Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(28)

“You’ll present it to the king,” Juan Carlos says as we reach the stairs. “The giving of gifts is an important part of our culture. Understanding our traditions will help make you into a better partner for my king. The tapestry is a fine gift. It will put you back in his good graces.”

“When have I ever been in his good graces?”

“You ask too many questions,” Rumi says.

“It’s because I have a mind.”

He turns his head away but not before I catch the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Don’t you want to be in his good graces?”

Oh no, this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with his image. When Juan Carlos said Rumi was worried, this is what he meant. He’s worried about his reputation in the castillo.

“More like put you back in his good graces,” I snap. “You’re a fool. Chasing after the king like a lovesick child, desperate for a scrap of attention. Everyone at court laughing at the spectacle you make.”

Rumi scowls. “Do you have any idea—”

He stops, breathing hard through his nostrils. I wait, my hands on my hips.

“All eyes are on me,” he says finally. “It’s not a good thing. I’m not going to repeat myself. You’ll take this tapestry, give it to the king after court, and all will be like it once was.”

“Why isn’t it a good thing?” I ask.

He gives me an exasperated look and strides on, still clutching my tapestry.

What was that about? For a moment something flashed in his eyes. It almost looked like … fear. But for what? His position in the castillo?

“I bet my time in prison didn’t work wonders for your position in the castillo.”

Juan Carlos shoots a quick look at Rumi. That’s it. My jailor is in trouble with his king.

“You know nothing about what I do here, Condesa,” he says tightly.

I open my mouth to let out a sharp retort but realize he’s right. Other than being a relative of Atoc’s and a healer, I have no idea who he is. What does he do all day? The question bubbles up, unbidden and unwanted. I squelch it, chalking it up to curiosity, and return to the important matter at hand.

Carnaval is a mere five weeks away. I’ve been in the castillo almost one week and Catalina knows nothing of my wedding date. That means one whole week lost for preparation. We thought we’d have more than enough time to find the Estrella, and that we’d have Ana to guide us. My stomach tightens into a knot. They’ll know about Ana by now. How I’ve failed her and Sofía. It’s Catalina who has to take over. She’s never had that kind of responsibility. I hope Catalina knows enough to fortify the newly visible bridge with soldiers. I hope she manages the provisions wisely.

We reach the tall double doors to the great hall. Rumi half turns in my direction, keeping the tapestry out of my reach. “Present the tapestry after court, Condesa,” he says again. “Present it sincerely and privately. Remember what I said about flattery? It’ll work wonders. Ready?”

“Of course not.”

“Too bad,” Juan Carlos says.

I make one last attempt to grab the weaving, but Rumi jerks away. The doors swing open, and I follow behind him, my attention on the silvery words that spell out my treason.

And my doom.





CAPíTULO





The false king stands on the dais, wrapped in an intricate woven cape and feathered headdress. As much as I hate to admit it, the piece certainly has flare. Catalina would love it if she could forget that it sits on the head of a Llacsan.

Color continues to dog my step wherever I venture. It’s splashed on the walls, woven into their fabric, and painted on their faces. Back home, white and its cool crispness adorn every Illustrian. Even the children. And if I’m being honest—privately—it always made me sad to see them trying to keep their outfits pristine.

Rumi wears simple black trousers and a hat, a multicolored striped vest and leather sandals. He looks royal, matching the king’s cool stare as we walk down the long aisle toward the throne.

Rumi drops to one knee. “May the High King of Inkasisa live—”

“Enough,” Atoc snaps. “Move away, primo.”

Rumi scrambles to join the rest of his family. Once again I frown at Princesa Tamaya’s absence. She’s old enough to be here. Unknowns are not what my people need right now. What is Atoc hiding with his sister? Something dangerous?

Atoc stares down at me as if I’m an ara?a to be stepped on. On his left stands the high priest, dressed in a long robe, his beady eyes watching my every move as I approach. I can’t return his gaze, the cold fingers of his magic capturing my breath imprinted in my memory.

“Condesa,” Atoc says coldly. His fingers curl tightly over the armrest of his gold throne.

“King Atoc.”

He tilts his head at the empty gold seat to his right. “You’re to keep silent.”

I swallow a retort. I vowed to control myself, to play the part. Catalina and our people are relying on me. At least I called him king.

Rumi rushes to my side, awkward and bumbling amid laughter from the court, and places the tapestry into my hands. I expect Atoc to remark on the work, but he’s already looking toward the doors. The healer walks to the side of the dais and gives me an expressive look that says something along the lines of, Don’t embarrass me.