He takes the dagger’s blade and slices his forearm—the cut is shallow, but I wince anyway. Then he wades into the water, staying close to the bank. He holds out his arm over the stream and blood drips into its depth. Next, he grips the bamboo with both hands and stares intently into the water.
Moments later the water churns, bubbling, and little fins splash the surface. The swarm of fish swims closer to Manuel and I hold my breath. With poised alertness, he lifts the bamboo high, prong side angled down, his feet spread apart, and then slams the stalk into the water. He leaps backward, coming out of the water and hurrying up the bank.
Something definitely writhes on the end of that bamboo stalk, the fish stabbed through the center, probably about a foot in length, maybe a bit more. I step closer as Manuel draws near. He’s caught a piranha. Moonlight glints off its shiny scales, and even in the dim ray of light, I can make out its teeth, each one shaped like the tip of a dagger. It snaps weakly in my general direction before it’s carried off by my companion.
We reach the campsite, my stomach growling. Manuel hands me the bamboo, the scary fish finally dead, and settles into starting the fire. I hold the stalk with one hand while I rummage in his pack for the pan, every now and again checking to make sure the piranha isn’t moving.
Manuel keeps the fire small and manageable, and I hand over the fish and the pan. He points to a rock close to the pit. “Have a seat. It will only be a minute.” He glances around, surveying our surroundings, his eyes a soft pearlescent glow. I’ve always envied his ability to see clearly in the dark, and even more so now that it’s keeping us safe. “There should be a lemon in my bag.”
I dig around and produce a naranja. He looks over and says, “That’ll work.”
He makes quick work of gutting the fish, ridding the bones and the skin. Then he drops it into the pan, where it promptly sizzles. “Remember how my mother made this amazing salsa to go with fish? Papaya and mango, thin slices of the locoto pepper. She likes everything spicy.” His expression clouds. “Liked. My mother liked everything spicy.”
My throat seems to close up. I remember that salsa, but instead of fish, she paired it with quinoa and fried eggs. That was when food wasn’t as hard to come by, before we made the switch to plain rice and potatoes. I want to talk about her, I miss her so much. She was our guiding force back at the Illustrian keep, a constant presence who kept me safe and fed, fighting to keep the memory of my family alive in the minds of all survivors of the revolt. It was her idea for Ximena to be my decoy. Her idea to keep me hidden as a small child, reintroducing me as the companion to the condesa.
Manuel must see the anguish on my face. “She loved you like a daughter.”
“I know.” My voice is careful and hesitant. “I’ll never forget her and everything she sacrificed. Risking the lives of her children for my chance at the throne. I want to honor her, too.”
“Do you ever wonder how she inspired such loyalty?”
“I don’t wonder at it,” I say. “I know how.”
He lifts a brow, silently asking me to elaborate.
“She never asked anyone to do something she wouldn’t do herself. We all loved her because she fought in the revolt, and then routinely snuck into La Ciudad to steal bags of grain and beans for us, despite the danger. She participated in training, ran the same miles as the other soldiers. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for any one of us.” My voice turns wistful. “If she were here, she’d never take the easy way out. She’d face a hundred jungles if it meant a better future for Illustrians. She wouldn’t have run from that jaguar or screamed at the sight of a scorpion.”
Manuel’s tone is gentle. But his words still hurt. “Condesa, you are not my mother.”
As if I didn’t know. I’m not Ana, Ximena, or Sofía. Warriors, all of them. “It was my fault Sofía died.” I keep my gaze away from his, unable to look him in the eye. “It was my idea to have her escort Ximena to the castillo.”
“My sister never did anything she didn’t want to do,” he says firmly.
I frown. “That’s not true—she was following orders. My orders.”
“Because she wanted to honor you. As her sovereign, as her future queen. Sofía would have done anything to keep you safe. That was her choice.” He clears his throat. I can tell the next words will cost him. “I only wish I’d been around to see her grow up.”
I grimace at the undercurrent of longing and regret in his voice. And the sad thing is that I know he would have made the same decision to leave all over again if he could. He believed in our cause that much. He believed in me that much.
“As she grew up, she looked more and more like your mother,” I whisper. “She fought the same way you do. If there was a cup of coffee around, she’d drink it, no matter the time. She liked to train at night when everyone else slept.”
“Like me,” he says.
“Like you.”
I look at the trees enveloping us. He reaches for his pack, pulls out the bamboo utensils. “Why don’t you ever talk about Ximena?”
I’m tempted to answer him. Ximena made a fool of me, told me I don’t have what it takes to be a leader. Manuel thinks the same—probably. I don’t want to know for sure.
“You haven’t wanted to talk,” I say instead. “Remember?”
Manuel falls silent, but I don’t think it’s because I’ve made my point.
He hands me the fork. “We’ll share it. You first.”
I take the plate and utensil and cut a large chunk of the fish. It tastes crispy and delicious, the hint of orange bursting on my tongue. Manuel sits next to me on the large rock, checking for snakes or ants, or whatever else might kill us with a bite or sting. “I don’t mean about her. Not exactly. She was your best friend. How are you feeling?”
“Are you asking me a question as my friend?”
A sheepish expression settles onto his features. “Sort of. I need to know how you’re doing, because if we do somehow reach Paititi, which would be a miracle, whatever requests you make of the king ought to be for the good of all Illustrians and not motivated by revenge.”
I shove the plate of food at him. “You don’t have a very good opinion of me, do you?”
His eyes widen. “Of course I do. Condesa, anyone would feel betrayed and hurt by Ximena’s actions. I feel betrayed and angry. It’d be hard to separate wanting to cause pain from the need to do right by your people. But that doesn’t mean our emotions need to rule our thoughts and our decisions.”
“You were furious when you found out about your family.”
“I didn’t say don’t feel the emotions; I’m saying don’t be ruled by them.”
“I haven’t thought about revenge,” I insist. “My only thought has been to displace the new Llacsan queen and install myself as the queen of Inkasisa. I want Illustrians to have their homes back, to walk freely in La Ciudad without risking arrest or persecution. I don’t believe that Llacsan queen will treat our people fairly.”
“Ximena’s loyalty to the new queen may mean you’ll have to fight her all over again. Are you prepared for that?”
“Today I’m not,” I admit softly. “But when I need to be ready, I will be.”
He nods, satisfied. “I will be with you when the time comes.”
My lips part. I want to reach out and smooth the lines across his brow. This is why I care about him: his noble heart that beats to keep me safe. I know it’s his job; I know it’s a result of Ana’s long training and his desire to make his mother proud. But he’s here for me when no one else is, and that counts more than anything.
We take turns devouring the fish, enjoying having something warm fill our bellies. When we’re done, I stuff the pan back into his bag while he smothers the fire. We crawl under the massive broad-leaf plants of our shelter and settle into the hammock. All that protects us from an attack are flimsy leaves and a sheer netting, and yet that feeling of safety returns.
Darkness blankets the both of us, shrouding good intentions
and conversation topics better left ignored. I haven’t been able to shake the loneliness I heard in Manuel’s voice when he talked about his constant traveling. I knew he’d gone out for a mission; I learned all about it after the fact. Ana was always planning on sending someone to every corner of Inkasisa to secure allies. Not once did I think Manuel would volunteer for the mission.
“You kissed me,” I say softly. “And then you left for three years, and I never once got a letter from you. I didn’t even get a goodbye. Why?”
He sits up abruptly, and the hammock swings wide. “I’m going to sleep out there.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Am I so awful that you’d prefer to risk the jungle?”
“No,” he says. “No. You’re not awful. You’re—” There’s a long, drawn-out pause, and then he loudly exhales and all of his words come out in a rush. “Catalina”—I startle at the use of my name—“I messed up. I never should have kissed you, never should have spent time with you the way that I did. I’m a guard, you’re my sovereign. So please drop the subject. Don’t look for something that isn’t there. Nothing can ever happen between us.” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I need you to respect my wishes. Can you do that?”
It’s in that moment I realize how much hope I’d had for him and me. I’d clung to it for three years, that elusive wisp of hope, and with his words, it fades into the nothing it always was.
“You should have said goodbye.”
He sighs. “You’re right, I ought to have. But I didn’t trust myself. I’m sorry, Catalina. For all of it. Can we proceed as …” He breaks off, clearly uncertain what label to use.
“Friends?” I ask dryly.
He hesitates and I nudge his knee. “That feels too familiar—”
“Manuel, compromise is a delightful word. I think you ought to get better acquainted with it.”
And for the first time since I’ve laid eyes on him in this awful place, he laughs. “Yes, all right. Friends.”
We settle into a silence that almost feels companionable, even as disappointment clings to every corner of my heart. Even the hidden parts. I want him to be more than just my friend, more than just my guard. But his feelings have clearly changed in the three years we’ve been apart. I need to respect his wishes and somehow convince my heart to move on. The only thought that remotely cheers me is his willingness to be friends.
And friends aren’t afraid to apologize to each other.
CAPÍTULO
Once
By the next afternoon, we’re still hopelessly, frustratingly lost. We snake deeper into the jungle, plucking mangoes and avocados, peeling and eating them as we walk beneath the tangled green arches. Every time there’s a clearing among the treetops, Manuel looks for the hill with the dip in the middle, but we never find that particular landmark again. Instead we pass by a myriad of stone pillars nearly swallowed up by thick vines and roots.
Manuel never loses the tightness in his shoulders. While the hand gripping the handle of his machete is steady, the skin around his knuckles is white.
“You’re worried,” I say, breaking his rule of silence. We haven’t seen any Illari in what feels like days, haven’t encountered anything enormous with teeth either. He’s killed a few snakes, pointed out tarantulas as big as my palm, but other than that, the jungle has been quiet. Eerily so.
He must agree with me, because he replies, though it’s barely a whisper, “I’d prefer it if we knew where we were going.”
At all times, I walk behind Manuel as he clears a way forward, that great weapon of his swinging. He doesn’t turn to face me, but I can hear his frustration all the same. “That’s not the only thing bothering you,” I say.
Manuel is quiet for a long moment. Just when I think the conversation is over, he slows down enough for me to catch up. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’ve traveled deep into the jungle and always, always, I’ve encountered the Illari. I’ve run from them, fought them, and hidden under their noses. But we haven’t seen any since the caimán.”
It seems like a blessing to me. “And why is that a bad thing?”
“It must mean there’s a greater threat. I’ve said it’d be wise to fear what the Illari fear … and the longer we’re lost, the more chance we have of stumbling upon this evil.”
His words are scary, or they ought to be. While I certainly don’t want to run headfirst into what’s confounding the Illari, a small part of me appreciates that Manuel is finally confiding in me. Talking to me as if I weren’t his charge but a regular traveling companion. “What do we do then?”
Manuel rolls back his shoulders. “We keep walking. To stay still in this place means courting death.” He shoots me a quick look. “I’m frightening you, aren’t I?”
I lift my chin. “Yes. But I can take it.”
He smiles and keeps pace with me.
We walk for hours and hours. Everything looks the same. At least to me, anyway. Manuel huffs irritated noises as the time passes. The strain takes its toll. Worry settles onto my shoulders and presses hard. How will we ever find Paititi? Every step might be taking us away from the Illari, away from any hope of convincing them to march on La Ciudad, and closer to what threatens the jungle.
We might be risking our lives for nothing.
Still, we press on.
My legs are sore, and the mosquitos are rampant, buzzing in my ears, flying in front of my face. The trees become taller and taller, until not even pockets of sunlight poke through, ensuring everything below my feet is dead or decaying. Clumps of dirt and mulch squish underneath my boots. The air feels wet and sticky, and murderously hot.
But somehow, none of my misery prevents me from seeing the marvelous. This verdant forest houses some of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. Manuel shows me a vivid green leaf that when mashed and mixed with water creates a purple dye. I wish he would have warned me—both of my hands look as if I’ve dunked them in beet juice.
Then there are the birds in every color imaginable. Rainbow-hued parrots and determined hummingbirds sweep above us. Monkeys and sloths are constant features—as are the capybaras and armadillos. I want to spend time with all of them, but Manuel keeps us at a quick pace. The bottoms of my feet are raw, and before long I’m hobbling along, limping over tree roots and puddles deep with mud. Wonderful. More blisters.
I try not to complain, but after an hour of this, the pain becomes excruciating. The blisters on my heels return with a vengeance. When I scramble over a log and land on the other side, a moan escapes me. Manuel immediately turns. “What is it?”
I shake my head, not wanting to be weak or a burden anymore. Both of which I feel keenly.
He narrows his gaze at me. “¿Qué te pasa?”
“Nada,” I mutter, slowly walking past him. “Let’s keep going.”
Manuel snakes his arm around my waist, and together we move forward. He’s half carrying me with one arm, while his free hand thwacks at the dense greenery clogging the way forward. “You’re limping again.”
“Barely.”
“You can hardly stand.”
“Stop exaggerating.”
He stops and glares down at me. “I never exaggerate. We have to find a dry place so I can look at your feet.”
“I’m fine—”
“Stop lying to me,” he says calmly. “You’re so stubborn.”
“And you’re bossy.”
His brow creases, but we resume hobbling. I won’t admit it out loud, but his support is the only thing that’s keeping me upright. Mist curls around us like a tight fist, a dangerous blow to our sight. Manuel’s Moonsight gleams through the jungle and at last we find a cave, nearly hidden by several tall oaks. He peers inside, the soft glow coming from his gaze illuminating the interior. The walls are jagged and damp. Wild mushrooms grow between the crevices.
I stumble inside and Manuel gently lowers me to the ground. He kneels in front of me and unties the leather laces, then pulls both boots off. I wince,
tucking my chin toward my chest, fighting tears. Even that hurts.
“Condesa,” he murmurs, examining my feet.
Angry blisters near bursting mar my heels and the tops of my toes.
“How long have you been hurting?” he asks quietly.
“Not long.”
His face tilts up toward mine, grim and serious, anger deep within the dark pools of his eyes. “Try again.”
“Several hours.”
“You can’t keep things like this from me. Blisters can lead to infection, and that would be catastrophic here.”
“I didn’t want to be weak,” I mumble.
“It’s not weak to address sores on your feet.” He stands and glances over his shoulder to the cavern entrance. The trees gently sway from the current of wind sweeping through the jungle and whistling through the cracks in the cavern wall. “You need more poultice, but I’ve run out. I can go out and search for the ingredients, but it means leaving you here.”
I swallow and glance down at my feet. “Do what you have to do.”
“Take out your dagger and stab anyone or anything that comes in here. I won’t be gone long. Ten minutes, that’s it.” He waits for my nod and then rushes out. I gingerly lean against the wall, the dagger in my lap. The wounds at my back still hurt, but not as bad as before. I shift slightly, angling away from a bit of stone poking against my back. The air inside the cave smells stale and I wrinkle my nose, trying to focus on my surroundings instead of the abject fear that pulses under my skin. Along the wall are shimmering veins of turquoise, and I trace them with my index finger.
At last Manuel returns carrying a bundle of aloe, bananas, mangoes, oranges, and wild duck. He really did collect everything in ten minutes. If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d be annoyed by his efficiency. The only thing I would’ve brought back is another blister—if I came back at all. My mouth waters at the sight of the feast. He sets to work, gently spreading the cool liquid on my feet, and I let out a groan of pleasure. He hands me the fruit. I peel everything and drop it into his wooden bowl, mixing it all together to create a salad. We polish it off as Manuel cooks the pato over a fire. It’s delicious: smoky and charred on the outside, tender meat on the inside.
Written in Starlight Page 9