I’ve lost my mind. The entire story comes out in quick bursts. My mission, the search for the Estrella, the planned revolt, my betrayal of the real condesa, the messages in the tapestries. I want it all out.
“Who do you want on the throne?” Suyana asks, her fingers digging painfully into my shoulders. “Who?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “The princesa. It can’t be Catalina.”
“Do you swear?”
I freeze. The sudden fierce gleam in her eye steals my breath. Madre de Luna. She is one of El Lobo’s hidden friends in the castillo. My personal maid.
“I’ve been stupid,” I say. “You’re his confidante.”
She considers me for a long moment. “I didn’t trust you, but then Rumi decided to count you in on our plans.”
“Not anymore,” I whisper. “And now Catalina has the Estrella.”
The door opens again and the other two maids I drugged come in, wearing their black polleras and tunics and eyeing me reproachfully. I wish I could care. Suyana has no choice but to help me dress for the wedding. I’m tucked and pinned into the dress. Something is done to my hair, still damp from the bath I’d taken a half hour earlier. The feathered crown is carefully placed on my head. Someone hands me a mirror, but I barely take a look. I’m numb as Suyana laces me into the new sandals. Numb as they swipe rouge on my lips. Numb while the two maids I don’t know offer perfunctory congratulations.
It’s only when Suyana reaches for my hand and squeezes it that I register what’s happening. The door is open, and guards fill the frame, ready to take me away.
I’ve run out of time.
CAPÍTULO
Atoc’s family and wedding guests are waiting for me in the front courtyard. At the head of the crowd, Atoc climbs onto his horse to lead the procession. The gates are already open, and the cobblestone road to La Ciudad lies ahead. Several guards loiter by the crowd, scanning the area. I startle when I recognize the dark hair and tall frame of my friend.
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.
