Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(89)

Juan Carlos.

He’s staring at me in contempt. He’s as stiff as a board when helping me onto the horse, touching me as little as possible, as if I were garbage. Everyone files into a line, and the entire procession of about one hundred people rides into the city, Juan Carlos on the left, within talking distance. His back is straight enough that I worry it might snap.

As we draw closer to the outer wall of La Ciudad, I’m painfully aware that it’s my fault Catalina will unleash ghosts on a rampage against all of these innocent witnesses to my sham of a wedding. Crowds gather on each side of the parade. Loud cheering blocks out the noise of the horses and carts carrying wedding guests.

“I know you must hate me, but you have to help me stop Catalina before it’s too late.”

His eyes cut to mine, the corner of his mouth lifting in derision. “I’m only here to make sure you don’t get in the way, Condesa.”

“Juan Carlos. Por favor.”

But he remains stubbornly silent. I stare ahead in frustration. Even if I were to try to break free from the procession, I wouldn’t make it far. I’m surrounded by guards and well-wishers and court members. The journey is endless. The sun sits high above us, bearing down on the top of my headdress. It must be close to noon.

We reach La Ciudad, its dirty white buildings and clay-tiled roofs looming above us. The décor for Carnaval becomes more pronounced as we snake our way deeper into the city. People wear their best and most festive—every kind of hat and braided hairstyle accented with flowers. There are streamers and jugglers, dancers practicing one of the many traditional Inkasisian dances. I recognize the avid stomping and hopping of the Caporales routine. Musicians strum their charangos. Many others do last-minute adjustments to the main float depicting the silver mountain. All of them are performers for the parade that will commence from the temple and wind its way throughout the entire city.

I take it all in as if I’m not the center of the spectacle. As if it’s not my wedding. I can’t stop thinking about the ghost army or Tamaya’s execution. But when we arrive at the white temple, realization hits.

I’m getting married.

I cast a furtive look in the direction of the Illustrian fortress. Even now, Catalina could be making her way toward La Ciudad with the Estrella. Juan Carlos leaves my side and melts into the crowd. I lose sight of him until he reappears near the temple entrance.

He’s found Rumi.

My heart careens against my ribs. He’s wearing black pants and a matching tunic, but over the dark clothing there’s a colorful vest. He and Juan Carlos stand shoulder to shoulder, their matching brown eyes skimming the crowd. When Rumi’s gaze lands on mine, a bolt of recognition courses through my body. His lips flatten into a thin pale slash.

I look away. It’s over; there’s nothing else I can say or do that will convince him. A guard pulls me off the horse. By the time my feet touch the ground, I’ve swiped his dagger off his leather belt. I quickly tuck the blade into the folds of my dress. No one will be closer to Atoc than I am. If I can’t stop Catalina from summoning the ghost army, I can at least take care of the usurper.

I won’t marry him, even if the throat I cut is my own.

A flurry of movement catches my attention and I squint under the bright glare of the sun. It’s Suyana, rushing toward Rumi and Juan Carlos. Two guards pull me toward the entrance, and I let them drag me up the white steps and to the grand temple opening. It’s Llacsan designed and in the shape of a square, but we painted the structure white hundreds of years ago. My ancestors carved the moon and stars into the outer stone walls and added the two pillars flanking the entrance.

The last time I’d stepped inside was for my abuela’s funeral. I only remember two things from that day: the round opening inside that allows Luna’s light to brighten the white floors, and how we’d eaten her walnut cake in her honor. I ate so much of it, I’d gotten sick.

I cross the threshold of the temple where Atoc waits before the white altar at the foot of the chamber. This room used to have gold and silver stars decorating the floor, but it’s been covered by horrible green paint. Princesa Tamaya stands off to the side, dressed in plain clothing and guarded by three men. Her wrists are bound, her hair loose and tumbling past her shoulders. She’s pale, but she still glares at her brother, her shoulders pulled back, her chin lifted high.

Atoc can’t strip her of dignity. She looks every bit the queen. I’m sure of the choice I made. I’m going to kill him. For her, for my people, for Inkasisa.

My heart thrums wildly. Fear works its way into my hands and feet, turning my legs to wood. It snakes into my blood, transforming into a river of living fire. There’s no escaping the panic bubbling in me. I fight to remain calm, but I stumble down the aisle, shaking uncontrollably.

I’m about to get married to my enemy. There’s no one to help me and nowhere to turn to.

But then Atoc looks at me with a smile that drips oil. Confident of his success. Ready to lead Inkasisa to its doom with me at his side. To cause more pain to everyone I know.

Every inch of me blazes with scorching heat.

This is my moment. I grip the handle of the blade as I step in front of the altar. Ana taught me how a well-placed thrust can be lethal. I only have to be close enough. From a side door, Umaq emerges, dressed in his eggplant-hued robes. The crowd hushes and the ceremony starts—or it would have, if I didn’t open my mouth: “Atoc, you’re making a mistake.”