Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(9)

I steady my voice. “I’ll figure out a way to send word when I get there.”

“Use your weaving,” she says suddenly. “You stitch secret words into your tapestries all the time.”

I didn’t know she paid that much attention. “In what world would Atoc let me send a tapestry to the fortress?”

She blows out a breath. “I don’t know—but there has to be a way.”

Was there? I think about it, discarding one idea after another until I land on something that might work. I could, perhaps, slip the tapestry somewhere our spies could read it. “You’re going to have to keep a close watch on the castillo. Assign someone to walk the perimeter, the market, even the front gates. I’ll throw the tapestry out the window if I have to. It’s a good idea.”

Catalina’s gaze snags on one of my tapestries hanging in the hall: a scene depicting a shooting star escaping dense, puffy clouds, my favorite scene to weave. “You’ve come really far with your weaving. Luna’s given you an incredible talent.”

The way she says it makes me wonder if it’s meant to be a compliment, but her tone sounds forlorn, as if my magic cheapens hers. Which doesn’t make any sense. She can read the stars, whereas I merely copy them. Catalina holds the fate of Illustrians in her hands.

I hold wool.

Silence balances between us, tilting and tensing with each breath, until she finally sighs. “All I want is to make things like they used to be. The Llacsans are ruining everything. I feel like La Ciudad is tainted. Madre de Luna, I hate them. How will I ever get it back to the way it was?”

“You’ll have help,” I say. “And this time we’ll drive out the Llacsans for good.”

For a moment Catalina only stares at me until she gives a little nod. She heads to the door, shoulders straight, and places her hand lightly on the handle. “I believe you. And, Ximena?”

“?Qué?”

“Pack my hairbrush.”



I head straight for our room to pack. I don’t have much, but it all goes into my bag: tunics, pants, a couple of belts made of llama wool, and one worn leather jacket. I’ll have to leave my loom behind. There’s no way I can squeeze it into my bag, but I’m not worried. A Llacsan sits on the throne; he’s bound to have one in the castillo. The Llacsans prize their weavers and their skill for creating beautiful tapestries that tell the story of Inkasisa. Tapestries are often given as gifts, and it’s quite an honor to receive one.

Underneath Catalina’s skirt and tunic I slip on my scuffed leather boots and hide four slim daggers in sewn-on pockets. The ritual calms me for a moment.

I settle onto the narrow bed and think about my mission: discover what happened to the Estrella and figure out a way to communicate with the spies.

I pray to Luna I can do both without giving myself away.

The door to the room opens, and Sofía barrels in. She moves like a bull, her footsteps heavy and her chest pitched forward as if she’s moments from charging.

She eyes my small bag. “That’s it?”

“All I have,” I say.

She tucks a strand of hair that’s escaped my bun behind my ear. “I think what you’re doing is incredibly brave.”

I duck my head, surprised by the sudden prickling feeling at the back of my eyes.

“Has Catalina seen your hair?” she asks. “Were you going for a tilted side bun?”

I half laugh, half groan.

“I can fix it.” She tugs at the knots until my eyes water. I’ve spent countless hours at her hands. Not just help with my snarls, but with combat training and discussing which boys among our guard to stay away from. She’s older, faster, and tougher, but I’ve never held it against her. It’s nice knowing someone has my back.

“Catalina suggested you come with me.”

Sofía stops braiding. “Do you want me to?”

I waver between anger and impatience, and then move to crippling fear. The kind of fear that quickens the beat of my heart and makes my breath come out in shallow puffs. The kind of fear that makes me want to hide underneath my bed. Madre de Luna. Am I willingly riding to my death? I want to be brave. Like Ana, who risks her life so we can have something to eat. But even she takes people with her whenever she ventures into La Ciudad.

I swallow. “I don’t think I can go alone.”

Sofía finishes braiding my hair. “Then I’ll come and help kill the bastard who took my mother. I’ll go as your maid. Let me do the fighting, should it come to that. You want them thinking the condesa is weak, body and mind.”

I nod. “They could hardly expect the condesa to travel without her personal maid.”

“Don’t lose your temper,” she warns. “I don’t care how many of those slingshots they point at us—”

“They’re called huaracas.” I hand her a pin to secure the braid at the top of my head.

Sofía’s eyes light up. “Didn’t you try using one at some point during training?” She claps her hands. “Yes! You broke five windows! And someone’s nose.”

“It was someone’s foot, actually,” I mutter.

Sofía’s shoulders shake with mirth. “That’s right!”

I cover my face with my palms. “Can’t you just forget about that?”