Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(90)

Of all the things I could have said, I thought this would best ensnare his attention. His body shifts in my direction. The room is silent. No one seems to breathe. No one moves. Not one rustle of clothing.

“What?” he growls.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“You are,” he snarls. “This minute.”

I smile. “I’m not the condesa. I’m her decoy.”

He takes a step back, his jaw clenched. “You’re lying!”

For the third time in my life, I reveal my secret. Utterly calm. My back straight, my tone steady and unwavering. I could face a firing squad and not even blink. “My name is Ximena Rojas. And Catalina Quiroga marches to the city with the Estrella even now. The ghosts are coming.”

Loud gasps erupt in the chamber. People scramble and start talking all at once. The room suddenly feels like a too-fast carriage ride, the crowd and colors blurring together in a chaotic mix. Everyone remembers the carnage, the absolute devastation done by the ghosts. But this time they’re on the wrong side. The sound of pattering feet reverberates in the room as some wedding guests flee.

I use the distraction to pull the dagger from within the folds of my elaborate wedding dress and flip the weapon in my palm, blade up. Atoc sees and barks something to the priest. But it’s too late. I’ve already pulled my arm back to launch the knife.

Shooting pain races down my arm, and at the last moment the knife leaves my hand at the wrong angle and clatters uselessly by my feet. My body isn’t mine anymore. I glare at the priest. He’d torture me to save his skin. Until the rebels make their move, until Catalina shows up, he’ll play his role dutifully. I let out a curse as my body trembles, unable to move an inch.

Atoc motions to Umaq. “Kill the decoy.”

I suck in air. I’m alone against my fight with the false king. “You will not survive what’s coming.” I pitch my voice louder. “You have too many enemies.”

“Wait, priest.” Atoc’s pulse jumps in his throat. “What other enemies?”

“There are spies everywhere.”

His face darkens to a mottled red. “Who are you working with? The vigilante?”

“You shouldn’t have turned against your own, Atoc,” I say loudly. “You’ve lost the respect of your people.”

Atoc’s head jerks back. He casts a nervous glance around the room as if suddenly remembering it’s filled with his nobles and foreign dignitaries. “Give me the vigilante’s—”

“You’ve broken your promises.”

“His name.” Atoc jabs a finger in my direction. “Now.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Rumi. He pushes forward until he’s standing near the front of the assembly, dressed entirely in black. No one seems to notice him. His gaze flickers to Atoc and then back to mine. A frown pulls at the corners of his mouth, and his brow is scrunched in confusion, as if he’s wondering why I won’t give up his name.

I remain quiet.

Umaq uses his blood magic against my arms and legs. My limbs start swelling, fingers plumping and becoming engorged. The pain rips me apart and I groan as I fall to my knees. My hands are in reach of the dagger, but I don’t have control over my body.

“It will get so much worse,” Atoc says. “His name.”

“My secrets will die with me.”

“Then you’re useless. Get rid of her, priest.”

Umaq takes another step forward and I brace myself against the assault. The hem of his robe brushes against my legs. The priest stares down at me and slowly raises his hands.

Then someone bellows, “Stop!”

I look over my shoulder and my heart jumps a beat. Rumi approaches the altar, his slingshot poised and ready, a stone in the leather straps.

Atoc’s attention snaps to Rumi. “What are you doing? Drop your weapon. Who do you think you—Dios.” The last word escapes on a gasp. He’s put the pieces together. Rumi’s black clothing. The slingshot. “You.”

Rumi’s bitter coffee eyes glitter in the shifting shadows. “Me.”

Atoc’s guards circle Rumi as the ground starts to tremble. The false king vibrates with iron and fire, his hands clenched into tight fists, his knees slightly bent in preparation for the impending destruction.

Rumi takes aim as guards rush him, and the polished stone crashes into a pillar next to the fake king. Atoc is distracted by the attempted shot. Rumi has another stone in his slingshot. Juan Carlos is by his side, fighting two men at once. The rebels flood the temple, battling Atoc’s sentries. Suyana joins the fight, wielding an ax.

Umaq releases his hold on me and blood races away from my swollen limbs. I give myself a moment for my body to right itself and then I snatch the dagger and lunge at the false king. The ground lifts and Atoc lurches to the side. The steel blade tears at the flesh under his arm and he howls with all the fury of an enraged jaguar. The false king snarls and reaches for me, but I stab him again with the dagger, tearing at his skin—

The earthquake tilts the floor beneath my feet.

It sends me careening to my side. My dagger spins away from my hand. Atoc is on me, kicking my ribs, my stomach, over and over—I try scrambling away, but the ground is rippling too hard, keeping me trapped between his feet and the trembling white stone. Atoc slams a fist at my face and the hit shreds my mouth. I cough up blood.