Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(78)



“Catalina,” I say. “Stop. I haven’t been turned—I’ve been informed. Do you want another war?”

Her fists cover the tears leaking from her eyes. “I hate them. I hate them.”

She isn’t hearing me.

“Do you even want to be queen?” I press. “Think about it. The amount of responsibility on your shoulders? You’d have the whole country looking to you. Imagine the pressure of getting it right. Do you really want to lead us?”

She takes a step back, drawing away slowly as if I were a predator. “How can you ask me that? Of course I want to be queen.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you do. I think you’re doing this for them—for the family you’ve lost. But it’s not what you want. Not really. To be a queen, you can’t be everyone’s friend.”

“Luna. What are you saying?”

I have to make her understand, even if I hurt her. She needs to know what it will take to lead Inkasisa. “If you’re queen, not everyone will like you. Tough decisions are part of the job, and you won’t be able to please everyone. Catalina, you’re too soft. Too kind and sweet and impressionable. Inkasisa needs someone with iron in their blood. That life isn’t for you. I love you, you’re my best friend, and I know you. If you forget the throne, you’ll be free to be the person you’re supposed to be. Can’t you understand what I’m saying?”

She flinches with every word, cowering against the wall. I know she believes the truth in what I’m saying. “And you think this Tamaya will make a better queen than me?”

I force myself to push the words out, knowing how this will hurt. How it will hurt us both. But she needs to know how I feel. Me, her friend. Not a decoy. “I do.”

“No,” she says, straightening from the wall. “No. This isn’t you. They’ve destroyed my friend.”

“Catalina,” I say firmly, “no one can tell me what to think.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Then you’re not the person I thought you were. You’re a traitor. A rat. I won’t give up. If you’re not with me”—her voice cracks—“then you’re against me. Is that what you’re saying?”

I shift tactics. “You’ve always tried to plan the revolt around fewer casualties. This is your chance to save lives. Take it and step aside.”

“I can’t give up,” Catalina whispers. “My whole life has been about winning the throne. What will everyone say if I just quit?”

“I think they’d prefer to be alive.” I splay my hands. “This is the better way.”

Her expression shutters and I know I’ve lost her.

“I’ll lead the revolution on my own,” she says. “I don’t need a decoy anymore. No more leading from the shadows. I am the condesa. You’ll see how much iron I have in my spine. You may not believe in me anymore, but I do. I’ll show you. I’ll show you all.”

She dries her tears and picks up the discarded hat, calmly brushing off the dirt. Without another look in my direction, she walks to the other end of the alley. Her shoulders push back, as if preparing for battle, and it’s that gesture that splinters my heart.

Luna. Please let her forgive me.

La Ciudad waits for me at the other end of the alley and I veer toward it, wiping the tears clutching my eyelashes. When I step into the sunlight, Juan Carlos is across the plaza, sword drawn, his neck muscles tight as he searches the crowd. I make it easy for him and step into plain sight, pretending to admire a barrel full of salted and dried fish at the first stall within my reach.

He’s at my elbow in seconds. “Condesa.”

I look at him innocently. “I think I’d like something else to eat.”

He scowls. “Where did you go?”

I shrug. “I wandered off. I’ve been trapped for weeks and wanted to take in the sights.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that’s what happened?” He takes my arm and hauls me away from the stall, away from the plaza, and back toward the stables.

“No,” I say. “But maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it.”

“Do what?” he asks.

I take one last look at the disappearing plaza, at its noise and people living free of invisible chains. “Escape.”





CAPíTULO





On the night El Lobo is supposed to come, I pick out the least ruffled dress in my arsenal and put it on carefully, making sure its hems lie exactly right. Chewing on mint leaves, I straighten the room, making the bed and wiping the dresser of any accumulated dust. I braid my hair and put on rouge the way Catalina taught me.

For some unfathomable reason.

I try not to think about it as I open the balcony doors, letting Luna’s light flood the room like an untamed river current. I try not to think about it as I sit in front of the loom, getting lost as I weave moon thread into a new tapestry. My basket of wool is nearly overwhelming; every day more of it arrives. Soon I’ll have enough to outfit every person in the damn castillo. Or to populate the whole of Inkasisa with woolly animals.

Time flies as I weave, and the world disappears and I don’t care to join it. All I want is to choose the next color, the next pattern to create something new and beautiful that’s just for me. But Catalina’s words whisper in my mind, loud and insistent.

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