Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(62)

El Lobo holds out a gloved hand. “I want whatever drug you’re using.”

Rude question. But I answer anyway. “I don’t use drugs.”

“But you do,” he says, his voice quiet. “I want what’s in your pockets.”

Has he searched my room? “How did you know?”

“The guard you drugged at the side entrance of the castillo. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Oh. He’s been watching very closely.

As if on cue, he leans forward until his masked face is inches from mine. “That’s right, Condesa. I know where you lay your head at night. I know what bench you prefer in the garden. I know that you like your food spicy and fried, and which hand you favor in a sword fight.”

I stiffen. His hand is still stretched toward me, waiting for the moondust. I drop the small bag into his outstretched palm. “Careful, one breath and you’ll be knocked out for hours.”

He pours a small amount into his palm as we suck in air at the same time. The moondust glitters in the candlelight, and his head jerks as if in surprise.

I give him a nod of reassurance and El Lobo turns on his heel. Without so much as a farewell, he opens the door and blows the powder into the guards’ wide-eyed faces. They crash to the ground seconds later. El Lobo leaves me standing in the middle of the office, both guards propping open the doors with their bodies.

Because that isn’t suspicious. “Imbécil,” I mutter.

With an exasperated sigh, I pull on my mask and bolt down the hallway, careful to keep my steps light. After coming to a full stop at a corner, I scan the area for guards. Three patrol the hallway, and one heads for my corner. A cacophony of noise comes from somewhere outside the castillo. Frantic whinnying from the stables. The guards unsheathe their swords and race for the stairs.

I follow, keeping a safe distance.

Thanks to the clamor outside, most of the guards go to investigate. If there even is anything to investigate. Something tells me I have El Lobo to thank for the easy return to my room.

After shutting the door behind me, I lean against it, half listening to the commotion. My conversation with El Lobo swims in my head. I go over everything I know: El Lobo is a Llacsan who works in the castillo. That’s how he knows where I sleep at night and how I like my food. That, or he has people spying for him. One of the cooks in the kitchen?

El Lobo is tall and broad shouldered. He knows how to fight. So far, those traits line up with everything I know about Juan Carlos. The vigilante could certainly be him.

But.

There’s Rumi. Also tall, except I don’t know if he can handle a sword. Besides, the night El Lobo and I fought together in Atoc’s office, he was busy tending to the wounded guards. He can’t be El Lobo. Not unless he can be in two places at once. Plus everyone would smell him coming.

?Quién es El Lobo?

My stomach clenches. My admiration for El Lobo has risen, sure and steady like the sun, ever since he tried to save Ana and the Illustrians. His actions help the people of Inkasisa. He wears a mask—like I do. I can’t help but respect his courage and conviction. I wish I could do more, like he’s actually able to. To have the freedom to come and go throughout La Ciudad and even the castillo, working toward the betterment of everyone in Inkasisa.

But who is this stranger to me? I can’t save one person if it means the deaths of hundreds of other people. He doesn’t have my loyalty. We don’t have years of friendship behind us. He’s working against Catalina. The man in black is my enemy—I shake my head—I don’t believe that anymore. Not all Llacsans are my enemies. I carry so many truths inside me, I fear I’ll burst. I circle back to the one I know best.

I won’t let any more Illustrians die.

Even if it means betraying El Lobo.





CAPíTULO





Now that I’ve decided to move against El Lobo, I find myself restless, tossing and turning in the lumpy bed every few minutes. What will happen if Sajra manages to capture the vigilante? Atoc will make an example of him. Publicly. His victories are never a secret. I sit up in bed, the sheets twisted around my legs, and rub my face.

I take a deep breath, craving a chunk of the darkest chocolate in existence. I get out of bed and light every candle in the room—no sense in trying to sleep at this point—and pace. I march the length of the room, up and down, my animals at my heels, jumping through my legs, playfully nipping my ankles and seeming to enjoy the exercise as they follow me from one end to the other. I absentmindedly stroke the jaguar’s woolen head and my hand vibrates as he purrs. The llama spits woolly balls at the anaconda, who lazily flicks them away with its tail.

I toss one idea after another. And then it hits. My hands smack my cheeks. Why didn’t I see it earlier? The solution is so simple. Find the Estrella. With it, I wouldn’t have to worry about the damned priest and his blood magic. I’d have the power of a thousand ghosts at my beck and call.

If I succeed in finding it, no one can touch me or my people.

I march outside, throwing the doors wide as Luna’s light washes the world in silver. My gaze snags on the heavily guarded watchtower. I have to see the princesa. She’s the last one to have seen the Estrella, but how will I get to her? Since the earthquakes, more guards patrol every hallway. Sentries are stationed at the main staircase. On top of that, the capitán has brought in a slew of watchdogs. It’s a damn menagerie with all the chickens and cats and dogs roaming the castillo.