Woven in Moonlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  In the center of it all stands a circular dais where a pretty Llacsan girl dances. She sways and jumps, while three other musicians blow into their harmonicas. Across the room sits Juan Carlos, his shoulders shaking in laughter to whatever his companions are saying. His eyes land on mine and he straightens, attention immediately falling to the boy at my side.

  Rumi nods at him and Juan Carlos smiles in return, then lifts his glass in a salute to me, winking.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “He’s the only family I have left,” he says. “A cousin.”

  I frown. “You mean he’s related to Atoc?”

  “No,” he says. “I mean we share the same blood.”

  Taruka deposits Rumi into an empty cubicle and, with a scowl in my direction, indicates the bench across from him.

  “Dos apis,” Rumi says. “Por favor.”

  Taruka ruffles his hair. “You’re the only one I know who likes to drink api after dinner and not with breakfast. I’ll heat it up.”

  “What is this place?” I ask when she walks away. “And who is Taruka? I think she’d like to feed me to an anaconda, bit by bit.”

  “She’s very protective,” he says with a laugh. “And you’re a new face here, don’t forget. She’ll warm up to you in time. My mother and Taruka grew up together. They were best friends.”

  I chance a look back to Taruka. She stands by the hearth, stirring a steaming pot. She glances in my direction, her brows scrunched together. The place teems with people, and many have their attention on us. Some seem curious, but a few don’t try to hide their disapproval. Most are in the cubicles, but several stand around in groups. I scan every face. Some look vaguely familiar. In fact, I’m sure I’ve seen a few of them around the castillo grounds: a gardener who cares for the plants surrounding my favorite bench; guards who stroll the hallways; maids coming in and out of the kitchen area.

  My heart thrums wildly. There are so many of them.

  “How many spies do you have in the castillo?” I ask in an awed whisper.

  Rumi lifts a brow.

  “I wondered how you moved around the castillo so easily. I figured you had help,” I say, gesturing to the crowd. “But not this much help.”

  This place isn’t a random bar in the city—it exists for the cause, created around Rumi. It’s more than a tavern. Rumi brought me to the rebel hideout.

  The api arrives, hot and ready to drink.

  “Umaq is here,” Taruka says when she slides the drink in front of me. I take a sip, enjoying the tartness from the pineapple mixed with the purple corn. The cinnamon stick adds plenty of spice to the frothy beverage. Rumi drinks half of his in seconds.

  “Tell him to come over,” he says. “Juan Carlos, and the rest of the group too.”

  She nods as I take another long sip. Seconds later a shadow falls across the table and I look up, expecting the face of a friend. But it’s not my charming guard. I spit out my drink. Peering down at me, a cold smile on his thin, long face, is the man who tortured me, who gave the order to kill Sofía. Who threatened my people and demanded I betray Rumi.

  Atoc’s right-hand man.

  The priest Sajra.

  Outrage blossoms on his face when he sees me. “You fool! Why have you brought her here?”

  “I don’t answer to you, Umaq,” Rumi says coolly. “And I suggest you welcome her.”

  I listen to their exchange in horror. This cretin put me through the worst kind of misery. I stand up and rush at him, my hands reaching, ready to claw his eyes out. Rumi wraps an arm around my waist and holds me back. I struggle against his grip, pushing my elbow deep into his stomach. Rumi’s hold only tightens.

  “Stop,” he whispers against my neck. “He’s one of us.”

  My heart thunders against my ribs. I stop struggling, stop moving. I’m numb with shock, disappointment. “Let go of me.”

  Rumi releases me. “Certainly.”

  He’s watching me carefully, as if I’m a volcano about to shoot ash and hot lava. I seriously just might. The priest slides into the booth as if it’s a forgone conclusion that I’ll remain in his company, that I’ll talk to him, that I’ll accept this new development.

  I clench my fists. “I’m leaving.”

  Rumi stands in front of me, blocking my sight of the priest. “Condesa.”

  I flinch at the title. What am I doing here? Maybe I was wrong about all of it: my feelings for Rumi, siding with him instead of Catalina, thinking Princesa Tamaya belongs on the throne. Luna, that hurts. If she can align herself with someone like Sajra, then I want no part of their plans.

  “There’s nothing you can say that will convince me to stay.”

  Juan Carlos is now standing next to his cousin, along with a few more people I recognize. Court nobles dressed down. Guards not in uniform. I try to move past them, but Juan Carlos drops a hand on my shoulder.

  “Wait a moment,” he whispers.

  I pull away. “Absolutely not.”

  Rumi is looking at me silently, considering. Then he turns to the priest. “What did you do to her?”

  Sajra—Umaq—polishes off the last of my api. “What was necessary.”

  In his response, I hear condescension and superiority. He’s valuable to them, and he knows how to exploit that.

  Juan Carlos mutters a low curse. Atoc’s nobles shoot me sympathetic glances. I barely notice. Rumi places both hands on the table and leans forward until he’s inches from the priest. “What does that mean?”

  “He tortured me,” I say.

  The priest smirks. Rumi lunges, swiping my abandoned glass and shattering it on the table. He holds up a shard against the priest’s neck. “You weren’t to touch her.”

  “How else were we to know we could trust her?” the priest hisses. “I did the work neither of you could do. But now that you’ve brought her here, it was for nothing. Step back.”

  “Rumi,” Juan Carlos whispers.

  “He—” Rumi breaks off, letting out as sharp a curse as I’ve ever heard from him.

  “I know.” Juan Carlos takes a breath and switches to the old language, speaking low and urgent until Rumi lowers the glass shard from the priest’s neck. His cousin pulls him away so that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Rumi faces me. There’s regret in his expression, but also rage, barely contained. “I’ll take you back.”

  My face is carved in stone, refusing to betray the tumult I’m experiencing under my skin. The shock of seeing the priest, the disappointment of learning he’s involved with Princesa Tamaya.

  Rumi pulls me away from everyone’s watchful gazes. “His part in our plans can’t be replaced. He has Atoc’s ear and influence. That didn’t come easy or immediately, and replacing the priest would be tantamount to giving up before the real fight begins.”

  It’s my choice. I can’t stand the priest, but it’s clear the people I respect in this room had no idea of the tactics he used against me. The horrible truth, whether I can stomach it or not, is that Sajra was right to suspect me. I’d made the decision to betray Rumi if I didn’t get my hands on the Estrella. They’ll never know how close I came to giving myself away. I hate the priest for what he put me through. I’ll never forgive or trust him, but I can hear what else these people have to say. I owe them that much.

  I sit in the booth and level a look at Umaq. “Stay away from me.”

  There’s that brittle smile, full of ice. Little does he know of the fire deep in my belly.

  I won’t let him touch me again.

  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t enjoy it,” Umaq says.

  I flick one of the shards of glass at him, and he snarls when it slices into his tunic sleeve.

  I bare my teeth in a feral smile.

  The rest of the group slides into the booth until we’re all pressed together like books on shelves. More drinks are ordered, along with bowls of sopa de mani topped with roasted carrots and chopped cilantro, and it’s in the commotion that the mood l
ightens, shoulders relax, the tight lines around their eyes disappear. Easy camaraderie returns and private jokes are shared.

  I’m the intruder in their inner circle. I can feel their watchful stares as they assess me, the expression on my face, the way Rumi sits closer to my side. They are protective of him and looking at me as if I’m a potential threat, a weakness that might make their entire foundation sink.

  In the hubbub, Rumi presses a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. In front of everyone. The chatter hushes as my face inflames. Juan Carlos, sitting on the other side of Rumi, leans forward and gives a suggestive eye wag that only prolongs my blush.

  Rumi blinks long and slow, staring straight ahead. That’s his only reaction to his cousin’s gesture. If possible, my face flushes even more. Umaq makes a sniffing sound, like a predator searching for blood.

  One of the nobles, an older woman with lustrous graying hair, clears her throat. “As charming as all this is, I’d like to know why you saw fit to bring the condesa to the tavern.”

  It’s as if cold water has been doused all over me. I’m still deceiving them. The truth sits deep in my belly, an indigestible lump.

  Rumi needs to know who he’s dealing with.

  Tonight.

  My pulse races, but before I can dwell on confessing, Rumi takes ahold of the conversation. Thoughtfully explaining how many rebels are hidden within the castillo, ready to pounce the moment Atoc’s weapon is destroyed.

  The Estrella. I’m the only one present who knows its current whereabouts.

  “Without the Estrella, he’s weak and surrounded,” Rumi says to me. “We have soldiers in his army, servants and stable hands, and more nobility on our side than you can guess.”

  He takes both of my hands. My breath catches.

  “But without the Estrella, I can’t give the signal. There’s no chance of success without its destruction. Condesa, tell me where it’s hidden so I can destroy it myself.”

  This is the moment. The final nail in the coffin between Catalina and me. Turning my back on long years of friendship and duty. The second I give away the location, it’s truly over for her and all the Illustrians hoping for her reign. The silence stretches, poking and stabbing between us as I mull over the decision. Catalina’s heartbroken face swims in my mind.

  “If I tell you,” I say haltingly, “what will happen to the Illustrians under my watch?”

  “They are welcome in La Ciudad,” Rumi says. “None will be harmed. I consider them peoples of Inkasisa, our equals and allies.”

  Juan Carlos is uncharacteristically silent. The rest of them watch me from hooded gazes, their guards up and not daring to make a sound as I consider Rumi’s explanation. I sense how important my next words are to them.

  I shut my eyes. “You swear?”

  His hands tighten around mine. “I swear to Luna.”

  My eyes fly open and Rumi is looking at me with a long, searing stare.

  Atoc’s reign will be over. No more threat of war. Tamaya as queen. I find the choice is easier to make than I thought it would be. “The Estrella is hidden at the bottom of Lago Yaku.”

  Rumi’s smile is joyous and loud cheers erupt as he cradles both of my cheeks in his calloused hands and kisses me thoroughly. His happiness is a well deep within him, nearly overflowing. Conversation renews around us, and dimly I hear Juan Carlos talk about Tamaya’s execution. I pull away from Rumi. He offers input about the princesa and the plan to save her from death, gesturing wildly and every now and again, glancing at me fondly.

  But I shut out his words.

  He doesn’t know who he’s really trusting with his life. Who he really cares for. He wants no more secrets between us, but I have one more that can hurt us. Under the table, I clench my fists against the top of my thighs.

  Traitor. Rat.

  We’re outside in the cool night, walking back to the castillo, neither of us in any particular hurry. Luna is high above our heads, her slanting light guiding the way back to my prison. We all agreed that I needed to be situated in the castillo until the last moment. The wedding is in three days. Before then, the rebels will alert everyone in the castillo when the Estrella’s been destroyed. Rumi’s holding my hand; the other is placed lightly on the hilt of his sword. We’re both wearing our masks, which almost makes what I have to say easier.

  Almost.

  With every step, the crack in my heart widens and splits open. My hand is clammy in his, but I hold on anyway, because it might be the last time. The thought traps my breath in my chest. My fingers curl into my palm. I can’t let this go further, not without him knowing everything. “Rumi, I have to tell you something.”

  “Sounds serious,” he says after a moment. “Can it wait?”

  I shake my head. “It has to be said.”

  His pupils are black wells in a calm circle of deep brown, but his shoulders give him away. He tenses. “Tell me, Catalina.”

  I inhale a deep breath and force myself to say the words quickly. “That’s not my name. It’s Ximena. I’m the condesa’s decoy.”

  He jerks away as if I’ve struck him. “What?”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  He stands in a stunned stupor for a moment and then hunches over, as if to protect himself from the next hit. I reach out to touch his arm, but he steps away. The silence stretches, and I breathe deeply, trying to control the frisson of panic coursing through my body. My heart shoves against my breastbone.

  He stares at the ground, refusing to meet my gaze. “Explain yourself.”

  “Rumi, look at me.”

  He slowly lifts his head. The cold, shuttered expression in his eyes threatens to do me in. I contemplate running, but my feet won’t move. I owe him the truth. All of it.

  “I’m Catalina’s decoy,” I say. “I have been since I was eight years old. When Atoc demanded her presence at the castillo, it was my duty to take her place.”

  Rumi narrows his gaze. “Why? To assassinate the king?”

  I bite my lip. “To find the Estrella, but if that wasn’t possible, then yes. I was going to kill him on my own.”

  “That’s not all of it,” he says softly. “Otherwise you would have done it by now. You were sent as a spy.”

  Once again I hear Catalina’s words.

  Traitor. Rat.

  Is that all that I am? I can’t seem to stop hurting the people I care about.

  “You don’t deny it,” he says. “And you snared El Lobo; that must have been quite a triumph for you, Illustrian.”

  My blood is rioting. “Don’t make this ugly.”

  “It already is.”

  “Rumi,” I say, fighting for patience. “I’ve changed. But I wasn’t the one you needed to convince. Catalina will never give up her right to the throne. She’s going to bring down whatever army she has left during Carnaval. I know you won’t believe this—”

  “Very true,” he says, deceptively calm.

  “Rumi, listen to me.” Once again I reach for him, but he won’t let me near and I crumble. “I gave you the location of the Estrella. You, not her.”

  “You might have lied. This could be part of your plan.”

  “I’m not lying to you.” A flash of indignation flares. “You kept your identity a secret too.”

  “You’re comparing what you did to my behavior? We both took off our masks, and I thought we were on equal footing, but you still had one more trick up your sleeve!” He spits out a bitter laugh. “But fine. That’s fair. We’re liars, the both of us. All the more reason why I can’t trust you.” He pauses. “Or myself.”

  Something detonates within me, bright and warm. I worry that it’s hope. He still cares.

  “You were right after all,” he says softly. “This was never going to work between us. Too many secrets.”

  It lands like a physical hit. I almost double over, but I force myself to remain upright. It’s hard to hear his bitterness and disappointment. Hard to hear that it’s over—even though it was inevita
ble. My eyes burn, but I will myself not to cry. I choke on the words. “What happens now?”

  “You know everything,” he whispers. “The princesa, the location of the Estrella. My identity. Everything. You can ruin us. Destroy everything we’ve worked for.”

  I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Is that true?” He leans forward, examining my face. “Not even if it meant saving your people?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I know,” Rumi says in an almost gentle voice. It sounds terribly sad. He swallows and unsheathes his sword. “You’re a liability. I can’t—I won’t—let you leave.”

  A weird numbness spreads over me. There’s no going back from this. My hand moves to the hilt of my weapon. Seconds pass as I deliberate. And then I let it drop. I choose not to fight him. If I do, the consequences would be irrevocable. Stupidly, I cling to hope that he’ll trust me. That he won’t hurt me or turn me in.

  “You know too much.” He says it like he’s convincing himself. As if he’s gearing up for what he has to do, but not what he wants to do. In this moment he’s both boys I’ve known.

  Rumi, the healer.

  El Lobo, the vigilante.

  I don’t know who will win.

  Rumi holds up his blade and points it at me. He takes a step forward until I’m backed up against the stone wall. The blade presses into my skin, over my heart. I wince when the tip pierces my flesh.

  “I haven’t shared any of this with Catalina. She doesn’t know where the Estrella is. I talked to her myself. Go to Lago Yaku—you’ll see that I’ve told you the truth.”

  Rumi’s control is seconds from shattering; I can see it in the way his hand continues to shake. The cool steel of the blade trembles against my skin.

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “The day Juan Carlos took me to El Mercado for salteñas.”