. Returning tonight would be too risky, but there’s something else I can do. Atoc’s study might have useful information about the princesa and her confinement. Perhaps there’s a record of her actions against the throne, or a list of her possible associates.

  At last the castillo falls into a deep sleep. I change into the dark clothing and a new mask fashioned from my leftover scraps, grab my bag of moondust and my sword, and make my escape via the balcony. Once I’m inside the castillo’s main halls, I creep along the corridors, careful to avoid clucking chickens and shattered pots. Dirt lies in piles amid shards of clay. One more hallway to go.

  I half run, half tiptoe, until I reach the corner and hide behind a tall leafy plant. I spread its leaves and peer around the edge. Two guards are stationed in front of the king’s study. Maybe thirty feet away. Lit torches offer a dim visual. I’ll have little success in taking the guards by surprise.

  I press myself as close to the pot and its abundant leaves as possible and pick up a fragment of pottery off the floor. I steady my breath, but no amount of careful breathing can calm my racing heart. I say a quick prayer to Luna as I throw the pottery down the hall, in the direction I came from.

  It makes a resounding crash. Both guards come thundering past my hiding spot. I sprint to the wooden double doors on the balls of my feet and yank on the iron door handle—

  It’s locked.

  No.

  “I’m afraid you’ll need a key,” says a low voice with a distinct accent and gravel pitch from behind me. I jump about a foot and then spin, clutching my chest.

  El Lobo.

  A sharp breath eases out of me. I point to the keyhole. Plodding footsteps grow louder with every second. The guards are on their way back. The vigilante pulls out an iron key and unlocks the door. We scramble inside just as the guards’ voices become audible.

  I softly shut the door, and darkness smothers the room. Last time I brought in a torch, and the guards noticed. El Lobo lets out a husky chuckle. He smells like the outdoors, woodsy with a hint of mint. It’s pleasant and familiar.

  “You don’t come prepared for much, do you?”

  I bristle and
march away from the vigilante, fumbling my way in the dark as my eyes adjust to the dim starlight.

  “No candles or matches,” he muses. “No way of getting inside—”

  “You have the key,” I say in an undertone.

  “Stole the spare,” he says, quieter. “No weapon.”

  “I’m armed. I have a sword.”

  “That I gave you.”

  My eyes finally pick up the dark outline of El Lobo.

  “I was right,” he murmurs. “I did hear you correctly the other night. You’re a girl.” He saunters to the wall and leans against it casually, his ankles crossed and his arms folded. “If you insist on pretending to be me, you need to disguise your voice better than that.”

  My ears pick up a new note in his tone—wariness, as if he’s stumbled upon something he doesn’t like. “Black blends in with the night,” I point out. “So unless you own the color, I wouldn’t flatter yourself.”

  “Disguise your voice,” he says in a steely tone.

  “Careful,” I say. “You’re starting to sound like you care about me.”

  His crack of laughter startles me. “Now, that’s funny.”

  “Well, what are you doing here, then? Don’t tell me it’s coincidence.”

  “It’s not,” he says conversationally. “I followed you.”

  “You followed—What? For how long?”

  “I saw you in the corridor and became quite curious.” He pushes away from the wall and lazily strolls over to where I stand, leaving four feet between us. His casual grace doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen the boy with a sword. He might look bored, but from experience, I know he’s alert. And dangerous. “I think it’s time we have a chat, little wolf.”

  “Really.”

  He holds up a gloved hand and begins ticking off each question with his fingers. “Why are you running around the castillo dressed as me? Why did you come back to the king’s study? Why did you help me free the prisoners?”

  With each question his voice rises, battering my carefully constructed walls. I think of the priest’s threat and my resolve hardens. This is the moment. The start of earning his trust. “I want to help you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Yes, I do. You steal from the king’s coffers and his food supply, but you don’t keep any of it for yourself. You have access to the castillo. Maybe someone lets you inside. It’s clear you have allies everywhere. But it’s not enough. You need help.”

  “Is that where you come in?” he asks. “You want to join in the fight against the king? You’re willing to risk your life to end his rule? To put others before you? To bring about change even though you may never live to see the fruit of your labors?”

  Each of his questions is supposed to rattle my determination. But he speaks of my life without knowing it. I try to settle my rapidly beating heart. If I’m going to get information from the masked man, he needs to trust me. And that can only happen one way. I have to be honest with him first.

  To a certain degree.

  “We’re a lot more alike than you think, Lobo.”

  The vigilante considers me, his head tilted to the side. Then he walks forward until he’s inches in front of me. He meets my gaze. Dark eyes. The color of coffee beans. His hands are steady as he reaches for the bottom of my mask. The movement is soft, like a butterfly’s wing. His thumb grazes underneath my left ear and sends a shiver down my spine. His fingers curl underneath the fabric. My breath catches, and I flinch when he grips the fabric tighter, but I don’t resist as he tugs the mask upward.

  It glides over my lips, my cheeks, my eyes. It falls quietly between us and lands on my boots. I don’t bother retrieving it. I can’t tear my gaze away from El Lobo.

  His shoulders tense as his hands drop. Only his eyes are visible behind his black mask. And they see everything.

  My cheeks burn. “I take it you’re not going to do the same?”

  “Well, no,” he says. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “You took mine off!”

  “I didn’t actually think you’d let me.”

  This is going to be harder than I thought. Talking to a spitting llama would be easier. “I told you I want to help you move against Atoc.”

  “Why?”

  I glance away. It’s hard lying to him. This man saved all of the prisoners locked in the dungeon when he didn’t have to. “We want the same thing. You don’t want him sitting on the throne any more than I do.”

  “And who do I want sitting there? You?”

  I detect nothing from his reply. Not a single note that leans toward support or contempt. I grind my teeth in frustration. I never did find out if he’s a Llacsan or Illustrian—he’s saved both. Maybe he’s mixed, like Juan Carlos. There are many working in the castillo and living in La Ciudad.

  “We don’t have to answer that question tonight,” I say. “What we both want is Atoc’s removal. Can we agree on that?”

  He nods.

  Finally. Progress.

  “If you tell me your plans,” I say, “I might be able to help you.”

  I’m waiting for him to bring up the princesa and her role in all of this. I want to know about the Estrella; I want to know why she’d steal it. There’s so much uncertainty, and I’m sick of fumbling in the dark.

  He laughs softly. “Do you think I’d reveal my secrets to any pretty maid who asks?”

  “And do you think it was easy for me to let you take off my mask?”

  His laughter vanishes. “I don’t know. Was it?”

  The boy speaks in riddles! Does that mean he’s on to my ruse? That he thinks I’m merely acting? If he can see through me, then I’m in trouble. Luna take me, what am I going to do? He’s impossible to read, impossible to navigate. I turn away, my eyes resting on the map and its marked locations. I need his name. Hundreds of lives depend on it.

  I jerk my chin toward the back wall and strive for a nonchalant tone. “What do you think the pins mean? Places to launch an attack?”

  He stands next to me in front of the desk, and we stare at the map. Our shoulders graze. At his touch, an unaccustomed flutter passes through me, faint and unsettling. His height reminds me of Juan Carlos. Or Rumi.

  He could be either of them.

  El Lobo turns his head and peers at me. “They’re all the places Atoc has hidden the Estrella. I’ve checked every one but have come up empty.”

  I blink, hardly daring to believe my ears. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t like repeating myself, Condesa.”

  A cold shudder slides down my spine, and my mouth feels like I’ve swallowed spoonfuls of dry dirt. It’s the feeling that comes moments before I lose a fight. “You’re saying these marked places are useless.”

  “If you visited any of them, you’d find nothing left. Atoc burns the area to the ground after he’s used the spot. He’s become paranoid and rotates the location of the Estrella every so often—I haven’t been able to pinpoint how often it’s on the move.”

  My shoulders slump. Even if my parrot has reached the Illustrian keep, the message doesn’t contain any useful information. I clench my jaw to keep myself from muttering a curse. I’ve failed Catalina. This entire time, I thought—I believed—the Estrella was within my grasp.

  Maybe he’s lying … But no. His tone holds no malice, or any hint of deceit. His words are direct and laid bare for me to decide what to think of them. My gut tells me he’s being honest.

  Even so, it’d be foolish to take him at his word. Despite what he may think, I’m not a complete idiot. I’ll have to ask him a question I know the answer to and see how he responds.

  “All right, Lobo. Who tried to steal the Estrella?”

  He slowly shakes his head, amused. “Because I’m in such a good mood, I’ll tell you, nosy. It was Princesa Tamaya. Her antics against her brother are a fairly new development.”

  And look where it got her. Served on a platter to their sun god. “How new?”

  “Th
e-week-before-you-arrived-in-the-castillo new.”

  “That’s why she’s locked away.”

  “She’s locked up because her brother knows he can’t control her.”

  The mystery surrounding Atoc’s sister confounds me. It’s clear she knows more about her brother than either of us. I need to speak with her again, if only to learn why she tried to steal the Estrella from Atoc in the first place. Maybe there’s a pattern, a clue, something. It’s clear she’s working with El Lobo, and I need to somehow earn both of their trusts.

  The fate of my people is in my hands and I won’t leave it to chance. I have to find out his identity. But the thought flusters me. How can I betray someone who’s shown again and again that their intentions are to help everyone in Inkasisa, Illustrians and Llacsans alike?

  What kind of person am I to even consider it?

  An impossible coil. But I have no choice, not when there are so many lives at stake. El Lobo is staring at me, waiting for my next move.

  “We have to work together,” I say. “Let me help you rid the throne of Atoc.”

  “Forget it, Condesa.”

  I flinch at his tone. “He killed my parents. Even if that were all, it’d be enough. But it’s more than that. He promised to look after his people, and he hasn’t. I’ve had to sit and watch him make deal after deal, weakening our economy, destroying our fields, and raising taxes so high that no one can afford them. People have to pay for water. A commodity that should be free for everyone. I’m alone in the castillo with just my wits, trying to stop this madman from destroying Inkasisa. I’m desperate, Lobo. That’s why I let you take off my mask. If you’re going to laugh at me again, to hell with you and your cheap tricks against the king. Let’s see how far that will get you.”

  I break off, breathing hard. I’ve never said anything truer. If he doesn’t believe me now, he never will.

  El Lobo remains silent. Watching. Assessing.

  Damn it. What am I going to tell Sajra now? I can’t make something up. The castillo is full of his spies. He’ll know if I’m lying.