Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(65)

“Where did you get the wool?” he asks gruffly.

“Some of it I brought with me,” I say. “The other—”

“I’ve been bringing it to her,” Rumi interrupts smoothly. “I thought Your Majesty would be pleased she practiced weaving.”

There’s a slight downward pull at the corners of the king’s mouth. “Thoughtful of you.”

Instinct tells me to back away. Atoc’s gaze travels from my face to my toes peeking out from underneath the ruffled skirt.

“I’ll see that you always have wool, Condesa,” he says sharply. “You’re excused now.”

I glance at Rumi. His face slides into that bored expression he wears when he knows he has an audience. He tosses back more of the jugo and doesn’t look in my direction again. I leave the room, unsure of the moment I just witnessed. But what does that matter? I’ve found a way to the princesa. If I can have even a few moments of uninterrupted time with her, she could tell me more about the Estrella and where Atoc might have hidden it.

It’s only when I think about how awkward it’s going to be with all of us in the room that a glimmer of an idea forms in my head. My heart beats faster.

I know how to find the Estrella.





CAPíTULO





That afternoon we all climb up the tower, except for Rumi, who mutters something about attending to the sick in the infirmary. Maybe he can’t stand the sight of seeing his beloved princesa locked up. A servant rushes to my room to get my loom and wool. Our steps echo as we climb them, the king at the head of the line.

The priest follows close on my heels. I feel his eyes on me. Clammy chills seep into my bones. He’s a cold shadow, touching everything and everyone around him. I shudder, remembering our deal about the vigilante. When we make it to the hallway before Princesa Tamaya’s room, the sentry standing outside gapes at us. He hastily opens the door.

Princesa Tamaya stands by her narrow cot. At the sight of us all clamoring inside, her expression betrays her surprise for only a moment. She squares her shoulders, and her face slides into a veiled fa?ade. It’s nicely done, and I can’t help but feel proud of her, even though I don’t know her at all.

“Hermana,” Atoc says coldly.

“Hermano,” Tamaya says in the exact same tone. “To what do I owe this incredible honor?”

Her brother holds out his hand for me. I step forward, my mask firmly in place. By that I mean, I’ve managed a smile. It hurts, but it’s on my face.

“We are here because my bride would like to pit her weaving talents against yours,” he says. The cape draped across his shoulders winks in the candlelight. “I told my betrothed that I’d like to witness this contest for myself.”

“A contest,” she says, glancing at me.

I widen my eyes slightly, tilting my head in the direction of the attendant who carries my loom. Please catch on. Por favor. My entire idea hinges on her magic. Without it, I won’t know where to find the Estrella.

“Sí,” she says when her gaze lands on the loom. “A weaving contest. How delightful. It’s been a long time since you’ve watched me weave, hermano.” A slight smile stretches her lips and her chin dips once in an imperceptible nod. Relief brushes over me as if my fears were swept aside like yesterday’s dust.

Atoc doesn’t bother with a reply; instead he settles himself on the dingy couch. “You may begin.”

The looms are placed side by side, a low wooden stool before each. Our baskets are filled with wool in a riot of colors. Mine are in varying shades of banana-peel yellow and honey, hers in deep shades of blue and red wine. I sit and gather my skirt and ruffles away from the loom.

The princesa does the same.

Our gazes clash and then we start to work, threading the strands over and under from one end to the other. Behind us, the spectators chat in low murmurs. I ignore everyone, pairing colors and trying to get a sense of what I want to weave. Any message is out of the question—it isn’t night yet, so I can’t use moonlight.

But this contest isn’t about me. It’s about the princesa and what she can do. I pause and turn to look at her tapestry. Her nimble fingers work the thread, and already she has a third of it done.

I’m fast, but she’s faster.

“Tell me, hermano,” Princesa Tamaya says over her shoulder. “How do you like your new hiding place for the Estrella?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop. Sajra shoots a quick look toward his king. The cold clings around my edges and I shiver. Atoc jumps to his feet, snarling.

“What do you know about it?” he says.

Princesa Tamaya merely smiles. “Just making conversation. It’s been a long time since we’ve really talked.”

“We’re not talking about the Estrella,” Atoc says through stiff lips. “Continue your weaving or I’ll—”

“You’ll do what? Lock me away from my friends? Take away all of my possessions?” She nods at my dress—another one of hers, apparently—and her mouth turns downward in scorn. “You’ve already done your worst, hermano.”

A calculating gleam appears in Atoc’s black eyes. “Not yet I haven’t. Shall I have my priest handle that sharp mouth?”

Sajra’s hands inch upward, eager and ready to pounce.