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.”
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.”
