Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(41)

I pull one of the torches out of its slot in the wall and open the heavy door using one of the iron rings. The room smells like tobacco and worn leather, mixed with the crisp outdoors. A variety of maps and paintings decorate the walls, as well as hanging pots overflowing with ferns. A large map of Inkasisa in black, white, and gold hangs behind a handsome wooden desk. It takes up the space of the entire back wall. I set the torch in one of the available slots and head over to the map, intrigued by the pins marking a variety of locations.

I trace the inky patterns denoting each region in Inkasisa with my index finger.

La Ciudad. The Altiplano and Tierra Baja. The Llaco Valley. Qullqi Orqo Mountain. The great Lago Yaku. I think only Manuel has visited each territory. Except for the Yanu Jungle. People never survive a visit to that place.

Each area is beautifully illustrated, with strokes of gold denoting rivers and lakes, roads and caves. The gold paint looks like the real thing, judging by the way it shimmers in the firelight. I know about the cave by Lago Yaku, the birthplace of the children of the Llacsan god Inti. Supposedly, that’s where Atoc’s ancestors came from. Centuries earlier they walked out of the entrance, dressed in all their finery, and settled Inkasisa.

The iron pins are scattered around the map, close to La Ciudad. Some are placed on the mountain, others on areas where there are well-known caves. There’s even one embedded in the imposing watchtower of the castillo. A few pins are placed on forests. Thankfully not anywhere near the Yanu Jungle. Could Atoc have hidden the Estrella in one of the caves surrounding the city? What about in the mountain?

I take a step closer. If these are possible locations for the Estrella, then I’ve done it.

I’ve really done it.

I turn around and grab a loose sheet of paper from the king’s desk. Dropping the quill’s nib into a pot of black ink, I rush to write down all of the marked spots. I don’t have the pretty penmanship the condesa possesses. Mine looks like a long scrawl drawn by someone who has enjoyed one too many glasses of singani. I splatter ink everywhere in my hurry to jot down all the places marked. I can’t help my rush of excitement.

If one of these spots indicates the actual location of the Estrella, Catalina can send soldiers to check out the places farther from the castillo. I can certainly try to visit the locations in La Ciudad. I’ll just have to determine how to sneak out of the castillo.

I fold the sheet into fourths.

Iron clangs against the door, and my breath constricts. I spin around in surprise, clutching the paper. A man dressed entirely in black from head to foot stands across the room.

My heart slams into my ribs.

El Lobo.





CAPíTULO





We stay like that, looking at each other as if we’ve discovered a new species of alpaca. The urge to flee makes my toes curl, filling me with nervous energy. But when else will I get a chance to be this close to him? I don’t want to walk away without having learned something about him.

The vigilante stands a full head taller than me. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. His eyes seem dark, but it could be the shadows from his mask. He tenses, and his chin ducks toward his chest. He wears gloves, and an opaque cloth covers the whole of his face. At his left hip is the infamous huaraca slingshot, attached to his black woven belt. Long-range Llacsan weapon. On his right is a sword. I have no way of knowing whether he’s a Llacsan or Illustrian. Even under his tunic, El Lobo wears an undershirt that reaches up to his chin. Not a hint of either our tawny olive skin or the rich bronzed hue of the Llacsans.

Well, he certainly is thorough, I can give him that much. I must paint a bemusing picture for the vigilante. After all, I’m dressed like him.

“Words fail me,” he says in a heavily accented, gravelly voice.

I tilt my head to the side. The accent matches that of a Lowlander; it has a singsong rhythm like those from the neighboring country of Palma.

“Well?” he asks. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

I shake my head.

“Of course not,” he mutters, sounding amused. “Are you an enemy?”

I shrug. I honestly don’t know. His antics against the throne jeopardize our precarious situation. If he’s an Illustrian, he ought to know better and publicly align with us. Why not come forward? Why not offer to work together? Instead he chooses to run around the kingdom creating merry hell for Atoc’s army. A bristle of annoyance pulses within me. All of our plans for the revolt depend on having the element of surprise.

“How much love do you have for the king?” he says in a rough voice that sounds like two stones scraping against each other.

I hold out my hands so that they’re parallel to each other. Slowly, I bring them together.

“You worship him. No wait, you merely tolerate him,” he says as my hands draw closer. When they touch, El Lobo lets out a low whistle. “You despise him. Now we’re getting somewhere. Well, you’re obviously an admirer of mine—”

I snort.

“No? Interesting. And you’re not sure if you’re my enemy,” he muses. “Well, should we fight to the death and get it over with?”

It would be a quick match seeing as how I don’t have my knives or sword. I can probably bruise him though.

He laughs. “What would you like to do about this little conundrum?”

How to nonverbally respond to this? I shift my feet and flicker my attention over to the door.