Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  “What did you think of the princesa?” Suyana asks.

  I scrub my toes. “I liked her better than I thought I would.”

  “I think most like her better than the king.”

  I keep my expression neutral. “Do you?”

  “It’s hard not to like the princesa. She’s vibrant and full of life. Consistently optimistic. She remembers everyone’s names. And I always liked how she asked about my mother. I was sad the day King Atoc locked the princesa up. Sad, but not surprised.” Suyana folds one of the towels. “She fought with the king over everything. His decisions, legislation. When she tried to talk him out of marrying you, he’d had enough, I think. It was the biggest fight they had, and it happened during court.”

  “I see,” I say, accidentally dropping the soap. This cements what I thought: If she’d been queen instead of her brother, Inkasisa would have been all the better for it. “Did she have any friends in the castillo?”

  “She has that way of making everyone feel like a friend,” she says. “But she’s particularly close to Rumi.”

  “I think he’s in love with her.”

  She frowns. “You think? But he’s so—”

  “Smelly, I know!” I sit up in the tub. “What is that stench hovering around him like an angry swarm of bees?”

  “He works in the infirmary,” Suyana says, giggling. “All manner of herbs and mushrooms are stored there. We’ve all tried to tell him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “Of course not,” I mutter darkly. “Rumi’s accustomed to it. He’s so odd. And the way he acts during court! As if Atoc bled rainbows.”

  “King Atoc,” she corrects. “Rumi’s always doted on His Radiance. We’re all used to it.”

  I lift an eyebrow.

  “Mostly used to it,” she admits. “Some days he’s more ridiculous than others. Half the time I want to tell him to quit slouching.”

  Laughing, I sink back into the tub.

  Suyana stands. “Is there anything else you need for the night?”

  “This was plenty. Gracias.”

  “I hope whatever is bothering you leaves you alone enough for a good night’s rest.”

  It’s only after she leaves that I realize the extent of what just happened. I enjoyed a hot bath because of her. At the expense of her own energy, too.

  I’d made a friend without trying. Without manipulating or forcing it into existence.

  I stay awake until midnight, unable to keep thoughts of Catalina and her reign from jumbling inside my head. The lizard is curled up on its favorite spot on the pillow, nestling close to my head. Both the jaguar and condor rest by the balcony doors. The llama has somehow managed to squish himself into the wool basket. The frogs never seem to stay still, constantly hopping from the bed, to the chair, and onto the dresser.

  I’ve never had a pet before. And these odd, colorful creatures belong to me.

  They slowly drift to sleep, lulled by the whistling wind fluttering the curtains, the stray dogs barking in the night. The lizard climbs onto my chest as by candlelight I read the book Rumi lent me. It’s not just a history of the Llacsans, but of the Illari and hundreds of other small tribes in the Lowlands. Inkasisa is home to thousands of indigenous people, and Illustrians came in four hundred years earlier and turned everything on its head.

  Before us, they’d built fortresses and roads, had armies and used the stars to navigate.

  The stars. We claimed the stars for our own.

  I close the book, a sense of dread flooding my body. I can’t think of a single recent building designed and built by any of the tribes. When’s the last time they created the things they’d been famous for? We stifled, buried, and stomped on them as if they were hormigas.

  I settle into the pillow, my eyelids heavy. I want to stay awake, but sleep comes unbidden and unwanted.

  The next time I wake up, I’m not alone.

  I sit up with a jerk. That prickly feeling of unease courses through my veins like blood.

  “You’re a light sleeper,” says a familiar voice from the corner of the room.

  My eyes settle on the chair and the dark bulk sitting in it. I blink, waiting impatiently for my eyes to adjust. “Obviously not if you were able to get in here without me detecting you.”

  “You know, I actually felt bad about waking you,” he says, faintly amused. “Clearly my chivalry was misplaced.”

  “Who ever said you were chivalrous?”

  “Now you’re just being mean.”

  My eyes finally adjust to the dark. A quick scan of the room reveals that my animals are deep in hiding. Probably underneath the bed or in their tapestries. I squint at the corner of the room where my chair is propped against the wall. El Lobo’s slouched, his long legs stretched in front of him, his ankles crossed. His hands are folded behind his head.

  “Did you fall asleep in here?” I ask, suspicious.

  “For a little while,” he admits. The mask obscures the smile on his face, but I hear it anyway.

  “Long day working? I forget—you tend the gardens, right?”

  He laughs softly. “Nice try.”

  “Maybe you spent too much time near the stove?” I press.

  “You wouldn’t want me near a stove.”

  Again, I hear the smile in his voice, hovering in the air like a glittering star. Not a cook, then.

  “Perhaps you had a hard day training?” I ask. “Right, Juan Carlos?”

  El Lobo startles, as if I’d prodded him with a stick. He shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

  My intuition spikes like a fever. He isn’t telling me the truth. Maybe he isn’t Juan Carlos? Or maybe he’s just trying to throw me off? Maybe he’s a gardener or a cook?

  “Why are you here?”

  “You visited the princesa today,” he says, all traces of laughter gone. “I thought perhaps there might be a message.”

  I curl the sheet higher until it’s tickling the bottom of my jaw. “How do you know? You weren’t there.”

  Or were you, Rumi?

  “The outcome of your competition spread throughout the castillo. It wouldn’t surprise me if half of Inkasisa knows of your defeat. How does it feel to lose to a Llacsan?”

  “Strangely, I don’t mind.” I don’t need to be the best at weaving. It’s enough to know how to make something beautiful.

  Which is not the answer he’s expecting. He blinks long and slow and it seems vaguely familiar. That minute tilt of his head. The color of his eyes. Every interaction shows me a glimpse of the boy who sometimes surfaces beneath his black mask, like how he made sure I had a sword to defend myself, or when he tried to help me when I fought the priest’s men. If I support Princesa Tamaya, we may even become friends.

  What a terrible friend I’d make. If I can’t find the Estrella, I’ll have to betray him.

  “What do you think of her?”

  I stand up and march to the dresser. The night air gives me goose bumps. As I pull a long-sleeved tunic over my head, I watch El Lobo. His gaze centers on my every move. I settle back onto the bed and snuggle under the sheets. “I like her,” I say. “She’s different from what I’d pictured.”

  “What did you picture?”

  I make a face. “The female version of Atoc.”

  “She’d scratch your eyes out for that.”

  Yes, I’m sure she would. And I like that about her.

  We sit in unguarded silence for a moment, and it feels companionable. Princesa Tamaya’s words infiltrate my mind: Should I tell him the Estrella’s location? He’s here because I’ve had access and he’s hoping there’s been a new development. He’s right: There is. But admitting it is a heavy decision. I need more information.

  “Tell me something, Lobo,” I say. “What would you do with the Estrella if you had it?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d destroy it.”

  Somehow I knew he’d say that. “Why?”

  “The Estrella is a power that do
esn’t belong in the hands of mortal men—Illustrian, Llacsan, people of Tierra Baja, or even the mythical Illari hiding in the Yanu Jungle. No one should have it. Now it’s your turn.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Why did you ask me that question?”

  “Because the princesa wants to destroy it, and I wanted to know what you thought.”

  I’ve surprised him. He stands and paces the room—something I’ve seen the princesa do. “She’s shared one of our secrets with you. ¿Por qué?”

  “I think she wants to convince me she’d make the better queen.”

  “What do you think?”

  I shrug. “No lo sé.”

  “How were you planning on removing Atoc from the throne?”

  I shrug again. Just because I know of their plans doesn’t mean I have to tell him everything. I may be confused, I may like Tamaya, but I’m not ready to betray Catalina.

  “You were planning on using the Estrella,” he says. “You’ve been searching for it this entire time. You’d do the same thing Atoc did all those years ago.” He slices the air with his hand, his voice this side of angry. “We have a better plan, Condesa. After destroying the Estrella, we’ll rip the throne out of Atoc’s hands in a bloodless revolt and crown Princesa Tamaya queen in his place.”

  Bloodless revolt. Is such a thing possible? Guilt riddles me as I think about it—of what it would mean to turn my back on my upbringing, my duty. But I can’t deny how tired I am of war, war, war.

  “How are you going to lead a bloodless revolt with Princesa Tamaya locked up?”

  His mask ripples as he smiles. “King Atoc has more enemies than friends, Condesa.”

  “Fine. Keep your secrets.” I push away the sheet and climb out of bed again. “Here’s one of mine: I know where the Estrella is. If you can convince me your plan is better, I’ll consider telling you.”

  El Lobo sweeps me forcibly against him. Disbelief shoots through me as I let out a low yelp. He doubles my wrist behind my back with a sharp twist, and I wince from the pressure. “I can force you to tell me.”

  I slam my heel down on his foot and attempt to knee his groin, but he wrenches my wrist again and I gasp. The jaguar pokes its head out from underneath my bed and bares its teeth, silent and deadly. I shake my head, urging it to remain hidden. I don’t want the vigilante to know all my secrets. I don’t want him anywhere near my animals.

  His whisper caresses my cheek. “You don’t think I will?”

  I tilt my head and glare up at him. My breath catches at the back of my throat. The narrow slits in his mask provide enough of a gap to make out his dark eyes. His stare betrays nothing—no flickers of guilt, or indecision. He’s sure of what lines he’ll cross. Harming me isn’t one of them. “No.”

  The grip on my wrist eases somewhat, and I exhale. The man in black holds on to me, but it no longer hurts. Awareness creeps in. The hard feel of his arms around me. The incessant croaking of frogs in the garden. Luna’s moonbeams crisscrossing the room. A breeze rustles the curtains. His black cotton shirt tickles my chin.

  We’re standing very close. The air between is charged with tension. El Lobo notices it at the same moment I do. He slowly drags his hand down the length of my arm, and then up again. A shiver dances along the length of my spine and a warm glow softens his gaze.

  For the hundredth time, I wonder who he is. I’ve met the vigilante, I’m sure of it. Rumi or Juan Carlos. I know it in my bones. And I wonder if it’s who I want him to be.

  The thought comes unbidden and I’m not prepared to name what I feel. It’s too new, too confusing. Too forbidden.

  “Tell me where it is,” he says hoarsely.

  My voice comes out even. “No.”

  His attention shifts to my mouth. “You’re a menace,” he says softly.

  His head tilts toward mine and the sudden flare of heat that rises between us startles me. I’m frozen, unsure. “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  He pauses. His breath tickles my nose. “Damned if I know,” he mutters. “All sense disappears when you’re near.”

  I place a hand on his chest to stop his advance. Confusion clouds my thinking, which is exactly why I can’t let him kiss me. If I don’t know how I feel about the vigilante, kissing him would only conjure feelings that aren’t supposed to exist. I don’t know who he is and until I do, nothing can happen. I shake my head slightly. What am I thinking? Even if I do find out, it won’t change anything. I have to betray him.

  I will betray him.

  “Why?” His voice is a whisper.

  I search for a reason. Any of the hundred I have will do. “I might recognize you.”

  He laughs. “Have you been kissing people?”

  “No,” I admit. “But it could happen.”

  Both hands drop to his sides. “Interesting. With who?”

  This time I chuckle. The idea is laughable, and for a second I wonder if he’s jealous. I’ve never made anyone jealous. It’s a heady feeling and I’m suddenly out of my depth. Distracted from what I’m supposed to do. “That’s not something you should be thinking about, Lobo. All you have to worry about is convincing me your plan is better than mine.”

  “I think I know a way to do that,” he says in a brisk tone. All traces of warmth and laughter gone. “I’ll come for you in three days. Get some rest, Condesa. You have dark circles under your eyes.”

  I gasp. Not because I don’t think it’s true, but because he has the gall to point it out. His mask ripples again, another smile. He slinks onto the balcony and jumps over the railing, as if three stories high is nothing but a single step between him and the ground. I walk onto the balcony and peer down. He’s nowhere in sight.

  Dawn approaches, the first victorious rays of sunlight streaking against the conquered night. I stare in the direction of the Illustrian keep. Catalina will still be sleeping this early in the day. With the wedding only days away, she’s anticipating me to send her another message.

  And I’m no closer to figuring out what I’m going to do.

  CAPÍTULO

  More wool arrives with breakfast the next morning. It’s rough to the touch and has a hideous, stuffy smell, almost unusable. No doubt Atoc’s doing after my failure yesterday. I sit in the same chair El Lobo occupied only hours earlier, and eye the yellow and ocher strands miserably. The Estrella’s location weighs heavily on my heart.

  “Not up to weaving today?” Suyana asks. “His attendant told me the king was greatly pleased by his wedding gift. Why don’t you weave him something heavier? For winter, perhaps?”

  “He says not to interrupt him anymore,” I say, because I have to say something. I could care less about Atoc and his demands.

  I have the location of the Estrella—thanks to the magically talented Princesa Tamaya. The wedding is days away. I could start a tapestry tonight, send by pygmy-owl—or whatever bird tickles my fancy—and Catalina could have everything she needs this very night. I’d be handing her the throne on a platter, trussed up like a heavily seasoned duck.

  But weaving the message feels too final. It means a win for the Illustrians. It means Catalina on the throne. It means robbing the Llacsans of their voice. I’d be responsible.

  My next exhale is long and unsteady. Suyana says something again, but her words sound warbled, as if she was trying to talk from underwater. “What was that?”

  “Huevos y chorizo with locoto,” Suyana repeats. “That’s what’s for breakfast. Eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She throws me a look of concern. I ignore it because there’s no way I’m eating anything while my stomach is roiling like hot water in a kettle. “What’s the plan for the day?”

  “You have a dress fitting.”

  I make a face.

  “Be kind to them,” Suyana says quietly. “If His Majesty is displeased, they will lose their jobs.”

  She tries to put the breakfast tray on my lap, but I shift away. “Te comprendo.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be
mean,” she says, placing the food on the dresser. “I just thought it needed to be said.”

  “Because I’m an Illustrian?”

  She frowns. “Because you’re going to be his wife.”

  I have to force myself from shuddering. I finish with breakfast and hand her the tray. “I’ll drown them with compliments.”

  Suyana smiles and takes the tray.

  Three seamstresses prod me into a short-sleeved red-and-white dress. Patterns of golden thread are stitched onto the thick belt. The full, ruffled skirt swishes around my ankles as I shift on my feet. Something in my pocket moves.

  While the women busy themselves with cutting more fabric, I glance inside and almost cry out in surprise. My stupid lizard has snuck into my pocket. It would have been funny if there weren’t three Llacsans hovering close by. I frown at the creature, urging him to be silent.

  “Condesa, step over here,” says one of the seamstresses.

  I carefully climb onto the step that sits in front of a full-length mirror. I stare at the girl in the reflection. She’s thinner than I remember, with pronounced cheekbones and collarbones, dark smudges under her eyes. The dress cinches at the waist. Catalina would approve.

  I look unhappy, this side of gaunt, and no amount of pretty fabric can hide the panic curling around my edges like wisps of fog hovering over Lago Yaku. I don’t recognize myself. Even my hands are soft from the lack of training. The muscles I’d worked so hard to sculpt. The mirror shows the person I resemble the most, and it’s not me.

  I look like Catalina.

  Disappointment sucks me down into a quicksand of self-loathing. I’m only a copy of someone else. Just a decoy. I’m not really her. I’m not me. I don’t know who I am or where I belong, if anywhere at all.

  “You’ll wear a woolen pom-pom necklace in blues and purples. I’m working on the headdress tonight. I’m sorry it’s not ready for you to try on, but it’ll be in the same colors as the poms.”

  “It’s fine.” I study the dress again, and I’m unable to stop the corners of my lips turning downward.

  “Condesa, don’t you like it?” one of the women asks, hesitant and careful.