“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.
Suyana knocks the fake king off me, but another guard charges at me, sword raised high. He aims for my neck. I try scrambling away, but I slip on my own blood. My dagger is yards away from my reach.
The sword comes down.
Rumi roars. There’s a sharp whistling sound. A rock strikes the back of the guard’s head. Blood and bone splatter everywhere.
Rumi is upon me, pulling me to my feet. He thrusts a sword into my hands. There’s no time for words, but he looks deep into my eyes and brushes his lips to mine. It’s only for a moment, then he pushes through the crowd, slingshot circling high above his head.
Battle cries erupt around me. There are people everywhere—kicking and thrusting blades, grunting and launching their stones. Atoc’s Llacsan guards are distinguishable thanks to their uniforms: black-and-white checked tunics, and around their calves a dark band stitched with multicolored feathers. The Llacsan rebels are dressed entirely in black. A nod to El Lobo. In the madness, I’ve lost sight of the people I know. Suyana and Juan Carlos. The fickle priest, Umaq. Princesa Tamaya. Rumi.
A Llacsan guard attacks my left side. I jump sideways, raise my blade, and block his strike. I wince—the movement jars my ribs and sends shooting pains down my side. My attacker snarls at me.
He’s still snarling when I drive the point of my sword into his belly. Blood gushes from the hole in his stomach, but I’ve already moved on. I suck in deep breaths, trying to keep the nausea at bay. I spit blood onto the white stone. The metallic taste burns my tongue. My dress is a hindrance, and impatiently I tear the delicate fabric of the skirt, shortening it to mid-thigh. I kick off the delicate sandals. The white stone is hot beneath my feet.
The battle moves outside the temple and onto the open streets. I’m pushed along with the crowd, through the fighting and puddles of blood smearing the cobblestone. Atoc hollers for his guards, for a weapon, for a defense against the approaching fighters. They’re mixed in with the Carnaval celebrators and street vendors, who desperately rush away. In every direction, spears and swords are raised. One of Atoc’s guards hands him a whip.
Someone lets out a bloodcurdling scream. I search for the source, my hands shaking. It sounds like the princesa. I spot her at Atoc’s feet. She’s on her hands and knees near the entrance of the temple. A deep gash mars her cheek. Several Llacsan rebels surround her, their blades swinging madly in their effort to ward off Atoc. He cracks the leather whip at anyone who draws near to him.
My hands grip my blade harder as I race toward the false king. He spins to face me, a cold smile stretching his thin lips. Atoc’s whip cracks and the leather wraps around my wrist, once, twice, three times.
I use the sword to cut the whip, ignoring the scorching burn. Something crashes into Atoc, and he’s catapulted off his feet. A white woolly jaguar snarls down at him. I gasp as a parrot swoops and claws the fake king’s face.
They’re here! My animals.Here,in La Ciudad.
The anaconda slithers into view, hissing. The jaguar pounces, its front paws out and slicing into Atoc’s chest. I coo at the parrot flying overhead. My frogs hop around my feet, ready to poison anyone who comes near.
“The princesa!” I yell. “Guard her!”
My animals curl around Tamaya. The jaguar looms above her, its teeth snarling. Atoc pulls out a dagger and cuts through the animal’s skin. He lets out a shrill, triumphant cry. I snap my gaze back to my jaguar and gasp.
It looks over at me, blinking sorrowfully.
“No,” I scream. “No—”
Dropping to my knees, I pull the jaguar close as it unravels in my bloodstained hands. “Lo siento, I’m so sorry.”
