Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(73)

Atoc’s gaze drops to my bleeding elbow. He walks to the door and pokes his head out. There’s soft murmuring as he talks to one of his guards.

“Tell the seamstresses to lower the neckline.” He looks me over again, not missing a single detail, and adds in a gruff voice, “You look lovely.”

Then he’s gone. I sink onto the steps, my knees finally giving out completely, and examine my elbow. It’s a scraped-up, bloody mess. I can’t stop trembling, thinking of his plans for me. Thinking of his poor first wife. Thinking how it could have been Catalina in this room instead of me. My blood floods with panic. I lift shaking hands to my face, thankful I’m alone. To take off the mask. To let myself worry about my own skin.

The door opens, and Rumi walks in. He takes one look at me, sitting as I am, my wedding dress bunched around my legs, my arm close to my chest.

“Condesa.” He squats in front of me, lightly touching the area around my wound. “I’ll have to clean it. Come on—let’s go to the infirmary.”

He gently tugs me to my feet.

I gesture to the wedding dress. The fabric feels tight around my chest, as if I’m not getting enough air. “I have to get out of this.”

He nods. “All right.”

I blow out an exasperated breath when he spins around to give me privacy. “I can’t get out of this dress by myself. Can you help me?”

Rumi faces me. There’s a slightly dazed look on his face, but it’s gone before I can comment on it. I turn around and look at him over my shoulder. “There’s a row of buttons.”

“Right.” He swallows. “One second.”

Then he crosses the room and peers up and down the hall, presumably looking for help. I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable before. Finally he returns to my side, wearing a resigned expression, as if he’s about to endure the worst meal of his life.

He works swiftly, his fingers grazing my skin. “It’s done.”

After he’s turned around again, his back toward me, I quickly step out of the dress and change into my striped skirt and tunic. I lightly touch his shoulder to let him know I’m ready. He tenses under my fingers and I hastily pull away.

I follow him out of the room, down the hall, and toward the east wing. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

“Yes,” I say. “But it’s fine. I’ll have a bruise, but nothing is broken.”

Rumi gives me a sidelong glance. “What set him off?”

Away from Atoc, my nerves begin to settle and I feel safer. “My general well-being, I think.”

The corners of his lips kick up into a soft smile. We pass windows shaped into narrow slits. Outside is a closed-in courtyard, one I’ve seen but never visited. Llacsans are stomping koka stalks with their bare feet, turning the plant into a thick paste that’ll then be smoked in tobacco pipes. The result is something toxic and highly addictive. I turn away from the sight.

“Atoc’s personal stash,” Rumi says with one squeeze of lemon juice in his voice.

I’ve stayed far, far away from the drug, but nearly everyone at court smokes their pipes daily, littering the halls and grand rooms in cloying smoke. I don’t have to ask Rumi if he’s ever tried it; his distaste for the drug radiates off him as we leave the stomping Llacsans.

“He’s ruined our economy with the production,” I say as we approach a long string of doors. Above one of them is a block of wood with a carving of plants.

“King Atoc was desperate,” Rumi says. “I’m sure he thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“Will you stop defending him, healer? Por favor. He’s destroyed tens of thousands of farmlands for the koka plant. You can’t convince me it was a good idea.”

“Are you an expert in farming now?”

We stop in front of the infirmary. My hands are on my hips; his are folded across his chest. Rumi leans against the wooden frame, settling into the argument. I swear he’s trying not to smile, as if sparring with me isn’t annoying but … fun.

“Whether you believe me or not, His Majesty did have good intentions. The koka leaf grows well in poor soil and withstands the onslaught of pests and blight. It’s lightweight and lasts a long time before rotting, which means it can travel long range across the mountains. It also sells for ten times more than, let’s say, citrus. King Atoc needed a viable export to lend credibility to his name. Because of the koka leaf, we are just as wealthy as our neighbors to the east and west.”

I hiss out a disgusted breath. How could he side with Atoc after what he just did to me?

“I don’t care about his intention,” I snap. “He’s made addicts of his countrymen. With the majority of campesinos planting the koka leaf, food production has stalled. No more regular supply of rice, bananas, yuca, maize, or citrus. Food prices have soared. When’s the last time you bought a loaf of bread? I can’t believe you’d support this. I thought you had more sense!”

“Stop putting words in my mouth and head,” he says. “I can speak and think for myself. Thanks.”

“Wait, so you don’t agree with Atoc?”

“King Atoc,” he corrects me for maybe the hundredth time. “Of course not, idiot. My people have been using the koka leaf for centuries. In its pure form, I can create forty remedies. Chewing the leaf helps with the high altitude and provides energy for miners and farmers doing strenuous tasks. But because the koka leaf is so expensive, many Llacsans and Lowlanders can’t afford a single stalk. I’m not saying I agree with his methods, but I understand why he took the easy path. That’s all I’m saying.”