Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(46)

A tall man at the front of the aisle rises, a sword strapped to his side.

“What news?” Atoc asks, his voice a soft purr.

“Two of the guards are stable thanks to the healer’s efforts last night,” he says with a slight wobble. “We’ll begin questioning today. I’m sure one of the intruders was the masked vigilante, Shining One; the other was dressed in the same manner. It could be a brother, perhaps.”

My hand starts to sweat in Atoc’s grasp. I pray to Luna he won’t notice.

“How did they get in?”

“We’re looking into all possibilities,” the capitán says. “A thorough search of the grounds and gates don’t show a forced entry.”

The priest steps from the pillar’s shadow. “Interesting. The intruder could have been let inside by someone.” Then he pierces me with a pointed look, his dark eyes glittering. My body tenses.

“It’s possible,” the capitán agrees. “Or the intruder was already inside the castillo.”

Sharp whispering and nervous glances are exchanged among members of court. Atoc releases my hand. “And the condesa’s whereabouts?”

I focus all my attention on the capitán. Don’t show them anything.

“In her room,” he says. “With a guard stationed outside.”

“I want more guards on every floor,” Atoc says, his voice drenched in disappointment. He would have loved to catch me in the wrong, I’m sure. “Patrolling the grounds and halls.”

The capitán bows his head. “As you declare, Radiant One.”

“Tell me what’s been done about the Illustrians crowding La Ciudad,” Atoc says, and this time I can’t keep myself from flinching. “Have they been arrested?”

The capitán nods. “The ones we can catch, but dozens more sneak into our city every day. It’s my suspicion that there are some households offering them places to stay.”

“No one would dare,” Atoc says. “Where are you keeping the felons?”

My fingers are slick with sweat at this point. Catalina hasn’t regained control over our people and is still letting them put themselves in danger. What in Luna’s name is she doing? If she can’t oversee and manage the Illustrians, how will she reign as queen over Inkasisa?

She can’t.

The treasonous thought echoes in my head. I want to drown out the words, but they’re too insistent. Catalina is our only option, the rightful heir, and a whole world better than Atoc. She will simply have to learn, that’s all. Desperation can make a great teacher. But my unease remains, no matter what I tell myself.

“They’re kept in the city jail, Your Radiance,” he says. “Though we’re nearly at capacity. Will the dungeons house them?”

Atoc waves his hand benevolently. “If there is room. You may sit, Capitán.” He calls out to the guards standing by the double doors. “Bring forth the prisoners.”

I straighten. What prisoners? Illustrian prisoners? I grip the gold armrest. The door opens, and two Llacsans in chains are brought forward. They wear leather sandals, and though smudged with dirt, their clothes fit well. The mark of a good seamstress.

The herald steps forward. “Behold! His Majesty, King Atoc, ruler of the High and Lowlands, devoted servant of Inti, enduring forever—”

“Enough!” Atoc exclaims, his voice ringing in the hall, high and metallic. “Move on to the charges. I don’t want to look at their faces longer than I have to.”

The priest steps forward. “Shining One, these men stand accused of dragging your enduring name through the mud. Their publication blackens your reputation and dares to question your decrees. I am your humble servant and will carry out your justice.” He bows low.

“Do you deny these charges?” Atoc demands of the two men.

They’re silent.

“Answer His Majesty!” Sajra roars.

“We do not,” one of the Llacsans says, rubbing his throat. He’s standing slightly in front of the shorter Llacsan, as if wanting to protect him from Atoc. His dark eyes flicker to mine, and then back to the king.

It’s a look that lasts only a moment, but the Llacsan’s face is seared into my mind. The expression is a mixture of pride and fear. I lean forward, almost of my own accord. There’s a haunted look in the Llacsan’s eyes. My hand itches to comfort him. To offer some encouragement for his bravery.

“I am magnanimous,” Atoc says softly. “Don’t I hear the petitions of my people? Tell me what your complaints are.”

It’s a horrible trap. Everyone knows it, especially the Llacsans in chains. But the taller Llacsan steps forward, his eyes blazing. “Our newsletter describes the events and times of Inkasisa. It’s a truthful account, and if you’re unhappy with what’s written, consider changing your methods.”

Atoc’s body is coiled tight, like an anaconda waiting for the moment to strike. “Go on.”

Stop talking, I want to shout. Be silent, fool. I don’t want to hear his words, because I know, I know, Atoc’s fury. I’ve seen it, and I’m afraid of it.

But I remember the overwhelming feeling of wanting to help Ana even as I knew it was futile. Despite the danger, my protest had burst from my lips, from my heart. Because words empowered by justice can never be silenced.