Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(38)

If only Catalina could see me now. Attempting to reassure a Llacsan guard whose name I can’t quite place. “What’s your name?”

“Pidru.”

Of course. Rumi also mentioned the boy’s name … what was it? I remember the child’s face. Dark curly hair and laughing eyes, a pointed chin, and round cheeks.

“Achik,” I say. “That’s your son’s name.”

The guard blinks in surprise. “Sí. How do you know that?”

“The healer told me,” I say. “How’s he doing?”

“Some days are better than others. Today is a bad one. If you’re sure—”

“Pidru,” I say. “I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

“Ten minutes. At the most.”

“Fine.”

The guard nods, and after a small smile, he leaves me alone in the corridor.

I wait until he rounds the corner. Grinning, I continue my exploring, this time without stopping to look at the paintings. After you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I can only take so many llama portraits.

I ramble on, making mental notes of how many doors I’ve passed. Most are bedrooms. I turn down another hallway and encounter the stairs heading up to the east wing. This is where Atoc ventures to every day, he and his entourage. Sajra too.

After glancing to the left and right, I bound up the stone steps, already thinking of possible excuses should someone catch me—I got lost, or I thought I heard something suspicious. A contrite attitude, perhaps a little sheepish, and I’ll come out the other end unscathed. But my guard won’t.

That brings me up short.

I reach the top of the stairs, and I look back the way I came. He’ll get in trouble for leaving me. All he wants is to help his son and get him tea from the healer. Pidru might lose his job. I let out an impatient sigh. Where is this coming from? What do I care for a Llacsan guard? Didn’t I just give myself a talk about staying focused?

My hesitation confounds me.

What matters more? The revolt or a guard whose name I just learned? He isn’t family. He isn’t an Illustrian. He’ll stand against me if he knows my plans.

That answers that. I press on toward the east wing.

Several doors line one side and an iron railing lines the other. If anyone bothers to look up, they’ll spot me skulking around. Moving quickly, I go to the first door and crack it open. A beautiful bedroom. The walls are a pale sky blue, and the bed could fit at least three people on it. A handsome chest stands off in the corner.

I pull open a drawer full of shirts, vests, and trousers. I spot darker-colored pants and tunics.

Don’t mind if I do. I quickly tug the pants on under my long skirt and layer the tunics. The loose-fitting style of the Llacsans effectively hides my theft. I dart out of the room, hardly believing my good fortune. I have the makings of a perfect disguise.

Even during the day Luna watches over me.

Quietly, I poke my head outside the room, checking to make sure there aren’t any guards patrolling. With a little smile, I leave the room as quietly as I entered it. I retrace my footsteps and veer toward the staircase. Pidru should be on his way back, but it doesn’t matter.

I have what I need to explore the east wing tonight, thoroughly and without any distraction.





CAPíTULO





I only have four weeks left before the wedding. Four more weeks. The realization sits in my stomach like a rock. Not even the savory smell coming from tonight’s dinner of braised pork in ají amarillo with a side of llajwa calms me. By now Catalina must have received my message about Carnaval and knows when to stage the revolt, but if we don’t find the Estrella, it’s a moot point.

We need the ghosts to win.

The maid comes in late to clear away my untouched plate. “You don’t like pork?” she asks.

“I love it. I’m not feeling well.”

It’s not exactly a lie. She frowns, concern flickering in her dark eyes. I tilt my head. Why the apparent concern? I thought she hated me.

“You must really be sick,” she says. “It’s not like you to leave food on your plate. You have a hearty appetite.”

“I … Gracias?” It’s the sort of thing Sofía would have said to me.

“I’ll send for the healer,” she says.

“?Qué? No! Estoy bien,” I say, scrambling out of the bed after her.

She shushes me and walks out.

I stare at the closed door in disbelief. Not only did I not want to see Rumi, I was suffering from nerves—not an illness. He’ll see that immediately and assume I’m up to something, which of course I am. I have to explore the castillo tonight, and I can’t have him coming in here, potentially spoiling my plan.

The temperature of my arms, neck, and ears soars to feverish heights. Resigned, I tidy up the room. I fold clothes, tuck my shoes neatly in the corner. I chew on mint leaves and then berate myself.

What the diablos am I thinking? Mint leaves?

I spit the leaves into the basin, light a few candles, and curl under the covers. I leave the balcony door open to allow Luna’s moonlight to decorate the stone floor. Sinking into the pillow, I vow to keep the visit short. He’ll check for signs of fever and then leave. Hopefully it’ll dissuade him from thinking I’m up to something. He’ll be cold and silent, angry to have been summoned by the Illustrian condesa. Maybe he’ll demand I take something awful and forbid me from leaving the room.