Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(43)

I can’t watch. The doors to the office are still flung open. My feet want to carry me through. My heart must want the same thing because in seconds I’m there, one foot inside the office and the other free.

Pidru doesn’t have any fight left in him. His shoulders sag. His blade moves wildly and without control. El Lobo shifts his weight. Preparing for the next hit.

“Don’t kill him!” The words rip out of me. I barely remember to disguise my voice.

They both turn toward me. Pidru clearly stunned, sweat drenching his tunic. El Lobo’s blade freezes mid-slash. Even I’m surprised—I just saved a Llacsan guard. I back up a step. I don’t have time to consider what I’ve done.

I run.

My footsteps echo down the long stone hall. I duck under doorways and hide around corners, timing my every move in order to evade the guards patrolling the corridors. But I still have to contend with the tall sentry standing in front of my door. I peer around the corner, and sure enough, he’s there, leaning against the frame. His head dips and then jerks upward. The telltale signs of someone trying to stay awake.

I have to get inside. Quickly. It’s only a matter of time before more soldiers arrive. Someone will have noticed the missing guards patrolling the hallway. I’m an enemy sleeping under their roof, the first one who will be questioned. I have to make it inside my room before more guards are summoned. Something brushes against my leg. I glance down and smile. A cat. I follow its intense stare to a group of chickens clucking at the other end of the hall, and an idea sparks.

The third floor is one big square. My idea will only work if the disturbance is loud enough to ensnare the guard’s attention, and if I run fast enough around the square before the guard returns to his post. I suck in a deep breath and take off my boots.

Now or never.

I knock over two smaller pots just as the cat hisses and bolts down the hall. The clay pots make a resounding crash against the stone. The chickens squawk and the cat emits a loud screech. I sprint on my tiptoes down the hall, skirting around the flustered chickens squawking and flapping their wings in a rage.

The guard shouts in alarm as I round the first corner.

My calves ache but I stay on my tiptoes. Doors pass by in a blur. I round the second corner. My boots thud against my thighs as I pump my legs. Just one more turn. A stitch roars painfully to life in my side. I ignore it as I round the last corner. There’s no guard! My lungs are on fire, but I don’t let up the pace.

Four more doors to go.

Three.

Two.

I reach for the knob and swing my door open, careful to close it gently. Ripping off my tunic, I throw on a brightly striped shirt that hangs to my knees. Trousers come off next. I prop my boots neatly against the dresser and stuff the dark clothes into my pillowcase. The folded sheet of paper I stuff deep into my right shoe.

My heart thuds sharply in my chest. Snapping the covers back, I scramble into bed with my sword tucked underneath the pillow.

The door opens.

I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. Force my breath to even out. Slow and steady. The effort hurts. My body thrums with energy and it doesn’t want to be quieted.

“She’s been in here the whole time,” someone says.

That’ll be the tall guard stationed at my door.

“What happened down the hall—”

“Nastiest chicken and cat fight I’ve ever seen,” my guard says. “Broken pieces of clay scattered everywhere. And the feathers! So many—”

“I saw the feathers,” the other interrupts, his voice dry. “Are you telling me you left your post?”

My breath catches at the back of my throat. I squeeze my knees together.

“Not long enough for her to have done anything.”

The sound of footsteps entering the room makes me want to cry out. But I force myself still. The strain of pretending to sleep overwhelms me. I want to fling back the sheets and grab the sword hidden underneath my pillow.

But I remain motionless.

“Heavy sleeper,” one of them comments. “You stayed by the door the whole time? Other than to see the fight?”

“The whole time. Healer stopped by earlier and left tea. Said the condesa wasn’t feeling well.”

“Which she didn’t drink.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like tea,” my guard says idly.

“Probably thinks it’s poisoned.”

They move away from the bed, their footsteps fading as they head to the door.

“We had another visit from El Lobo tonight.”

“When?”

“Just now. Rumi is tending to the survivors; he might be able to learn what else they saw. The rest of the family is searching the grounds, and the captain has men on every floor. Did you hear …”

The voices cut off when they shut the door.

My breath comes out shallow and hitched. What if one of the guards identifies me to the healer? I push the thought away. No sense in worrying over something that may not happen. My mask covered every inch of my face. The murmuring stops.

Then it’s the deep quiet of night, interrupted only by the echo of my racing heart.





CAPíTULO





The next morning my maid—Suyana—comes in early, opening the curtains and balcony door, inviting sunlight’s harsh attack. I need Luna and her cool moonlit rays. Not this sweltering heat and dry wind. I even prefer the rain. There’s something about warm weather that makes things worse. I’m already in a perpetual state of anxiety.