Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(51)

“I did not,” he says. “Everyone was affected by the revolt, but for Llacsans, this was on top of living under a ruler who denied us institutional power. The only people who benefited under the former queen were the Illustrians. Growing up, you were free from oppression. I was not. This is why Inkasisa can never go back to the way it was before—for four hundred years.”

His words sink in. He isn’t saying that I haven’t had to make sacrifices, but for centuries Llacsans suffered while Illustrians flourished. The revolt begins to make sense to me. Which only sends more questions whirring inside my head that I don’t want to answer. The biggest being: What does this mean for Catalina, who does want to revert Inkasisa to the way things were?

What does it mean for me?

“Is that what you want, Condesa? To rule like your aunt?”

The truth nearly bursts from my lips. I’m not the condesa. I don’t want to speak for her. I want to have this discussion as Ximena. But that’s impossible. I need to turn the conversation away from me before I say something truly idiotic.

“Do you think that’s what El Lobo wants?”

Rumi shrugs. “I think one thing is very clear: He’s at odds with my king. That makes him an enemy to the throne.”

Yes, that much is clear. But El Lobo has also gifted what he’s stolen to the Llacsans. He definitely stands for something. Like the Llacsan journalists.

Rumi gets to his feet. “I have to tend to the guards who survived El Lobo’s attack. The capitán wants them lucid for questioning.”

“Have you learned anything?”

He glances down at me, looking faintly amused. “If I have, why would I share it with you?”

I keep my face neutral. I’d give anything to listen in on that conversation. I want some hint, some warning as to what will come next. Any one of those guards could have seen something.

“Let me take you back.”

“No need.” I gesture to the approaching Juan Carlos. “The infantry is here.”

I throw Rumi a wry smile as I stand. The whole way to my room, our conversation sits heavily in my heart. This isn’t an act of my imagination—Rumi has been different. Less hostile. Now when he disagrees with me, his tone remains even. Aside from his unapologetic loyalty to his cousin, our exchange was almost pleasant. Enlightening, even.

He isn’t so bad when it’s just the two of us talking. Atoc brings out the worst in him. Bumbling, idiotic, and embarrassingly effusive in his praise for the usurper. He tries too hard to win Atoc’s approval. Everyone knows it and his king takes advantage of it.

It’s hard to watch. I like the person Rumi is without an audience.

Juan Carlos opens my bedroom door and waits for me to walk inside. But I stand transfixed, my attention on the lone figure standing at the end of the hallway. One of Sajra’s attendants. The eggplant-colored robe covers every inch of his body, and a hood obscures the upper half of his face.

When he’s sure I’ve spotted him, the man moves out of my line of sight.

“Condesa?” Juan Carlos asks. He jerks his chin toward the open door. “Your dinner will be up soon. It’s your favorite.”

His words surprise me. “How do you know what my favorite is?”

“Anything fried is your favorite.”

He grins the moment a smile stretches across my face, but it fades as soon as I catch the priest’s man still lurking at the corner. I walk into my room, shuddering. That had been deliberate. The priest wants me to know I’m under his watch. The air in my room feels thin, as if I stand miles high on a mountain cliff. My Llacsan dress clenches around me, as if I’m caught in a fist. What does Sajra’s threat mean?

I am someone he won’t let go unnoticed.



Darkness descends and Luna’s moonlight washes over me as I change into my disguise and I strap the sword to my belt. On a whim, I take my three little woolen ants and tuck them into my pocket. I’d been thinking of bringing some animals with me on my adventures in case they prove helpful. Better to start small. Then I throw open the balcony doors and look down.

Hello, old friend.

Sighing, I throw a leg over and face my room. The animals leap from the tapestries, their hiding places during the day, and come to watch my progress, creeping out onto the balcony as if they want to go with me. “Sorry, amigos,” I mutter, looking over my shoulder as I turn around. “I’ll be right back.”

I pray to Luna I’ll find the Estrella hidden in that damn tower.

Chanting reminders to myself to keep my knees loose, I drop to the empty room’s balcony, and then climb over the rail and drop again before heading straight for the entrance of the watchtower.

A torch blazes near the tall iron entrance. Orange and yellow light bathes a yawning sentry standing next to it. The guard lazily casts an eye around the garden before leaning against the doors, his arms folded across his chest.

I reach for the small canvas bag I took from my room. It’s filled with moondust. Choosing the right moment to use it will be tricky. I can’t be seen using it, or else I’ll draw suspicion. The guard has to look like he fell asleep while on duty.

Massive potted plants flank each side of the door. I tiptoe over and hide behind the sprawling greenery. Quickly, I blow the moondust in the sentry’s direction. All it takes is one breath.