I think again about how close I was to betraying him last night. Obviously, the priest wouldn’t have turned him over to Atoc, or hurt the Illustrians at the keep. But I didn’t know that. I understand Rumi’s caution. It’s kept him alive all this time.
“Who knows? After finding the Estrella, he might come to your room and get down on his knees, begging your forgiveness.”
I let myself smile as we head back to the room at fifth bell. But Juan Carlos is wrong.
Rumi never comes.
The day of Carnaval arrives and I haven’t heard a word from Rumi. Juan Carlos is strangely missing, so I can’t ask him what’s happened. I don’t know whether the Estrella has been destroyed. I push aside the breakfast tray even though there’s enough dulce de leche to normally make my mouth water. My head hurts and my body feels stiff and heavy, as if I haven’t slept in days. But I’m not tired. Panic rises with every heartbeat.
Instead of eating, I’m sitting in a hot bath, rose petals floating in the water, my head tipped back and resting against the metal rim. Atoc has granted one of the grander suites for me to dress in. Voices belonging to several maids drift inside the small bathing chamber—chatter about my lovely dress, the headdress I’ll be wearing, and the fine leather sandals made especially for the wedding. There’s jewelry to be picked out, several hairstyles to try, and makeup to put on.
It’s all chains to keep me trapped.
I don’t know what the rebels’ plans are. Despite finding the Estrella, maybe Rumi has decided to leave me out of everything. Maybe he’s decided he still can’t trust me. That I’m too much of a risk. My nerves pick at me like carrion birds intent on their prey. And when the anger comes, I let myself feel it. He should include me. I deserve to know what’s happening.
I chose the princesa.
My fingers curl around the edge of the tub. I can’t wait another second. I have to see him if only so I can yell at him for keeping me in the dark. Dripping wet, I climb out and wrap myself in a thick robe. I coil my hair into a tight knot, and the water sluices down my back.
I pick up the small bundle of moondust I snuck inside the room and carefully pour a palmful. It’s barely enough for all the waiting maids. They might be out for an hour at most. But I don’t need that much time.
I blow all of it in their faces.
They slump to the ground, all three of them. Including Suyana. I pull off one maid’s clothing and don her servant’s attire—a simple black pollera, cream tunic, and plain manta—and hustle out of the room, carrying a tray laden with warm loaves of bread and a heaping pot of coffee. I keep my head down, but I’m not noticed, as the whole castillo is nearly empty. Everyone is either dressing or off at the temple to prepare for the ceremony.
I have one destination in mind, and I don’t even know if he’ll be there. When I get to the infirmary, I don’t bother knocking. The room is barely lit and there’s a metallic scent in the air. I wrinkle my nose. Blood. I set the tray down on an empty stool with a heavy thud.
Rumi’s head jerks up. He shows surprise for a second, but his expression becomes as dangerous as the edge of a blade. After a long moment he returns his attention to what he’d been doing before I interrupted. A wobbly breath skitters through my lungs.
He’s sitting on the table, shirt off, dragging wet strips of linen across a gash on his right side, under his ribs. The wound bleeds into the fabric, blooming red. I’ve never seen him without his billowy tunic that smells of rotting leaves. He’s leaner and sharper than I ever imagined. Rivulets of water trickle down the planes of his stomach and the muscles that delineate them. He uses his teeth to cut another strip of fabric, barely wincing as he lays it on top of the gash.
“It’s too deep,” I manage. “You need stitches.”
“What are you doing here?” There’s no warmth in his voice. It’s empty and frightening. The candles cast flickering shadows across his face.
My gaze narrows. “There’s been no word.”
His expression barely shifts. A slight tightening of his mouth. When he glances back at me, he’s detached. Aloof. But I know when he’s angry—the taut muscles in his neck betray him.
The air between us is poisoned. Something terrible has happened. “Rumi.”
He stands, his shoulders pulled back and tense. “Where’s the Estrella, Condesa?” He barks out a laugh. “Or whoever you are.”
“I told you—the bottom of Lago Yaku.” My hands tremble. “Princesa Tamaya said it’d be there.”
His cold veneer shatters. “It wasn’t there! You lied to me and played me for a fool. Don’t try to deny it.” His nostrils flare. “What’s your plan now? Does the real Catalina have the Estrella? Is she planning an attack on La Ciudad? Gods, I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done. Hundreds of people will die because of you. I thought you wanted peace.”
“I do. How can you doubt that?”
“Because the Estrella wasn’t where you’d said it’d be!” he yells. “After the other night, it’s all become too clear. You’ve been spying on us, earning Tamaya’s trust—”
My temples are throbbing. “She said it’d be there.”
“How convenient,” he says sarcastically. “Since I can’t ask Tamaya because she’s already at the temple, awaiting her execution!”
I flinch. She can’t die. I can’t let that happen.
“Well?”
