Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(81)

Do I dare let him do this?

I have to. What if I don’t recover the Estrella?

I’ll endure his hatred, the loss of what could have been, the end of our friendship. I’ll suffer it all if it means saving hundreds of Illustrian lives. He’ll never forgive me, but then, neither will I forgive myself. Once again I hear Catalina in my head.

Traitor. Rat.

He grips the bottom of his mask. The dark fabric creeps upward. Little by little, his face comes into view: a strong jaw. Scruffy beard. Thin lips. A blade of a nose and sharp cheekbones.

I know him.

It’s Rumi.

My hand flies to my mouth. This entire time it was my enemy, my almost friend. The smelly grump. Not Juan Carlos. Rumi, the healer. Every single one of our encounters flashes through my mind. The first time I laid eyes on him. The night he lent me the book. Our conversations and fights, and the times he carefully wrapped my wounds.

My mind tries to connect one thing to the other—

“How can it be you?” I ask. “The night in the office! You showed up and tended to the guards.”

Rumi leans against the wall, his arms folded, a lazy smile on his lips. “My room is in that wing. I ducked in, changed, and came out looking very alarmed.”

“I thought you were Juan Carlos—”

“No,” he says slowly.

“You don’t like me.”

“I didn’t at first. You didn’t like me either.” Rumi pushes away from the wall. He tilts his head and smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The silence grows heavy. What is he thinking? He’s too still. I know that court smile. All charm and no heart.

“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he says smoothly. “If you are—”

“Be quiet,” I say. “I’m several things right now, but disappointed isn’t one of them.”

“Tell me.”

I keep blinking, as if trying to make sure this is real—that it is him. Rumi who stood up to me and cared enough to tell me when I was wrong. Rumi who has no love for the king of Inkasisa. The last makes me exhale with profound relief. He hates Atoc as much as I do.

He stands at his full height, towering over me. Dressed in black as El Lobo, he seems more like himself than Rumi the laughingstock of court.

“I hoped it was you.”

Whatever doubt existed flees from his troubled eyes. He lights up brighter than all of Luna’s stars put together.

I’m in so much trouble. It’s clear he might be too, and I wonder when it all became different between us. What brought him to this moment? I want—no, I need to understand. “Tell me why you took off your mask.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says, volleying back.

“Spell it out for me.”

His face is open, without guile, and utterly sincere. “Because we’re the same. You’re loyal to your own.” I flinch, but he doesn’t notice. “A fighter, willing to risk your life. Passionate and feisty, but a learner, too. You’ve surprised me. Our conversations are the brightest part of my day.” He pauses. “And I think you’re so lovely. Does that answer your question?”

I flush to the roots of my hair. In two steps Rumi stands in front of me, maneuvering me until my back is pressed against the wall. He removes my mask and leans forward, his face closer and closer. His arms are on either side of my head, and there’s no looking away from him. I place my hands lightly on his shoulders. His lips brush mine, his fingers curling into my hair, pulling my head back. He looks down into my face, giving me time to decide.

I shouldn’t let him near me. I have what I need to save my people, and I can’t cross this line. Kissing him wouldn’t be right. What does it say about me if I let him do this? I stare at my hands, willing them to push him away.

But I’m done lying to myself. If tonight is all we’ll have, so be it. My hands slide up to the back of his neck.

He kisses me, his lips firmly pressing against mine, warm and sweet and thorough. We float between worlds, between two sides of a war, and the promises we’ve made to others. Everything fades away. I only feel his tight grip on my waist and his fingertips splayed against my lower back. His tongue softly parts my lips and it’s impossible to think of anything but what he tastes like.

Impossibly right.

We pull apart, and Rumi has the look of someone who’s just been told a precious secret. Like he’s honored to have been trusted with something so vulnerable. His forehead is pressed against mine and we breathe the same sweet air.

“I want you to know the truth about me, Catalina,” he says. “We’ll never make it if there are secrets between us.”

I nod, but my stomach clenches. If there was ever a time to reveal the biggest secret I carry, it’s this moment. But I can’t make myself say it. The ramifications are too much for me to take in—I’ve only just discovered how he feels about me, and to tell him the truth means losing him.

I don’t want to lose him. Not tonight. Because in my heart I know this won’t go the way I want it to. He’ll hate me when this is all over.

Rumi kisses the tip of my nose. “What are you thinking?”

I meet his gaze. “This might end faster than you think.”

He smiles gently. “We’ll see.”

Rumi leads me to a shadowed doorstep. Above it hangs a sign painted in the old language along with a faded sketch of a bird.