Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(18)

“Not the ones you’re wearing.”

Is she expecting me to strip in front of her? Do these people not know the meaning of the word modesty? “What if I refuse? I happen to prefer what I’m wearing.”

Her face shutters. “To refuse a gift would be an insult. You must accept.”

“Fine, then I’ll give them to you after my bath.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not waiting until you’re done washing, Condesa.”

I was in a completely new world. How did we manage to live side by side with the Llacsans for all these years? Loud and shameless, with gaudy tastes in paint and clothing.

We haven’t lived side by side.

Before the revolt, Illustrians lived in the city; Llacsans stayed up by the mountain. Then they came down carrying spears and torches, with Atoc at the lead, wielding the power of the Estrella.

My boots come off first. I discard my bloodied skirt and shirt and throw everything at her. She catches the bundle calmly and knocks on the door twice. Juan Carlos opens it, and I quickly snatch the blanket off the bed to cover myself. I make a noise at the back of my throat.

The girl glances over her shoulder.

“I’m hungry.”

She shrugs dismissively and heads out. Juan Carlos locks the door after her, and the way he looks at me is almost apologetic, but that can’t be right. They’re both leaving me in here without food. I furiously throw the blanket back on the bed to keep myself from breaking down the door. My eyes sting with pent-up fury. The room doesn’t feel big enough for my frustration.

My skin crawling with humiliation, I head to the bathtub, but as soon as I dip my foot in the water, I let out a loud screech. It’s frigid cold.

“Carajo.” I’m dusty from the ride, sore from the fight in the courtyard, and sticky with sweat. I want to be clean. I still remember what it is to be dirty, unable to bathe as I dragged my battered loom around on the streets of La Ciudad. That was how Ana found me—left behind after the revolt. Alone without family, without friends. She took one look at me, an eight-year-old child with smudged cheeks, half starved, but who resembled her charge, Catalina, the rightful heir to the Inkasisa throne. Ana brought me to the fortress, where my life as a copy of someone else began.

I sink into the tub, letting the icy water engulf me. I don’t care to remember what followed—the goose bumps and chattering teeth, the water swirling, mixing with Sofía’s blood—but it’s not until I’m all the way in, hair dunked and everything, that I realize the extent of my problem.

The Llacsans didn’t bother to bring soap. I got in for nothing. Climbing out, I look around for something to wrap myself up in, only they didn’t bring me anything to dry off with either.

With my hair dripping icy rivers down my back, I grab the bed blanket and manage to dry off. I don’t have anything to sleep in, so I settle for the Llacsan clothing and layer everything until I’m as round as a stuffed pastry.

Cool air breezes in, rustling the curtains. I shut the balcony doors, but the chill sneaks in. Because of the high altitude, nights are always cool, no matter how hot it gets during the day. Scowling, I climb into bed and pull the sheet up to my chin. My stomach rumbles. The last thing I ate was a bland bowl of quinoa eight hours earlier. I burrow deeper in the bed, away from a world where I don’t belong.

Sofía’s face drifts into my mind—her last gasp of life, the hot blood spurting from her chest. I can’t keep the sob from escaping, so I give in, releasing my tears and smothering the sound with the pillow.

My first night in enemy territory.





CAPíTULO





The glow of a torch lurches me awake. I sit up, reaching for the dagger I always keep under my pillow—but come up empty. Where is my blade? I blink in the flickering dark, scrambling away from the heat of the fire. I don’t recognize the room I’m in. Gone are Catalina’s piles of books and clothes. None of my tapestries adorn the stone walls.

And I remember.

I turn toward the source of the light and meet the figure of a tall boy barely illuminated by the fire. Atoc’s smelly cousin. I groan.

“Are you wearing—” Rumi squints at me, moving the torch closer to me. “Are you deranged? You’re not supposed to wear everything at once.”

“I’m cold,” I snap, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to head downstairs,” Rumi says. “Congratulations. You get to be in a parade.”

I sit up, fumbling beneath my layers of garments. “What do you mean, a parade?”

Rumi strides to the balcony and throws the doors open. Dawning sunlight floods the room. The sounds of whinnying horses and lively chatter filter inside as I squint at him.

“Atoc decided to announce the engagement with fanfare. Most of the castillo has been awake all night preparing a lavish procession to herald the news throughout La Ciudad. Your dress is arriving any minute.” He pauses, a slight smirk framing his mouth. “It’s very colorful. Lots of ruffles.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and focus on breathing. His smile is unsettling because I know it means something else. An insult. Judgment.

“Get out of bed.”

“Un minuto.”

“You don’t have a minute,” he says coldly. “We need to go. Ahora.”