Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  And I can’t help but feel they have a point in wanting to destroy the Estrella. It’s only brought destruction and death. Maybe they’re right: Maybe no one should have access to that kind of power.

  What would Catalina do if our positions were reversed? She’s softer and kinder than me. If I could understand—and potentially support—the other side, why couldn’t she?

  I need to speak with her. Because of Rumi, I have the perfect opportunity.

  The balcony doors remain shut, and the bird seems disappointed, but I take up more threads and start a new tapestry. In a couple of hours, a new owl stares back at me, the words MEET IN EL MERCADO. ELEVENTH BELL woven across his wings. She’ll know the place. It’s the one we talked about over and over again back at the keep—the first place we dreamed of visiting after we’d won the war against the Llacsans.

  The salteñeria.

  Guilt nags me. Sneaking into La Ciudad will put her in danger, but the risk is worth it. I can only hope that after talking to both Catalina and El Lobo, I’ll know what to do.

  And whose side I’ll be on.

  CAPÍTULO

  When the tenth bell tolls, I’m dressed and ready for our visit into La Ciudad. Suyana outfitted me in a soft yellow dress and a shawl stitched with mint-green flowers along its fringed hem. I’m reading the book Rumi lent me, my nerves alive and fluttering like a swarm of delicate butterflies. I can’t wait to see Catalina, even if I’m dreading our conversation. There’s a chance she’ll understand where I’m coming from. Maybe she’s even seen something in the stars that will support my argument. Maybe Luna is as sick of war as I am.

  The door opens—but it’s not the healer. Juan Carlos strides in halfway to eleventh bell. He has a broad smile on his face. “Salteña time!”

  I look over his shoulder, but there’s no one else. “You’re taking me?”

  “Rumi said this was on your schedule today.” He squints at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

  Of course not. I need to go into El Mercado. I wanted—had thought, rather—I’d have a different escort. But our conversation yesterday must have spooked Rumi. Perhaps he wanted to keep his distance because it was the smart thing to do. I should feel the same, and I do on some level. I shake off my disappointment, throwing up the wall that should have been there all along, and focus on the most important thing.

  Meeting Catalina.

  The sun is bright outside, but I don’t mind the heat from its rays. Fresh air mingles in my lungs as they expand, taking in this little moment of freedom. Juan Carlos casts a lazy smile in my direction and gestures toward the stables.

  “Lady’s choice. On horse or on foot?”

  I glance up toward the sun, pulling my bottom lip with my teeth. I want to walk, to drag the time outside, getting my fill of unfettered blue skies. But the eleventh bell will toll any minute and I can’t miss the chance of seeing Catalina.

  “Caballo,” I say.

  Juan Carlos nods and snaps his fingers at a stable hand. In moments we’re riding toward La Ciudad. Inkasisa’s hilly landscape surrounds us, shadows peppering its curves and jagged peaks, flecking the earth with secrets and hidden enemies. Beyond the misty mountain rests the azure Lago Yaku, hiding the most powerful secret of all. I turn my attention to what lies ahead, at the foot of Qullqi Orqo Mountain.

  La Ciudad Blanca. It takes shape as we ride closer, the red tiles sitting on top of the white walls and glittering under the sun. The city sprawls beneath the lavender mountain like a servant at the feet of its brooding sovereign.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Juan Carlos asks me.

  There’s no denying it. “Yes.”

  “Must have been hard living in a fortress all these years.”

  I side-eye him. “Still trying to earn my trust?”

  He laughs but doesn’t say anything else. I’m suddenly annoyed that my life is composed of secrets, that even the people in it aren’t capable of telling the truth. And I’m the worst one of them all. We’d shared old wounds the other day and built something akin to friendship.

  “It was hard,” I say abruptly. “I remember what life was like before the revolt. My grandmother baked a lot and we always came into La Ciudad for salteñas in the early afternoon. My nanny liked to weave with me after dinner, right before my parents would tuck me into bed.”

  He nudges his horse closer. “My family owned a tavern. I learned how to make silpancho when I was seven. Even now I remember how the customers liked the crispiness of my potatoes.”

  “You cook.” I chuckle. “Of course you do. What’s your specialty?”

  “I make the best sándwich de chola,” he says with a proud smile. “Double servings of braised pork, locoto, and my queso blanco and tomato salsa. The marraquetas are toasted on the grill, extra butter.”

  He’s passionate about food. Huh. Who knew? If I had any talent in the kitchen, I’d spend all my time concocting new dishes, not watching over a wayward condesa.

  “Why are you a guard then?” I lightly place a hand on his arm. “You should have your own tavern.”

  His smile dims. “It’s my dream, but it’s too risky. Besides, I’m needed in the castillo.”

  “Too risky?”

  He nods. “It’s just me providing for my family. My father left us when it became clear my mother’s family wouldn’t accept him. I think he thought it’d be easier for us if he weren’t around. But my mother loved him and the day he left, he took her smiles with him.”

  I frown. “Did your abuelos accept you?”

  “There’s not many people I can’t charm, Condesa,” he says with a wink.

  “Now that I do believe.” We reach the outer walls of La Ciudad and proceed forward, taking turns on the winding roads, passing homes, shops, and several inns. Carts ramble by, carrying various wares. Sentries patrol the cobbled streets. Many are stationed at the white temple near the Plaza del Sol.

  The square teems with noise and people. Everything I miss and love, everything I crave and want after this is all over. We leave our horses in the public stalls, Juan Carlos depositing a single nota in the waiting hands of the stable master, and we walk the rest of the way to buy salteñas. Half of the plaza is being rebuilt after Atoc’s earthquake shook the ground.

  The square is dusty, and half buried under cracked stone and piles of rubble, and despite the general bustle of activity, the people walking around us resemble the nearly destroyed city center. Broken and badly in need of repair. Some have fresh cuts and scrapes, missing limbs and patched heads. They wear forlorn and stricken expressions, because they know just as much as I do that they can’t trust the ground beneath them. Not with Atoc lording over us all.

  And everywhere the scent of dirt and grime covers the people of La Ciudad. With the water shortage, there’s no respite from cracked lips and dry elbows. No salvation from parched throats and bodies in need of cleansing.

  “I’m surprised Atoc allowed this outing,” I say as we walk avenues filled with people buying and selling whatever food is available: tomatoes and choclo, yuca and bags of beans kept in barrels.

  “He’s gone for the day,” he says. “On a visit to the Lowlands.”

  Which is about a day’s ride from La Ciudad. We walk past more shops, and through the windows I spot various wares for sale: fabrics, tinctures, and shelves overflowing with bars of soap. The corners of my mouth pull down. Perfect for empty bathtubs, since there’s not nearly enough water for drinking let alone bathing, but there’s plenty of everything else for sale. Items made possible by the planting and selling of the koka leaves. How long can we survive before we’re invaded by our neighboring countries, intent on the massive plots of land dedicated to the drug?

  Murals of Princesa Tamaya decorate the walls, each collecting an assortment of wildflowers in honor of Atoc’s imprisoned sister. Now that I’ve seen her, I can attest the murals depict her accurately.

  A movement draws my attention. The tail end of a woolly anaconda sna
kes around the feet of unsuspecting vendors. I squint, and the creature must sense my gaze because it stops and peers up at me through silvery eyes—my moon thread.

  It followed me to La Ciudad! With something like a cheeky expression on its woven face, it slithers into the shadows, vanishing without a trace. What on earth is it doing all the way out here?

  “Condesa?” Juan Carlos asks.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, I thought something fell from a stall.”

  He resumes his careful study of the plaza, looking for potential threats. I study the plaza too, suspicion flaring. Sure enough, my animals are scattered all around. Frogs hopping in and out of pots. Lizard on a windowsill, enjoying the bright sun. Jaguar weaving throughout the crowd, silent, and the llama spitting woolly balls at unsuspecting shoppers.

  When they catch me staring, they slink into the darkness, almost sulky, and vanish completely out of sight. But I still feel their presence. Ever watchful.

  We approach the salteña stall. Juan Carlos turns to me, eyebrows lifting. “How many are you going to devour? Your appetite is legendary in the castillo.”

  Something catches my eye, through the long line of people waiting to buy the savory pastry, past the other stalls selling choripán—a figure waiting in the shadows, hiding underneath a wide-brimmed hat and colorful Llacsan clothing.

  Catalina.

  She nods from across the gulf between us, then disappears into the alley next to the shop.

  I return my attention to Juan Carlos. “Dos, por favor.”

  “Only two?” he scoffs. “You’ll regret it. I’m buying you four.”

  When it’s our turn to order, Juan Carlos marches to the seller and I make my move. As he’s asking for eight salteñas, all spicy, I take a small step backward. Then another. The chatter swirling around us rises and I melt into the crowd, embracing the long arms of La Ciudad, disappearing so fully, I’m sure even the other guards who’ve been silently tailing us are thrown when I vanish.

  Catalina sees me at the mouth of the alley and hurtles into my arms, the hat flying off her head. I latch onto her.

  “You’re here,” she says, her face flushed. “You’re really here. When I got your message, I couldn’t believe it. Flying birds, Ximena?”

  I shiver at the sound of my name. “I don’t have much time. There’s a guard—well, several—and—” My voice breaks. Now that I’m seeing her, the expression of relief on her face, gazing at me in adoration, I find the words I need to say are lodged at the back of my throat, unwilling to shatter the bright moment of seeing her, my friend. My condesa.

  “What is it?” Catalina asks. She grips my arms. “I know about Ana. I’ve had spies planted in the city ever since you left. I know you were there, and”—she shrugs helplessly—“that you couldn’t do anything to save her.”

  I take a step away. There’s a hint of accusation in her tone, or maybe it’s a question. As if she needed to hear from me that saving Ana wasn’t possible. A flutter of unease passes through me. “Atoc was never going to release her. The messenger I killed was his cousin.”

  “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  Catalina stares at me, at the space I created between us. “Why isn’t Sofía with you?”

  “Gone,” I whisper.

  She sags against the alley wall. “When?”

  “That first day.”

  Her voice cracks. “We have to tell Manuel.”

  “Has he sent word?”

  Both hands cover her face as her shoulders start trembling. Her reply comes out mumbled. I almost don’t hear it. “There’s been nothing.”

  “Catalina,” I whisper. Her hands drop to her sides. “I want to tell you—I want to ask you—something. I wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t crucial.”

  Her tears carve silvery tracks down her cheeks. She takes a fortifying breath and then nods.

  The moment has come, and my throat feels dry. “This is so important, and if I don’t get the words right, any hope of peace might be gone.”

  “Peace?”

  I tell her about Princesa Tamaya. About her plan to destroy the Estrella, about her intentions of uniting Llacsans and Illustrians with the hope of a stronger Inkasisa. I tell her about the lives we could save if she relinquished her designs for the throne. If she walked away from the rebellion we’ve been planning for most of our lives.

  As I talk, her face becomes leached of all color. She’s using the wall to keep upright, her hands gripping the stone. I skip telling her of the friends I’ve made within the castillo. I bypass all mention of Rumi, of Suyana, and present the argument as coolly and objectively as I can.

  But she breaks down anyway. Sobs wreck her body. I reach for her, but she shoves me away.

  “You want me to forget about what I’ve lost?” Catalina whispers. “Ignore the horror of what happened to our families? Everyone I loved has left me. They’ve even turned you against me, and I have no one.”

  “Catalina,” I say. “Stop. I haven’t been turned—I’ve been informed. Do you want another war?”

  Her fists cover the tears leaking from her eyes. “I hate them. I hate them.”

  She isn’t hearing me.

  “Do you even want to be queen?” I press. “Think about it. The amount of responsibility on your shoulders? You’d have the whole country looking to you. Imagine the pressure of getting it right. Do you really want to lead us?”

  She takes a step back, drawing away slowly as if I were a predator. “How can you ask me that? Of course I want to be queen.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think you do. I think you’re doing this for them—for the family you’ve lost. But it’s not what you want. Not really. To be a queen, you can’t be everyone’s friend.”

  “Luna. What are you saying?”

  I have to make her understand, even if I hurt her. She needs to know what it will take to lead Inkasisa. “If you’re queen, not everyone will like you. Tough decisions are part of the job, and you won’t be able to please everyone. Catalina, you’re too soft. Too kind and sweet and impressionable. Inkasisa needs someone with iron in their blood. That life isn’t for you. I love you, you’re my best friend, and I know you. If you forget the throne, you’ll be free to be the person you’re supposed to be. Can’t you understand what I’m saying?”

  She flinches with every word, cowering against the wall. I know she believes the truth in what I’m saying. “And you think this Tamaya will make a better queen than me?”

  I force myself to push the words out, knowing how this will hurt. How it will hurt us both. But she needs to know how I feel. Me, her friend. Not a decoy. “I do.”

  “No,” she says, straightening from the wall. “No. This isn’t you. They’ve destroyed my friend.”

  “Catalina,” I say firmly, “no one can tell me what to think.”

  She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Then you’re not the person I thought you were. You’re a traitor. A rat. I won’t give up. If you’re not with me”—her voice cracks—“then you’re against me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  I shift tactics. “You’ve always tried to plan the revolt around fewer casualties. This is your chance to save lives. Take it and step aside.”

  “I can’t give up,” Catalina whispers. “My whole life has been about winning the throne. What will everyone say if I just quit?”

  “I think they’d prefer to be alive.” I splay my hands. “This is the better way.”

  Her expression shutters and I know I’ve lost her.

  “I’ll lead the revolution on my own,” she says. “I don’t need a decoy anymore. No more leading from the shadows. I am the condesa. You’ll see how much iron I have in my spine. You may not believe in me anymore, but I do. I’ll show you. I’ll show you all.”

  She dries her tears and picks up the discarded hat, calmly brushing off the dirt. Without another look in my direction, she walks to the other end of the alley. Her sh
oulders push back, as if preparing for battle, and it’s that gesture that splinters my heart.

  Luna. Please let her forgive me.

  La Ciudad waits for me at the other end of the alley and I veer toward it, wiping the tears clutching my eyelashes. When I step into the sunlight, Juan Carlos is across the plaza, sword drawn, his neck muscles tight as he searches the crowd. I make it easy for him and step into plain sight, pretending to admire a barrel full of salted and dried fish at the first stall within my reach.

  He’s at my elbow in seconds. “Condesa.”

  I look at him innocently. “I think I’d like something else to eat.”

  He scowls. “Where did you go?”

  I shrug. “I wandered off. I’ve been trapped for weeks and wanted to take in the sights.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that’s what happened?” He takes my arm and hauls me away from the stall, away from the plaza, and back toward the stables.

  “No,” I say. “But maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

  “Do what?” he asks.

  I take one last look at the disappearing plaza, at its noise and people living free of invisible chains. “Escape.”

  CAPÍTULO

  On the night El Lobo is supposed to come, I pick out the least ruffled dress in my arsenal and put it on carefully, making sure its hems lie exactly right. Chewing on mint leaves, I straighten the room, making the bed and wiping the dresser of any accumulated dust. I braid my hair and put on rouge the way Catalina taught me.

  For some unfathomable reason.

  I try not to think about it as I open the balcony doors, letting Luna’s light flood the room like an untamed river current. I try not to think about it as I sit in front of the loom, getting lost as I weave moon thread into a new tapestry. My basket of wool is nearly overwhelming; every day more of it arrives. Soon I’ll have enough to outfit every person in the damn castillo. Or to populate the whole of Inkasisa with woolly animals.