I pick up my mask and walk toward the door. My hand slides into my pocket to grab a bundle of moondust I can use to drug the guards outside.
“Espera.”
My heart lurches. I face El Lobo and he crosses the room. His dark eyes glitter in the faint starlight. He bends his head. His breath makes the cloth near his mouth move in and out.
“Never,” he says in a raspy voice, “turn your back on a wolf.”
I lift my chin and meet his unflinching gaze. I’m not afraid of him, whatever he might think.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” he says.
“You’ll never know if you don’t bend a little.”
A suggestive curve appears near his cheek. He’s considering my idea, I know he is, but then he straightens away from me, shaking his head. I swallow my disappointment.
El Lobo holds out a gloved hand. “I want whatever drug you’re using.”
Rude question. But I answer anyway. “I don’t use drugs.”
“But you do,” he says, his voice quiet. “I want what’s in your pockets.”
Has he searched my room? “How did you know?”
“The guard you drugged at the side entrance of the castillo. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Oh. He’s been watching very closely.
As if on cue, he leans forward until his masked face is inches from mine. “That’s right, Condesa. I know where you lay your head at night. I know what bench you prefer in the garden. I know that you like your food spicy and fried, and which hand you favor in a sword fight.”
I stiffen. His hand is still stretched toward me, waiting for the moondust. I drop the small bag into his outstretched palm. “Careful, one breath and you’ll be knocked out for hours.”
He pours a small amount into his palm as we suck in air at the same time. The moondust glitters in the candlelight, and his head jerks as if in surprise.
I give him a nod of reassurance and El Lobo turns on his heel. Without so much as a farewell, he opens the door and blows the powder into the guards’ wide-eyed faces. They crash to the ground seconds later. El Lobo leaves me standing in the middle of the office, both guards propping open the doors with their bodies.
Because that isn’t suspicious. “Imbécil,” I mutter.
With an exasperated sigh, I pull on my mask and bolt down the hallway, careful to keep my steps light. After coming to a full stop at a corner, I scan the area for guards. Three patrol the hallway, and one heads for my corner. A cacophony of noise comes from somewhere outside the castillo. Frantic whinnying from the stables. The guards unsheathe their swords and race for the stairs.
I follow, keeping a safe distance.
Thanks to the clamor outside, most of the guards go to investigate. If there even is anything to investigate. Something tells me I have El Lobo to thank for the easy return to my room.
After shutting the door behind me, I lean against it, half listening to the commotion. My conversation with El Lobo swims in my head. I go over everything I know: El Lobo is a Llacsan who works in the castillo. That’s how he knows where I sleep at night and how I like my food. That, or he has people spying for him. One of the cooks in the kitchen?
El Lobo is tall and broad shouldered. He knows how to fight. So far, those traits line up with everything I know about Juan Carlos. The vigilante could certainly be him.
But.
There’s Rumi. Also tall, except I don’t know if he can handle a sword. Besides, the night El Lobo and I fought together in Atoc’s office, he was busy tending to the wounded guards. He can’t be El Lobo. Not unless he can be in two places at once. Plus everyone would smell him coming.
¿Quién es El Lobo?
My stomach clenches. My admiration for El Lobo has risen, sure and steady like the sun, ever since he tried to save Ana and the Illustrians. His actions help the people of Inkasisa. He wears a mask—like I do. I can’t help but respect his courage and conviction. I wish I could do more, like he’s actually able to. To have the freedom to come and go throughout La Ciudad and even the castillo, working toward the betterment of everyone in Inkasisa.
But who is this stranger to me? I can’t save one person if it means the deaths of hundreds of other people. He doesn’t have my loyalty. We don’t have years of friendship behind us. He’s working against Catalina. The man in black is my enemy—I shake my head—I don’t believe that anymore. Not all Llacsans are my enemies. I carry so many truths inside me, I fear I’ll burst. I circle back to the one I know best.
I won’t let any more Illustrians die.
Even if it means betraying El Lobo.
CAPÍTULO
Now that I’ve decided to move against El Lobo, I find myself restless, tossing and turning in the lumpy bed every few minutes. What will happen if Sajra manages to capture the vigilante? Atoc will make an example of him. Publicly. His victories are never a secret. I sit up in bed, the sheets twisted around my legs, and rub my face.
I take a deep breath, craving a chunk of the darkest chocolate in existence. I get out of bed and light every candle in the room—no sense in trying to sleep at this point—and pace. I march the length of the room, up and down, my animals at my heels, jumping through my legs, playfully nipping my ankles and seeming to enjoy the exercise as they follow me from one end to the other. I absentmindedly stroke the jaguar’s woolen head and my hand vibrates as he purrs. The llama spits woolly balls at the anaconda, who lazily flicks them away with its tail.
I toss one idea after another. And then it hits. My hands smack my cheeks. Why didn’t I see it earlier? The solution is so simple. Find the Estrella. With it, I wouldn’t have to worry about the damned priest and his blood magic. I’d have the power of a thousand ghosts at my beck and call.
If I succeed in finding it, no one can touch me or my people.
I march outside, throwing the doors wide as Luna’s light washes the world in silver. My gaze snags on the heavily guarded watchtower. I have to see the princesa. She’s the last one to have seen the Estrella, but how will I get to her? Since the earthquakes, more guards patrol every hallway. Sentries are stationed at the main staircase. On top of that, the capitán has brought in a slew of watchdogs. It’s a damn menagerie with all the chickens and cats and dogs roaming the castillo.
I have to find another way in.
I flop back onto the bed. The anaconda slithers around me and I use its body as a pillow. Absently, I caress its soft skin. The jaguar sleeps by the bed, its tail flickering. It nuzzles my leg with its nose. I tally my animals—all but one are accounted for.
I want to send another message to fix my last one. But the bird hasn’t returned. What if it never made it to the fortress?
Thoughts about the condesa make my heart ache, warping and twisting like thread gone awry on the loom. If she were here with me, what would I say? Could I tell her about the Llacsan writers and how their punishment affected me? Could I admit that my feelings are changing? I have to acknowledge the problem, or I can’t fix it. If it even requires fixing … Ugh.
Right now I only want to think how Catalina would’ve laughed about the wedding dress fiasco. She’d remind me there isn’t going to be a wedding, and I’m not going to give the usurper a son. Wedding present indeed.
Wait a minute. Wedding present. My body thrums. I sit up, pushing away the pillow, and look at the loom. There’s the slightest chance flattery could work. I have to play it just right—but I have nothing else. It can’t hurt to try.
Luna’s incandescent light already illuminates the room. I breathe in the silver shimmer, allowing it to wash over me. Moonlight eases the tension off my shoulders.
I gather all my available wool and sit in front of the loom. My idea will take the rest of the night. The animals perk up as I start to weave, and I smile to myself. Maybe they think I’m creating a new friend for them. But this is much more important.
I pray the work will pay off.
Suyana finds me asleep on the floor next to the stool. She shakes me awake, and I force my
eyes open. Stupid sunlight streams into the room, and I wince from the glare. Luna’s light never glares.
“What time is it?” My voice comes out as scratchy as llama wool.
“Did you forget you had a bed?” Suyana asks, setting down the breakfast tray.
I sniff. The warm and nutty coffee aroma mingles in the air. Is there anything better than the smell of coffee in the morning? She’s also brought fresh loaves of marraqueta, a clay pot filled with whipped mantequilla, and a jar of blackberry mermelada. Sitting up, I rub my eyes as my stomach roars to life.
“You’ll get wrinkles,” she says in a stern tone.
I look at her balefully.
She smiles, shrugging. “It’s what my mother says.”
With a start, I remember my animals. Madre de Luna. What if Suyana saw them? I jump to my feet, startling her. “Sorry. I thought—”
“You’re acting strange. Well, stranger than usual.”
I laugh, and it sounds awkward even to me. “Lack of sleep, I think?”
A tail moves slightly at the corner of my vision. It sticks out from underneath the bed. I jerk my gaze back to Suyana and slowly angle my body, blocking the jaguar from view. They didn’t have time to hide back in their tapestries.
My eyes land on the cape slung over the dresser. I wove throughout the night, until my fingers cramped and my eyelids were heavy. It’s my best work. A blend of white wool and the leftover gold and red thread Juan Carlos brought me. Half Illustrian, half Llacsan. I wove a pattern of the mountain and earth under a twinkling night sky, Luna’s light threaded in each star. Suyana follows my line of sight and gasps. She walks over and gingerly touches the cape.
“I can’t believe you made this.” She holds up the tapestry. “It’s beautiful work for an—”
She breaks off.
I stand up and pour myself a cup of coffee. “For an Illustrian.”
“For an Illustrian,” she agrees. “The cape will suit you very well.”
“It’s not for me,” I say, taking a sip. “It’s for the king. A wedding present.”
I must have said it with a straight enough face because she looks over and smiles. “He’ll be pleased. When will you give him the cape?”
“That depends,” I say slowly. “Is he still at breakfast?”
“They’re setting the table right now.” Her eyes widen. “Absolutely not—you can’t go! It’s for family only and you’ve never been invited.”
“Don’t Llacsans still have that custom of saying you’re welcome with a gift?”
I’d once given my nanny a drawing on her birthday. The next morning, I’d found a crown of flowers on the table in front of my chair. A gift given in thanks for my thoughtfulness. Like the merchant who’d sent a slab of dark chocolate as his thanks.
“It’s good manners,” Suyana explains. “Why do you ask?”
“It was something my nanny taught me,” I say. “Will you help me look presentable? I’ll wear whatever you want me to, and I won’t protest. I won’t even care how many ruffles and ribbons it has.”
A begrudging smile tugs at her mouth, and I know I’ve won her over.
The family dines on the first floor, in the prettiest part of the castillo. I remembered eating in that same room when I came to court with my parents as a child. A long, raw-edged wooden dining table stands in the center of the room. Plenty of windows and tapestries decorate the stone walls. Two guards stand on either side of the double-arched entrance. Even from here, the sounds of utensils scraping dishes and muttered conversation reach my ears. Other than the guards, I haven’t seen anyone on the first floor. As if everyone knows it’s off-limits unless you have an invitation.
The meal is a private affair. I’m the intruder. But I have to present the cape to Atoc in front of other Llacsans to ensure he’ll follow tradition and offer me what I want in return.
A visit with his locked-up sister.
I tuck the carefully folded cape under my arm and smooth my long skirt. Suyana dressed me in a tomato-red ensemble—she insisted it’s my best color—layered with a floral stitched vest that reaches my knees. She swept my hair up into a careless twist, loose curls grazing my cheeks and neck.
It was as if Catalina had dressed me. The condesa was forever modifying my outfits, taking pains with my unruly hair, and dabbing rouge on my lips. Fixing me up to look more like her. When Suyana had finished, I reached over and embraced her, surprising us both. She could get into a lot of trouble for helping me, but she’d taken the risk anyway.
I clear my throat and clutch the cape tighter. I smooth my skirt one more time before walking toward the arched doorways. My hands are clammy, and the castillo suddenly feels too warm and stifling. One of the guards blinks at my approach, casting a confused look toward the other sentry. I swallow hard, but my feet keep moving.
Twenty of the king’s relatives are seated around the long length of the table. Pitchers of jugo de lima and naranja are on either end, and in between are platters of fried huevos and papas fritas tossed in smoked salt and huacatay sauce, bowls of marraquetas and the achachairu fruit, and small plates of queso blanco. When Rumi looks up from his heaping plate, he chokes on his jugo de naranja and hastily puts down his glass, the orange liquid spilling over the rim.
Gradually everyone turns to face me as I hover by the entrance. Atoc is the last to notice, having been in the middle of telling a story. He’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, here in the company of his family. He’s dressed casually in a loose black tunic, dirt-colored pants, and leather sandals. He looks friendly and approachable and it disarms me. I know how to handle my enemy. But this Atoc is someone I haven’t encountered before.
Maybe I’m making a mistake.
Atoc’s gaze cuts to mine and he stiffens. “¿Qué haces aquí?”
I lift my chin. “Buenos días, Your Majesty. I’ve finished your wedding present. This was the only place I knew I’d find you. But perhaps it’s too much of an intrusion. I can come some other time, if you’d prefer.”
I don’t dare look at anyone else, and I make sure not to take another step forward. The silence stretches until he beckons me with a crooked index finger. Plastering a smile on my face, I step into the room. Atoc remains seated, which means no one else gets up. It’s just me standing near the head of the table, everyone staring at me as if I’m a mosca in their huevos. I hand him the cape.
He unfolds it, and the moon thread shimmers from the sunlight streaming through the tall rectangular windows. Someone at the other end of the table gasps. I barely notice.
“A fine gift,” he says gruffly. Then he stands and pulls the cape around his shoulders. A perfect fit. “You’re a talented weaver, Condesa. It’s a nice trait in a wife.”
Wife. It’s the exact response I’m looking for, but my mouth still goes dry. I manage a nod.
He lifts a section of the cape and inspects the moon thread. “Astonishing. Your skill might be better than my sister’s.”
My heart thumps wildly. This is my moment—
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” someone cracks from the table. “She’ll have your head.”
Atoc glares at the male relative who spoke. I wring my hands, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to my gift.
“She’s lucky to have her head,” Atoc growls. “Tamaya needs to be humbled. Look at this! Have you seen her do better?”
No one contradicts him. I peek at Rumi under my lashes. All this talk about my weaving must upset him. But instead of a scowl, he studies me with a speculative gleam in his dark eyes. A faint smile bends his full lips.
Atoc turns to face me. “Gracias. In the future, approach the high priest should you need to reach me.”
He sits as my composure threatens to crack. My smile suddenly hurts too much. I turn away from the family, but then Rumi loudly says, “I’m curious to see what you’ll give her in return, Shining One. Do you think you’ll be able to give her something better?”
I
whirl around.
Atoc blinks in surprise. “The return gift, sí, of course. What would you like, wife?”
Now the label makes me squirm, but I somehow manage not to retch. I deserve something deep fried and smothered in chocolate for my efforts. “What can I have?”
“She’ll make a fine queen,” someone says at my roguish tone.
Atoc leans back in his chair. “My breakfast is getting cold. Make your request, and I’ll consider granting it.”
I pretend to think about it. “I’d like to meet the princesa and test my skill as a weaver against hers.” Hastily I add, “Your Shiningness.”
Rumi snorts. I guess that isn’t an official title. How am I supposed to know? I hear a new one every day. All eyes snap to their king. I wait, my breath caught at the back of my throat.
He shrugs and returns to his breakfast. “Granted. She needs a good put-down. You’ll meet her today. Now leave us.”
The relief nearly makes me light-headed. “Gracias, Your Majesty.”
“Where did you get the wool?” he asks gruffly.
“Some of it I brought with me,” I say. “The other—”
“I’ve been bringing it to her,” Rumi interrupts smoothly. “I thought Your Majesty would be pleased she practiced weaving.”
There’s a slight downward pull at the corners of the king’s mouth. “Thoughtful of you.”
Instinct tells me to back away. Atoc’s gaze travels from my face to my toes peeking out from underneath the ruffled skirt.
“I’ll see that you always have wool, Condesa,” he says sharply. “You’re excused now.”
I glance at Rumi. His face slides into that bored expression he wears when he knows he has an audience. He tosses back more of the jugo and doesn’t look in my direction again. I leave the room, unsure of the moment I just witnessed. But what does that matter? I’ve found a way to the princesa. If I can have even a few moments of uninterrupted time with her, she could tell me more about the Estrella and where Atoc might have hidden it.
It’s only when I think about how awkward it’s going to be with all of us in the room that a glimmer of an idea forms in my head. My heart beats faster.
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