Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(29)

As if he doesn’t do that enough to himself already. But I go and sit stiffly, the tapestry on my lap. Atoc frowns at the bundled fabric. I clutch at it protectively. He opens his mouth to say something—

“They’re assembled outside, King Atoc,” Sajra says, and everyone’s attention turns to the tall double doors.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Allow the first petitioner inside,” the false king says. His bronze arm rests near mine, and I scoot as far away as I can. He doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he settles into his role—a solemn face, his posture cold and uninviting, a god in his gold seat. His throne is made of fuego and mentiras.

Unlike last time, there are only twenty people in attendance. Llacsans, dressed in their finery, sit on benches lining the aisle. Two guards open the doors, and a small group wearing the traditional garb of the Tierra Baja region—light tunic and trousers, and well-made cognac leather sandals—strides in.

Inkasisa has the Highlands—El Altiplano—and the Lowlands—Tierra Baja—a region of tropical land that forever stays humid and warm, even during the wet season. Atoc claims to rule the whole of Inkasisa, but there are several tribes in the Tierra Baja that have their own heads of state.

Of course, they all pay the king’s tax. Everyone does, except the Illari living in the Yanu Jungle. Legend says that after the Llacsans drove them out of La Ciudad, they fled to the jungle and built a city made entirely of gold called Paititi. Only one person ever came back from trying to find it, hundreds of years ago, and when he stepped out from the tree line, he became blind and unable to return to the city. Manuel always dreamed of finding it.

A sharp stab lances my heart. Has he found out about his mother? About Sofía?

I shove the question aside and try to focus on the petitioners. Perhaps I’ll learn something useful. They pay their respects, going on and on about the usurper’s greatness and splendor. No wonder he has a puffed-up image of himself. I expect Atoc to demand a giant gold statue fashioned after his regrettable profile.

“What is your complaint, petitioner?” Atoc asks, buttered up enough that I could have stuffed him inside a furnace and baked him.

A Lowlander steps forward, his head appropriately angled downward, his hands holding a sombrero. His eyes flicker over to mine nervously. “Highest King of Inkasisa, my complaint is about the onslaught of Illustrians festering within La Ciudad.”

I narrow my gaze and sit up straighter.

“Go on,” Atoc says.

“They’re causing a ruckus in the streets,” the petitioner says. “Stealing food in El Mercado, sleeping under doorways. Some are even trying to reclaim their old—” He breaks off, clearing his throat. “Trying to steal our homes.”

My eyes shut. Catalina. She must have run out of food after giving away too much, acting more like our people’s friend and not the queen they need. Now Illustrians at the keep are taking matters into their own hands. Fed up, hungry, wanting leadership—they’re rioting in the city, putting themselves in great danger.

What a mess. I can’t blame the Illustrians who leave the keep to search for food. Hunger is a relentless taskmaster.

I remember the days of living under the doorways of La Ciudad after the city had fallen. My ability to hide in tunnels, dark alleys, and sprawling catwalks was my salvation, but Catalina never had the same education in survival. She was whisked away from the horror and kept safe and fed, adored child that she was. She never had to fight for a loaf of bread. Perhaps we’d done her a disservice by keeping her so sheltered? If we hadn’t, she’d have at least learned how to be strong.

Because right now, her show of weakness could kill us.

“Certainly a problem,” Atoc agrees, a cold smile bending his unforgiving mouth. I want to take his headdress and smack his face with it. “Tell me, what do you propose I do?”

I touch his arm with a single index finger. “Perhaps I can go—”

“Be silent,” Atoc snaps. “Go on, petitioner.”

“Round them up,” the man says. “They’re repeat offenders, greedy—”

“What?” I say.

“Done,” Atoc says over me, gripping my wrist. “Capitán, see to it immediately.”

His capitán is standing by the tall double doors. At Atoc’s word, he nods and leaves, taking with him several of the guards lining the walls. My heart sinks. More Illustrians crowding the dungeons, their lives hanging over my head.

Why couldn’t Catalina have made my job just a little bit easier? I slump in my seat. My feet tap against the stone floor, wanting to carry me out of this stifling room and into open air. The walls are closing in on me like strong currents, hitting me like a smothering wave. There’s no escape. The role I play only compounds my anxiety. I don’t want to look at the face of my enemy for another second, let alone several more weeks. I’m trapped behind this mask of my own choosing. Trapped by the walls I volunteered to live within.

One wrong move, one careless slip, and my life is forfeit.

I inhale deeply. Rising tides can’t be held back, but they can be ridden. I have to ride this wave through. It’s the only way I’ll be free.

Court drags on as the king’s plans for tomorrow’s city outing are finalized. I’m not included, which will give me the perfect opportunity to explore the castle with fewer people present.