And he’s still angry.
Luna wants me to see him this clearly for a reason. I narrow my gaze and think as the constellation shifts again. It takes me a moment to understand her message.
The telescope slips from my fingers. I know why the jungle is dying.
Quickly, I pick up the scope, hoping to confirm what I’ve seen, because I can’t afford to be wrong. Every time one of my predications hasn’t come true, the burning shame I felt nearly overwhelmed me. Oh, no one ever got mad, they understood, but I sensed their disappointment anyway. Ana and her children, but more important, Ximena.
I press the scope to my eye, but the sky has turned lighter, the stars growing fainter and fainter. I slap the ground and yell out a curse. I’m too late. I didn’t see—but what does it matter? I know enough to warn everyone.
I jump to my feet as the early-morning light streaks through the sky, the sun following close behind. The cobblestones on the path glint golden as I race back to my building. From a distance, Manuel opens the door then shuts it behind him.
“Manuel!” I cry.
His face snaps to mine. When he sees me running, he reaches into his boots, pulls out a dagger, and races toward me.
“The flower is in Paititi,” I say, coming to such an abrupt stop, I almost topple over. He holds out a firm hand to steady me. “It’s inside the city; someone brought it in. But I don’t know if it was a mistake. I just know it’s here somewhere. But morning came before I could discover where it is—”
Manuel tucks his knife into its sheath. “Slow down.” He guides me back onto the path, tucking my arm in his, and we quickly walk toward the heart of the village. “Start from the beginning.”
I take a deep breath. “Luna showed me the flower was brought into the city. I think it might’ve been a merchant, but I dropped the telescope before getting the whole picture. I’ve got to tell Sonco what I saw. The fiesta is today.”
Manuel looks around, and I do the same, finally noticing that Paititi is awake and bustling. Farmers gather food, cooks prepare meals, and everyone else helps set up the temple in preparation for dancing and playing music. Manuel and I take a flight of stairs that leads to another level of buildings. This looks like the residential district, with many doors open to allow the breeze to drift inside. Beyond the rows and rows of houses are more stairs.
“Do you know where Sonco might be?” I ask between panting breaths. These steps are accursedly tall.
“I assume the temple.” He doesn’t sound winded at all.
We climb up and up, my breath raspy and legs trembling, until at last the temple looms ahead. It’s an austere square building with gold pillars flanking the entrance. I step inside the well-lit corridor, and despite the urgency of the message, I slow down.
The walls are made of immense stones cobbled together, and on either side the walls seem to press in. Nerves deep in my belly make themselves known. When I reach the end of the hall, it opens up to an immense cavern, a room carved into the mountain itself. Enormous pillars line the room, and at the foreground is a raised platform with a throne made of stone. Two seats flanked by immense slabs of granite are carved with lines of Quechua.
Everywhere people are prepping the great room for the festival. Flowers and tapestries decorate the walls, musicians set up a stage, and tables are brought in for the food.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Chaska carrying strips of dyed blue fabric. “There,” I say to Manuel, but he’s already walking toward her. She startles at the sight of both of us.
“I must speak with you,” I say.
“Regarding? I have much to do.” She frowns at me. “We all do.”
“I know and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. Our conversation must be private.” I jerk my chin in the direction of a small alcove. “Can we talk there?”
For the first time, she really looks at me, then lowers her pile of fabrics and takes in my expression. Manuel nods to confirm what I have to share is worth it. She dumps the cotton onto a nearby table and follows us into the alcove. “What is this about?”
“Luna.”
She immediately stills. “You read the stars.”
I nod. “Last night. She—”
“Chaska.”
We all turn to find Kusi coming toward us. He’s drenched in sweat, as if he’d been training hard. “What did you need? I’m not hanging ribbons.” He stops when he sees my expression. “I’m interrupting.”
I shoot a quick look toward Chaska. “I’m afraid—”
But Chaska finishes: “Luna sent a message.”
Kusi slowly turns to face me. “You read the stars? Was her message about the corrupted land?”
“Yes.” Normally I’d hesitate to share something I’ve seen so quickly. Sometimes I’m wrong. At this, Kusi raises his hand and waves, wanting more of an explanation, but I hesitate.
Manuel nudges my shoulder. “Just tell them what you saw, Catalina.”
I take a deep breath and hold it until my lungs might burst. I exhale, and make sure to sound calm. “Do you remember seeing the flower? The one that shone silver?”
He nods.
“That’s what’s killing the jungle. It’s being planted in the wrong place.” I tug on my bottom lip. “Well, I actually don’t know if it ought to be planted at all—that part was confusing. What I know for sure is that the flower is involved, and someone is planting it around the jungle, searching for something. I keep seeing the image of a small boy, but each time I see him, he grows older. He’s been hurt in his life, and now he’s turned … cold. He wants power, and he’s planning something with the flower.”
“Why?” Kusi asks. “Did Luna say?”
I hesitate. “No, but there’s more. Someone’s brought the flower into Paititi. I don’t know if it was an accident or if it was intentional. I ran out of time.”
Chaska pales. “The flower is inside our city?”
“We have to cancel the fiesta,” I say urgently. “Every corner of Paititi must be searched before the flower harms someone. A small child might get ahold of it and—” I break off.
Kusi’s jaw tightens. “Did Luna mention anything else?”
I shut my eyes and let my mind wander to last night—the stars shifting miles above my head, the lines connecting and rearranging, the words written in starlight that I’d put together into a cohesive thought. “Flower. Danger. Corruption. Greed.”
“And what’s that?” Kusi asks.
“Those are the main points,” Chaska says breathlessly. “Seers intuit the rest, based on how we feel and how Luna moves in our hearts. Think of it like a marker on a trail. Once you see it, you know you’re in the right place.”
“But those markers can mean anything!” he explodes.
“You’re lucky that she caught what she did,” Manuel cuts in coolly.
“Such is the nature of being a seer,” Chaska tells Kusi. “Part of the blessing is also a curse. We do more interpreting than anything else. And it’s a burden, that pressure of wanting to get it exactly right.”
“I think the greed refers to the person doing this,” I say softly. “I think it’s their motive. But I don’t understand how harming the jungle gets them what they want.”
Chaska faces her cousin. “What do you think?”
“Haven’t you seen this?” Kusi’s tone is incredulous.
“Not one word,” she admits.
My heart sinks. Perhaps I read the stars wrong, or maybe Luna wasn’t really speaking to me. For years I’ve been mistaken; the stars have hidden their true meaning. Kusi continues assessing me, and I can imagine what he’s thinking. Here’s this stranger coming into his home with a history of failure and a punishment so severe, it meant her death. And now this same stranger brings a dire, threatening message.
“Well?” Chaska demands.
“We go to Sonco,” Kusi says flatly. Then he latches onto my wrist, and I let out a surprised cry. “And you’re going to tell him everything, seer.”
It happens fast—one minute, Kusi grips my arm, and then he’s flat on his stomach. Manuel presses his knee into the middle of his back. “Don’t touch her.”
I place a soft hand on Manuel’s shoulder. “Let him up. I’ll go to Sonco.”
Kusi jumps to his feet, snarling. Chaska steps between them and glares at her cousin. “There’s a threat to our city. Now’s not the time to defend your ego.” She hooks her arm around his and drags him away. Manuel and I follow, and it’s only when we cross the temple entrance that I see the dagger in his hand.
CAPÍTULO
Veintiocho
We don’t have to venture far to find Sonco. He’s on the level below us, visiting with a few of the elder Illari. They’re sitting around an unlit fire pit, telling stories, and I get the impression that Sonco does this regularly. When he sees us approaching, he excuses himself and comes over to greet us.
“I don’t know what’s happening, but the looks on your faces tell me I’m not going to like it.”
Kusi prods me forward. “Tell him, seer.”
The warning from the heavens comes out in bits and starts, and I end up rambling. Sonco listens without interruption, unlike Kusi, who prowls and paces like an agitated jaguar. When it’s made clear that I’m the one who saw the message and not Chaska, Sonco frowns.
“Why wouldn’t you have both seen the same thing?” he mutters.
“Luna has her reasons,” Chaska says. “But if I were to guess, I suppose it’s because Catalina has a lesson to learn.”
I startle at this. “What do you mean?”
Chaska shakes her head. “We all have a path. I’ve found mine, but you don’t know yours. Luna might want you to handle this situation, for the simple reason that she hopes you’ll discover yourself.”
“That’s an awful risk to take with people’s lives,” Kusi snarls.
“Luna clearly trusts her,” Manuel says in a warning tone.
Part of me wishes she wouldn’t trust me that much. If what Chaska said is true, then what am I supposed to learn? A small inner voice presses close, telling me that it might be about my choice—follow my heart or pursue my birthright. If I don’t marry Sonco for his army, then any opportunity for the throne vanishes. What’s left after that? Defeat and setting aside all of my training, the long years of studying for a role I’ll never fulfill. Walking away from my title, the throne, feels like I’m giving up. But a small part of me yearns for that freedom—as terrifying as it is.
“Brother, we must act,” Kusi says. “Cancel the festivities and have everyone search for the flower.”
Sonco looks around as people sweep past, carrying woven baskets filled with food up toward the temple. Everyone moves at a fast clip and with a sense of purpose, lugging around decorations and musical instruments. Several have stacks of clay plates, others have jugs. Preparations are well underway, and to suddenly cancel might bring the morale down.
“If we cancel, we’ll only make everyone nervous,” he says. “I don’t want to cause undue panic. The four of you can conduct a private search while everyone else prepares for the evening.”
Neither Kusi nor Chaska refutes his declaration, even though they look like they want to. When I was living in the Illustrian fortress, we went through the worst food shortage. It was easier for me to hand out food without rationing it, for fear of people panicking about the lack of supplies. I wouldn’t have the nerve to cancel the fiesta hours before it’s supposed to start.
While the rest of the villagers prepare for the fiesta, the four of us conduct quick sweeps of the empty residences. Chaska and I pair off and search one level, while Manuel and Kusi search another. It was a bold choice pairing them together, but Chaska insisted it’d be good for them. Though most of the dwellings have only one to two rooms, it takes us most of the afternoon to search two levels of Paititi. There’s still another district full of domiciles to work through.
After another hour, Kusi calls down from a level above ours. “Anything?”
Chaska shakes her head then looks toward the sun. “We can’t miss the fiesta; our presence will be noti—”
“I agree,” Kusi says, and his gaze flickers to mine. “Go get dressed. Your guard and I will keep searching.”
“My guard has a name,” I say coolly. Said guard sends me a quick smile from over the ledge. “And I can keep looking.”
“You’re the guest of honor,” Chaska says. “It’ll appear suspicious if you’re late.”
Reluctantly, I leave them, trudging down the many steps until I reach the lowest level. As I sweep through the market, I spot the lady whose son I helped search for closing up her stall. She stops slamming barrel lids and folding mantillas long enough to wave at me.
“Did he turn up?” I call out.
The woman rolls her eyes. “He’ll turn up at the festival. If there’s singani available, he’s sure to find it.”
I laugh and pick up my pace as the sun disappears behind the mountain.
After a quick bath in the pool, I return to my home and find that someone has left a long tunic for me to wear to the fiesta. It’s patterned in the beautiful geometric designs I’ve come to associate with the Illari, all shades of red and pink and violet. The fringed hem skims the top of my ankles, and I love the way it looks when I spin. On my feet, I wear the lovely sandals Sonco gave me. I leave my hair down, curly and wild with a single orange flower as an ornament.
Manuel doesn’t show up, so I walk alone back up the many flights of stairs, following a small crowd as the stars glimmer miles above our heads. I must’ve taken longer than I thought—the village seems mostly empty and quiet. My stomach gives off an embarrassingly loud rumble, and I cast a nervous glance around me. Everyone is wearing beautiful tunics in a variety of different styles and lengths. Most have fringe lining the hems and sleeves. Some Illari have feathers woven into their braids, or thick leather bands serving as hair decorations.
When we reach the temple, I’m surprised to see it already near capacity. There must be hundreds of Illari here, milling around, talking and eating. I search for my companions, but they haven’t arrived yet. They must still be looking for the flower.
Several people dance in front of the musicians, who beat their drums and play the charangos. In the dance, women hop and skip in tune to the melody, holding a strip of fabric behind their backs, one end in each hand. They raise the cotton high over their heads and let it flutter above them like a wispy cloud. While they form a tight ring, men encircle them, crouched with their arms thrown out. Every leap from one foot to the other is followed by a resounding stomp and a mock punch. The rhythm is warlike and dangerous.
I’ve never seen this kind of dance before.
“Tinku,” Nina, the bathhouse attendant, says to me. “It’s a traditional dance. See how the men seem to be fighting? It’s in praise of Pachamama.”
“It’s fierce,” I say. “Beautiful.”
The men keep dancing in the tight circle, and as they stomp by, I catch sight of a familiar face.
Manuel.
Manuel, dancing.
He moves perfectly, in tune with the constant beating of the drum and the other men parading in the circle, his leaps and jumps high. In all the long years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him even tap his front foot. He lied to me!
“Want to learn it?” Nina asks.
I turn to her, my eyes wide. “Yes, por favor.”
She tugs me toward a few other women waiting for their turn to dance, and soon they’re all teaching me the moves. I stumble through most of it, laughing at the mistakes I make. For once, I don’t think about the Llacsan queen or the dying jungle. I let myself feel the music, throwing my head back and giving in to the steps. I lose track of time as I master parts of the dance and botch the rest. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a very, very long time.
Aside from kissing Manuel.
I notice him across the room, leaning against the wall, sipping idly from a clay cup and watching
me. Our eyes clash. I know I should leave him alone, but I can’t stop myself from staring. I crook my finger at him, and he smiles slightly before pressing off the wall and threading through the crowd. He reaches my side and I take his cup from him, drinking deeply.
“Sure,” he says dryly. “Help yourself.”
I return his drink. “The flower?”
He shakes his head grimly. “Nothing.”
Fear pools in my belly. Did I somehow read the stars wrong? Perhaps Kusi was right and I’d been too hasty to share what I’d seen.
“Stop it,” he says.
I raise a brow. “What?”
He gives me a shrewd look. “Doubting yourself. You read the stars right.”
Timid laughter bubbles to the surface. I never know how to handle his trust, his encouragement. It’s hard for me to see myself the way he sees me.
“You look handsome,” I say, hastily changing the subject. His tunic is ebony with mint green and gold stitching. His long wavy hair has a few braids in it, the ends tucked into a bar of hammered gold.
“Where did you get gold accessories?”
He laughs. “Some of the men I’ve been training with lent them to me.”
“Remind me to thank them.”
Manuel flushes and looks away, but not before I catch the small smile bending his perfect mouth. “The flower is a nice touch.”
“Gracias,” I say. We shouldn’t say such things to each other, but the words slip out easily. I fidget, lowering my eyes, trying to think of something safe to talk about. The weather or the food or maybe we can chat about how sloths are incredibly cute. We could have an entire conversation about his hair—no, not his perfect hair. Damn it.
“You look lovely.”
This is the first time he’s ever complimented my looks. I can’t bear to hear another nice word from him. “Have you eaten?”
Written in Starlight Page 23