Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(48)

The seamstresses nod meekly and promise to deliver something by next court.

Atoc stands. We all follow suit. Court is over. I try to leave, but Atoc grasps my arm. “Enjoy the dress,” he says. “And you need not bother giving me a wedding present. A son will suffice.”

“A son?” I squawk. Nothing could have prepared me for the immediate terror that assaults me. Fear clutches my heart, and I push against it until I can find my anger. I hold on to it like a shield.

“The son you’ll bear me,” he says. “You’ll do this for me, unlike my first wife.”

His first wife. I know all about her. She was fifteen when Atoc took her as his bride. He was in his early thirties. Disgust roils inside me like a churning hot spring.

I jerk my arm away. “You won’t touch me.”

“For now,” he concedes. Then he smiles and walks down the aisle, his procession following after him.



Later that night I’m finally alone in my room. Suyana has come and gone with dinner, and Juan Carlos is stationed outside my door. Sickness clings to my belly no matter how many cups of té de maté I drink. My pulse speeds up as visions of the Llacsans’ withered, shrunken hands turn my insides upside down.

I take deep breaths, forcing myself to think of the mission. Of Catalina. Atoc can’t be king, but I still remember my treasonous thought from earlier. Catalina cares too much about what people think of her; she’s more interested in being their friend than their leader. At least currently, she isn’t fit to rule. But she’s still our best hope, and she’s smart. With the right teacher, she’ll learn to be an effective queen in time.

My gaze lands on the piles of bundled wool, and my shoulders relax. There’s the answer. Weaving will calm me. I snap the covers back and scramble out of bed. After dragging the loom closer to the balcony doors, I gather the wool.

Each possible location for the Estrella has to be thoroughly searched.

The clouds break, and Luna shines her silver rays. Moonlight touches every corner of my room. I weave thread after thread, turning strands into art, turning art into a secret message. I only use keywords and pray to Luna it’ll be enough. This time I keep the size of the tapestry manageable, depicting a colorful lizard.

After three hours, I finish. I stretch my sore back and stiff fingers.

The tapestry winks silver in the moonlight as I drape it over a chair. A slight movement makes me blink. I lean forward, and the lizard flicks his tail.

Madre de Luna. It moved. How is this possible? When I saw the bee’s wing flutter, I thought I must have imagined it. But this—this thing—looks as if it’s getting ready to jump off my tapestry. His legs are bent, and it stares at the edge.

“Luna,” I murmur. “What is this?”

It flicks its tail again and inches a half step forward, bumping into the message part of the tapestry. “Oh Cielos. You’re really moving. Wait … just stay there, why don’t you? You’re really scaring me.”

It comes as no surprise that the thing ignores me. The lizard takes a step backward, its tail skimming the tapestry’s edge. My breath catches in my throat. Is it trying to get off the tapestry? Can it do that? It takes another step, then another, until it reaches the last row—and then it leaps.

I jump back as it skirts underneath my bed. Now what? My heart slams as I slowly drop to my knees. I lift the blanket and squint into the dark. A pair of silvery eyes gazes back at me. I swallow a scream.

“Come here.” I reach out to the lizard, praying to Luna it won’t bite off my finger. “I won’t hurt you.”

It moves toward me and takes a tentative step into my open palm. As I stand, the lizard’s tail curls around my hand.

“Incredible,” I say breathlessly. “You’re … alive.”

The lizard curls deeper into my palm, his woolly eyes shut. It’s sleeping. In my hand. Madre de Luna! I bend closer, parting my lips in surprise. Every stitch remains the same. It’s an animal—but not. A woven thing that breathes air and moves like a reptile. I made it and now—Wait. As I turn toward the tapestry, I let out a little laugh. There’s a gaping lizard-shaped hole. An easy fix—I’ll simply add in a new pattern.

Nothing like this has ever happened. I mean, I’ve been weaving stars and constellations all my life. And yes, they glimmer and shine like the night sky. But they never … moved.

My knees quake. What if this is part of my Illustrian magic? Part of Luna’s gift? My moon thread breathes life into my creations. Did I do something differently? Then it hits me.

Color.

Beautiful, vibrant, messy, forbidden color.

Cielos! What else can I do? I ease the sleeping lizard onto my pillow. “I’ll be right back. I just need to finish the tapestry.”

My new pet doesn’t stir and I smile. I go back to work and fill in the hole. As I weave, concern presses against me. How am I going to send this message? Atoc won’t allow me to bestow yet another gift onto a merchant. I finish the tapestry and immediately start another, my fingers flying across the loom. I want to create more animals; I want to see if all my creatures can come to life. I’ll use up every last scrap of wool in my room if I have to.

The breeze ruffles the curtain from the open balcony. Luna’s light makes crisscross patterns on the floor. I take a deep breath and turn the wool into moon thread. The silver light from the thread makes me squint. I ease the wool over and under the warped threads. A frog takes shape. I choose the poisonous breed—the one that scares me the most. One touch is all it takes for the venom to do its lethal work. But this frog has my moon thread. It’s a friend.