I know how to find the Estrella.
CAPÍTULO
That afternoon we all climb up the tower, except for Rumi, who mutters something about attending to the sick in the infirmary. Maybe he can’t stand the sight of seeing his beloved princesa locked up. A servant rushes to my room to get my loom and wool. Our steps echo as we climb them, the king at the head of the line.
The priest follows close on my heels. I feel his eyes on me. Clammy chills seep into my bones. He’s a cold shadow, touching everything and everyone around him. I shudder, remembering our deal about the vigilante. When we make it to the hallway before Princesa Tamaya’s room, the sentry standing outside gapes at us. He hastily opens the door.
Princesa Tamaya stands by her narrow cot. At the sight of us all clamoring inside, her expression betrays her surprise for only a moment. She squares her shoulders, and her face slides into a veiled façade. It’s nicely done, and I can’t help but feel proud of her, even though I don’t know her at all.
“Hermana,” Atoc says coldly.
“Hermano,” Tamaya says in the exact same tone. “To what do I owe this incredible honor?”
Her brother holds out his hand for me. I step forward, my mask firmly in place. By that I mean, I’ve managed a smile. It hurts, but it’s on my face.
“We are here because my bride would like to pit her weaving talents against yours,” he says. The cape draped across his shoulders winks in the candlelight. “I told my betrothed that I’d like to witness this contest for myself.”
“A contest,” she says, glancing at me.
I widen my eyes slightly, tilting my head in the direction of the attendant who carries my loom. Please catch on. Por favor. My entire idea hinges on her magic. Without it, I won’t know where to find the Estrella.
“Sí,” she says when her gaze lands on the loom. “A weaving contest. How delightful. It’s been a long time since you’ve watched me weave, hermano.” A slight smile stretches her lips and her chin dips once in an imperceptible nod. Relief brushes over me as if my fears were swept aside like yesterday’s dust.
Atoc doesn’t bother with a reply; instead he settles himself on the dingy couch. “You may begin.”
The looms are placed side by side, a low wooden stool before each. Our baskets are filled with wool in a riot of colors. Mine are in varying shades of banana-peel yellow and honey, hers in deep shades of blue and red wine. I sit and gather my skirt and ruffles away from the loom.
The princesa does the same.
Our gazes clash and then we start to work, threading the strands over and under from one end to the other. Behind us, the spectators chat in low murmurs. I ignore everyone, pairing colors and trying to get a sense of what I want to weave. Any message is out of the question—it isn’t night yet, so I can’t use moonlight.
But this contest isn’t about me. It’s about the princesa and what she can do. I pause and turn to look at her tapestry. Her nimble fingers work the thread, and already she has a third of it done.
I’m fast, but she’s faster.
“Tell me, hermano,” Princesa Tamaya says over her shoulder. “How do you like your new hiding place for the Estrella?”
The temperature in the room seems to drop. Sajra shoots a quick look toward his king. The cold clings around my edges and I shiver. Atoc jumps to his feet, snarling.
“What do you know about it?” he says.
Princesa Tamaya merely smiles. “Just making conversation. It’s been a long time since we’ve really talked.”
“We’re not talking about the Estrella,” Atoc says through stiff lips. “Continue your weaving or I’ll—”
“You’ll do what? Lock me away from my friends? Take away all of my possessions?” She nods at my dress—another one of hers, apparently—and her mouth turns downward in scorn. “You’ve already done your worst, hermano.”
A calculating gleam appears in Atoc’s black eyes. “Not yet I haven’t. Shall I have my priest handle that sharp mouth?”
Sajra’s hands inch upward, eager and ready to pounce.
For the first time, the princesa’s composure falters. Her jaw clenches as she shakes her head. Atoc settles back down, satisfied like a purring cat. Sajra looks as if he’s been deprived of his last meal.
The princesa snaps around in her stool and takes up the threads. Her fingers fly across the loom and a scene emerges. Delighted cries erupt. Without thinking, I stand and peer over her shoulder. At the top of her tapestry, intricately woven rain clouds pepper the sky. La Ciudad is buried under heavy rain, while the misty lavender mountain looms in the background. Off in the distance, Lago Yaku roils under the gusting winds.
The scene is so lifelike, I expect to see the woolly clouds float off the tapestry, thundering and dripping water. I’ve never seen anything like it. Since childhood, I’ve been stuffed with truths the same way one stuffs their bags for traveling: I’m the best weaver in all of Inkasisa; I’m a skilled leader and an efficient fighter. Illustrians are better at everything.
But they were all lying. Ana, my parents, Catalina. I’m not the best weaver; that title belongs to the princesa.
I’m standing behind the princesa and she leans into me. My gaze narrows on her work, searching each row. As she continues to weave across the tapestry, her pinky finger glides over something buried in Lago Yaku.
A gem capable of mass destruction. The conjuring of murderous spirits.
The Estrella.
My knees buckle, and I hastily sit back down on my stool. My own tapestry is only halfway done. I half-heartedly pick up the strands of wool as Atoc makes a loud disappointed sound. He shoots me a disgusted look. The message is clear.
I’ve embarrassed him. No better than his sister.
“Is this the best you can do?” he asks.
I gesture to the princesa’s work. “There’s no competing with that. She’s the better weaver.”
“Then why am I up here, wasting my time?”
The urge to batter him over the head with my loom is overwhelming. I inhale and force myself to calm my blood’s fevered rioting. When I reply, the words come out slowly. “You brought yourself. I didn’t invite you.”
Someone in the room sniggers. It’s a quiet sound, cut off a second later, as if the person who’d made it realized how dangerous it is to laugh at Atoc.
“Stay up here, the both of you,” the fake king snarls, my cape swirling around his shoulders as he marches to the door. His next words come out like a sharp bark from a guard dog. “Nothing to eat or drink for them. I don’t care if they starve.”
The door rattles when he slams it shut. Guards remain stationed outside the door. I look at the princesa grimly. My plan worked, but now I’m stuck up here. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep me up here until Carnaval.
“Do you think the wedding is off?” I whisper.
“Hardly,” Tamaya says. “He’ll cool down and send for you soon. He’s impulsive, but not entirely stupid. You can’t die before he marries you.” She reaches for me. “Sorry, but we have to hug. Do you realize what you’ve done?”
I nod. “I’m not entirely stupid either.”
She laughs and embraces me, slightly trembling. “What will you do with the information I’ve given you?”
It’s because I like her that I respond with the truth: “I don’t know.”
“Condesa, I think it’s time we talk.” She gestures to the couch. “Have a seat.”
Because I’m locked up with her, I don’t have a choice. I’m not ready for this conversation; I don’t have the answers to her questions. I can’t walk off in a huff like her brother did. I sit down beside her and take a deep breath. My time in the castillo has muddied my thoughts, and my mask has never felt so vulnerable. At the slightest provocation, I’m sure it’ll fall away, leaving me exposed. Defenseless. Ximena.
“Why do you think Atoc wants to marry you?”
My brows raise. It’s not at all where I assumed she’d start. “Because of our water s
upply.”
The princesa shakes her head. “It might be one reason, but it’s not the reason. He’s been forgetting our upbringing, our values. Disappearing as he secures more money, more power. I don’t mean to offend you, but in choosing you, he’s forsaking us. He’d rather indulge in a power play than choose someone good for Inkasisa.
“My brother wants legitimacy from his oppressors, for them to respect and fear him. In marrying you, he thinks he’ll own you—and by default, all Illustrians. He wants power, but his greed—so like your Illustrian ancestors—is twisting him into something else.”
“You don’t mean to offend me?” I repeat. “That’s a gracious statement coming from a Llacsan.”
The princesa gazes at me with solemn dark eyes.
“I used to think that all Llacsans hated Illustrians,” I say.
“If it were true,” she asks quietly, “could you blame them?”
The Llacsans revolted because of our mistreatment. So whose fault is it really that my parents are dead? How many of their parents died as we neglected them for centuries?
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t blame them.”
The words are out in the open and I can’t take them back. I chance a quick look in her direction. I expect to see a triumphant smile. But the princesa merely tilts her head, curious. She’s analyzing me, trying to sift through what I really think. What I really want.
I wish I knew.
“That’s quite a concession,” she says. “Condesa.”
My chest tightens. I’m not her. I’m not Catalina.
“Do you know the story of the jaguar?”
I blink. “What?”
“It’s the perfect story to describe my brother—the jaguar king who had everything: a kingdom filled with loyal subjects. But every day he’d look to the sky and was jealous of the birds that could soar to the heavens. The jaguar king wanted the impossible.”
I remember the story. “He wanted to fly.”
She nods. “He wasn’t happy with the gifts he’d been given. He wanted more.”
“Maybe he thinks by marrying an Illustrian, he might have their support?”
The princesa arches a brow. “Making you queen won’t win their support. He could have had that without marrying … had he made different choices.”
The words hang in the air.
The princesa pulls more wool from her basket. “Will your reign look different than your aunt’s? And her father’s? And his father?” I shift on the couch. What does she mean by asking me this? It feels like a test. One that I’ll fail because I have to answer as Catalina. She wouldn’t change a thing. The condesa wants our old way of life back.
“What would you change?” I ask.
“I would make the system fair,” she says. “We all want the same things: opportunities and means for everyone to earn their bread; freedom of self-expression without consequences; for all children, not just Illustrians, to attend school—”
“What world do you live in, princesa? That doesn’t sound like Inkasisa.”
Her eyes blaze. “But it can be. Look into your heart, Condesa. I know you have your own ambitions, your own dreams and wishes. My heart is no different than yours. Why is it so hard to believe that even enemies may want the same things?”
I do believe her. And the realization shakes me to my soul. If I lived in that reality, then my whole life was for what? What about my parents? What about Catalina? Wasn’t all of this—risking everything—for her? To put the right person back on the throne?
The princesa’s eyes widen. “Don’t you think it’s possible? With the right person, can’t you see it?”
Ximena the decoy can. Inkasisa needs a leader who’d unite them. If Atoc would have ruled like his sister wanted, perhaps we’d come to see things their way. But now the idea of another Llacsan monarch will only enrage everyone back at the keep. Atoc behaved in the exact manner the Illustrians had expected.
Corrupt. Power hungry. Ruthless. Ignorant.
Tamaya would be a much better ruler than Catalina—who barely has a handle on the Illustrians at the keep. I know this the way I know a well-thrown dagger always finds its target. But Catalina? Becoming queen would make things right for her family. It’d honor her parents’ memory. She will never give that up. Not for all the silver in the mountain.
My breath catches. Or would she?
“What if people can’t change?”
The princesa gives a little laugh. “You don’t believe that. You only have to look at yourself to see that it’s possible. People change. For better or for worse, like my brother, they always do.”
Her words sink in, faintly uncomfortable. I can’t ignore that parts of me have changed any more than I can stop a river’s journey downstream.
“I’m going to trust you with a secret,” Princesa Tamaya says, leaning toward me. “Something only a few people know. People loyal to me. You don’t show much, but even I can see that you’re coming to understand who we are. I’m not your enemy.”
“I believe you.”
Luna save me, but I really do.
“I don’t want to find the Estrella to have power over Atoc.” She takes a deep breath. “I want to destroy the Estrella.”
My jaw drops. Destroy the most powerful weapon in Inkasisa?
“A power so evil shouldn’t exist,” she says. “No one ought to have it. Not Atoc, not you, not even me. I want you to think about my plan—don’t discard it simply because it’s not what you’d do. Really think about what’s best for Inkasisa. I promise you, that’s all I want.”
Her sincerity, her passion for Inkasisa is as tangible as a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Her words only confirm my instinct about her—I like the princesa. I didn’t expect to, but I do. In another life, we might have been friends.
The thought wars with my sense of loyalty and duty. It fights against the love I have for Catalina and Ana, and my dead parents. I don’t want to be a decoy anymore. I want the luxury of having my own thoughts and opinions govern my decisions.
“If you decide it’s the best way forward, I need you to find El Lobo and tell him where the Estrella is hidden. He’ll destroy it.”
“Are you sure he’s trustworthy?”
Her eyes flash. “Condesa, he’s made more sacrifices for Inkasisa than anyone I know. I trust him with my life.”
“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”
She shakes her head. “Atoc has more guards posted—it’s too risky for him to sneak in like before. He can never be caught. Too much depends on him.”
But I don’t trust the vigilante, and I’m about to say so when the door snaps open. It’s Juan Carlos and another one of my guards, come to fetch me. “His Majesty wants you back in your own room, Condesa. Sorry to spoil the party.”
His eyes flicker to Princesa Tamaya and then quickly away, as if he’s been scorched. We both stand and the princesa walks me to the door. “Remember what I said.”
I nod. For some reason I have the strangest feeling that this will be the last time I’ll see her alive. She gives a determined air, as if nothing will stop her from succeeding. I admire her for it. I know what it’s like to yearn for a win.
It’s realizing that I want to let her that stops me cold.
CAPÍTULO
Dinner is waiting for me when I get to my room, but not even the sight of crispy pan-fried papas and the garlic-rubbed sirloin roast tempts me to take a bite. Princesa Tamaya wants to destroy the Estrella. I want to reject the idea outright. Having that kind of power offers what can’t be bought: control.
But it never occurred to me that we could win the war against Atoc without fighting a bloody battle. It never occurred to me that we could get to the other side with our consciences unblemished and families intact. Unleashing the Estrella on Atoc and his army, his court, his followers makes us no better than him. Does the princesa have a point?
And now that I know the Estrella’s location, what am I going to do about it? It won�
��t take but an evening to weave the information and send it to the condesa. But that idea doesn’t sit well—for a reason I’m afraid to think about.
Suyana comes to collect the dirty dishes. She takes one look at the plate and frowns. “You didn’t eat all of your food. Don’t tell me you’re sick again?”
I pull off my socks. “I think I’m just nervous. Don’t call for the healer. It’s only worry and stress.”
She nods as she wipes down the dresser. I expect her to pry, but all she says is: “A bath will help.”
Once again, she surprises me. Instead of questions, she offers comfort. I appreciate the gesture, even if the bathwater usually arrives cold. When I say so, Suyana only smiles and carries out the tray. Later there’s a knock and the water is delivered. My fingers nearly turn to ice when I touch it. The water might have come from the snowcapped mountain.
Then Suyana is at my elbow. “How hot do you like it?”
“Caliente,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
She smiles again and dips both hands into the water. Nothing happens. Her hands are submerged but not a single bubble appears.
“It’s all right—”
“Now touch it,” she says, her voice shaking a little. “See if it’s better.”
Carefully, I dip my index finger into the tub. I pull away with a sharp hiss. “It’s hot!” Her face wears a pronounced grimace. “Suyana, I—Suyana? Are you all right? You look a little pale. Do you need to sit?”
She sinks onto the bed. “Sorry, it makes me weary.”
“What does? Your magic?” I ask. “Do you always feel that way?”
She nods and points at the little bundle she’d brought with her. Inside is a towel and a bar of soap. “You should enjoy the bath while it lasts. I won’t be able to heat it a second time.”
I hold the bar up to my nose. Eucalyptus. I peel off my clothes and climb in, moaning in delight. My first hot bath in four weeks. Divine. A twinge of guilt mars my enjoyment. The Llacsans living in La Ciudad barely have any water.
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