Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(42)

“I’m very interested to see what you have in your hand.” El Lobo takes a step forward.

I automatically hold up my hand. The universal gesture that means stop.

To my surprise, he does.

“I’m also intrigued by your decision to stay silent,” he comments. “You might actually be mute, or you might hate the sound of your voice.” He lowers his own voice to a dramatic whisper. “But I think you’re worried I might learn something you wouldn’t like.”

Again, I shrug. It seems neutral enough. His accent sounds exaggerated and has that forced, rock-like quality. Maybe he doesn’t want me to learn anything about him either.

Which means he has his own agenda, and he isn’t interested in sharing it. A rogue Illustrian? I don’t like it. But if El Lobo is a Llacsan … well, I don’t really know what to think. My time in the castillo has stirred confusing, interesting, and dangerous questions within me. At some point I’ll have to sort through them all and get back to where I started.

“All right,” El Lobo says. “Here’s what we’ll do. If you give me a moment to myself, I’ll do what I came here for. I’ll extend you the same courtesy…. Unless, are you finished? Just that one sheet of paper?”

I nod.

“Then off with you. Next time maybe we’ll have an actual conversation and you can tell me why you’re pretending to be me. I have my reputation to maintain—”

I never get to hear the rest of his sentence. Both doors of the office fling open. Four soldiers rush in. Swords drawn. I recognize one of the guards. He stands in the middle of the group.

Pidru.

El Lobo backs away from the door and nearly collides with the desk. I tuck the sheet into the band of my trousers. The guards creep closer. I open and close my fists, nervous energy making my skin tingle.

“Did you know there were two of them?” one of the guards asks.

“There’s the missing torch,” another says, pointing to the wall. I make a mental note to carry a candle for the next outing. That, and to find a damn weapon. I’ll grab a dinner fork if I have to. And I think better about using the moondust—anyone who sees me weave will instantly connect the dots.

I glance at the desk. Stacks of paper. A wooden box filled with envelopes. A tin paperweight. Silver letter opener. Dark feathered quills.

Wait. The letter opener.

El Lobo has moved around the desk, heading in my direction. His movements are slow and deliberate. One of the guards shouts for him to stop moving. El Lobo complies. But it doesn’t matter. We’re already standing side by side, our shoulders grazing.

“Official offer to work together,” he says in a low tone.

I move the toe of my boot to touch his. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his chin dip a fraction of an inch.

“We outnumber you,” Pidru says. “Come around the desk slowly.”

I meet the vigilante’s gaze. Amusement flashes in his dark eyes. We both move at the same time. I hurl the letter opener at the guard on the far left. It somersaults and sinks deep into his shoulder, knocking him off his feet.

Rounding the desk, El Lobo charges the two men on the right. They step back, blocking the vigilante’s advance.

That leaves Pidru for me.

I don’t want to hurt him. Not after hearing about his son.

He jumps forward, the tip of his blade jutting toward me. I dodge to the left. I need to knock him out with something. There are only piles of paper. Frantically, I try pulling open drawers, but they’re locked. Grabbing the paperweight, I hurl it at his head.

The weight clips his temple. Blood trickles into his eyebrow. I run around the desk and kick the guard I’d thrown the letter opener at in the stomach. He folds his body in half with a loud grunt.

“You’re unarmed?” El Lobo cries.

He’s already knocked out one of our attackers with the desk chair. El Lobo scoops up the guard’s fallen sword and throws it at me, handle first. I catch it with my right hand and turn just in time to block a thrust from Pidru.

He advances. I stop each jab, my wrist quivering as steel meets steel. His foot comes up and connects with my side.

Wheezing, I counter the next thrust. I’m out of practice. Slow. But Pidru’s girth works in my favor. He lunges with the sword. I sidestep out of the way, take advantage of the opening, and rake the tip of my blade from navel to shoulder.

Pidru grunts and touches his stomach. His fingers come away bloody.

He roars and lunges, an ugly twist to his mouth.

I whirl away and my back slams against a hard surface. El Lobo. I feel the muscles in his back move as he fights.

“Want to switch?” he asks, amusement threading his voice.

Do I want to what?

I don’t have time to protest. The vigilante spins us around, gripping my waist. I blink and readjust my position to face the oncoming assault. I kick and land a hit on El Lobo’s guard. He releases my waist and spars with Pidru. The other guard charges.

I block and counter. My arm burns from the weight of the sword. My hand shakes with the effort to follow through. But when the guard leaves himself open, I don’t waste the opportunity.

One step forward. Direct stab under the ribs. His eyes roll up until the whites show, and he slumps to the ground. The blade slips out of him.

My mask sticks to my cheeks, hot and damp from the sweat trickling down my temples. Swords clang behind me. Startled, I turn as El Lobo advances on Pidru. The older man gives a valiant effort, but his movements are slower.