Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(8)

I wish I could’ve given the order twice.





CAPíTULO





Catalina sits across from me at one of the rectangular wooden tables in the great hall, quiet and grim. The hall is empty and we’re alone. I fidget on a stool, catching myself as it wobbles under my weight. She fiddles with the sleeves of her cotton shirt, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Out with it,” I say.

She spears me with a glare. “What a time to lose your temper—you had them killed?”

I almost choke on my anger. “They kidnapped Ana and the others. What would you have done? Invited them in for breakfast? Have them sit down with us, serve them eggs and coffee—without sugar, by the way, because we’re out—and eat together like we’re all—”

“I wouldn’t have acted impulsively,” she says. “You have no idea who that messenger was. What position he held in the castillo. Do you understand what I’m saying? You may have just murdered members of Atoc’s family.”

I gather the frayed edges of my dignity. My words come out measured, my shoulders straight. “We are at war.” Have been since the day Atoc came down from the mountain with his earthquakes and ghost army and killed everything and everyone I loved.

“Not every fight can be won with fists and swords,” she says softly.

I don’t have time for this. I didn’t want to appear weak, so I met him with strength. I did the right thing.

“You’ll take Sofía with you,” the condesa says. “As protection. Luna knows what you’ll be walking into, especially after what you did today.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I mumble, trying to hide my blush. Maybe I had been a bit reckless.

“Ana would want her to go with you.” She tugs on the ends of her long hair. “But it’s your choice. I can’t believe this is happening. There are too many unforeseeable outcomes. The stars will be impossible to read.”

My fingers tap the table and I continue to fidget on the stool. The space between us seems to grow as if the table stretches for miles. “It’s the best move we have,” I say gently. “I’ll be situated in the castillo.”

“You’ll be a spy—like Ana,” she says.

“So?”

“It’s risky. What if you end up married to the false king?”

I wave my hand dismissively. “He’s a peacock! The wedding will take months to prepare. He’ll want a ceremony, weeks-long festivities, and visits from foreign dignitaries to see all of his riches. There’re the invitations and food, making space for all the guests. The new queen will need to be crowned. We have at least six months. Maybe more. We’ve never had this kind of access before.”

“Six months isn’t a long time.”

“It’s long enough.” I reach across the table for her. “And with the Estrella missing …”

Catalina grabs my hand. “Ximena. I saw it.”

“?Qué?”

Her voice drops to a soft hush. “I think the stars have been trying to tell me about the Estrella. It’s still in the castillo, but Atoc isn’t wearing it anymore—why? To keep it safe?”

I exhale slowly. If the Estrella is still in the castillo, but not on Atoc’s person, I might be able to find out what happened to it, or even take it. If we have power over the ghost army … Hope surges like a weed, taking root within me. But I quash the feeling. This isn’t the first time her predications have given me a false sense of hope.

“I’m sorry.” Catalina shrugs helplessly, letting go of my hand. “I wanted to say something last night, but I didn’t know for sure if what I read was real. I still don’t know.” She resumes tugging at the ends of her hair, eyes squeezed tightly as she whispers, “It should be me going.”

I stretch my hand across the table and touch her wrist. She smiles—a sad sort of smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It dawns on me that she’s afraid for me. I want to reassure her that I’ll be fine, that I’ll come back alive and with the Estrella, but I keep silent. We both know I’d be lying.

This mission isn’t about me, anyway. It’s about Inkasisa. Our people. Her.

“You’re our people’s hope,” I say. “You know this. Stay out of sight until we can clear a path to the throne.”

“Marrying the pretender gets me to the throne.”

My jaw drops.

“It does,” she says. “Once there I could—I could—”

“What? Kill him?” I ask, my voice sharp. Her. This is the girl who still practices with a wooden sword. A prop. Because of Ana, she knows the basics of a sword. And by basics, I mean she knows to hold the blade upright and to point the tip away from her. She’s always preferred to strategize and plan for the revolt: What supplies would we need? When would we strike? How could we take fewer casualties on our side?

The business of fighting and getting her hands dirty? She leaves that to me.

“Fine,” she says. “Go.”

I force my face into a neutral expression. Does she not believe in me? This is the why behind the long years of my pretending to be someone else. It’s the reason I don’t answer to my own name. The reason I’ve spent so many hours on the training field and why I accept the walls that cage me in. We’ll never have a better chance. I’ll never have a better chance to avenge my parents, to make Ana proud, to get to the other side of this war and finally, finally, have my own life.