“They’re called huaracas.” I hand her a pin to secure the braid at the top of my head.
Sofía’s eyes light up. “Didn’t you try using one at some point during training?” She claps her hands. “Yes! You broke five windows! And someone’s nose.”
“It was someone’s foot, actually,” I mutter.
Sofía’s shoulders shake with mirth. “That’s right!”
I cover my face with my palms. “Can’t you just forget about that?”
She lets out a hoot of laughter.
It’s notthatfunny. I move my hands away so I can glare at her.
“Just trying to make you smile”—she reaches over to give me a hug—“or get angry. Better than being afraid. For a minute you looked like you were going to be sick.”
Warmth floods my cheeks. “I did not,” I grumble, untangling myself from her arms.
“You did too. I’m-going-to-throw-up sick.”
“I think your vision needs checking.” I stand, impatient to get on the road. I grab my bag and race down the tower, through the great hall, and out into the courtyard, Sofía at my heels.
And I gasp.
Everyone, and I meaneveryone, is standing outside in the courtyard. Their faces are pinched, lips tight and eyes drawn. I read the confusion, the fear, etched into their faces. They believe their condesa is leaving them, and it would jeopardize Catalina to tell them otherwise. Twilight casts the white stone of the keep in a golden glow. At the front of the crowd is Catalina, who looks like she’s desperately trying not to cry. She steps forward and embraces me. I’m rarely affectionate with her in public, but I don’t mind this last goodbye. Who knows when I’ll see her again? If I’m honest, I need the moment just as much as she does.
“It’s up to you, Ximena,” she whispers in the dying light. “Say something to reassure them. They need to hear you’re all right.”
I nod, my face warm. “I will, and I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” She takes a step back, giving me room.
I turn to address the assembly. They’re oddly silent, standing with tense shoulders and worried expressions. Fear mingles in the air, hovering close like a dense fog. I didn’t expect to make a speech. It’s the worst part of pretending to be the condesa.
My throat goes dry, and I pull at the hem of my tunic. “Thank you for the send-off,” I say, and even to my own ears my voice sounds stiff. I clear my throat. “I know many of you are afraid of what might happen to me. Please don’t be. Everything … everything will be fine.”
Catalina clicks her tongue impatiently.
“I want …” Madre de Luna, what do I want? I want them to survive. “I want you all to remember there’s very little food in the storage building—please be mindful of what you’re consuming while I’m gone.”
Catalina steps forward and clears her throat loudly. “The condesa wishes to make Inkasisa safe for all of us. Being in the castillo will give her extraordinary access to our enemy and his secrets. She’ll discover his weakness, and we’ll use whatever means necessary to make him pay for what he’s done to Inkasisa,” she says, her eyes bright and shining. “What they’ve done to our homes, our way of life—but more than anything, we will make them pay for what they did to our families. She has a plan for our survival and with it we’ll rise against the usurper!”
Half-hearted cheers follow. There are a few who clap, but I sense their unease. They might be a little mollified, but after years of hunger and hiding, I can understand their caution.
Sweat trickles down my back. Shifting my feet, I glance at Sofía, who winks at me. She knows how much I want to be on my way.
I nod in the general direction of the crowd. To get to the stables, I have to walk through everyone and past the cinnamon and papaya trees Ana helped me plant when I first came to the keep. With a deep breath, I take my first step and the people shuffle aside, making room for me. The guards hold their swords upright to their faces, the blades flat against their foreheads.
The gesture demonstrates profound respect.
But it’s respect for someone else—for the condesa they think I am.
Sofía trails behind me as we pass the upturned dirt of fresh graves, the last resting place of the messenger and his companions. All thirteen of them. We climb onto our horses and gallop toward the towers, kicking up dust in our wake.
Ana’s shadow magic envelopes us as we cross the bridge—a sign that she’s still alive, somewhere. Her gift from Luna shrouds the bridge from view. Only an Illustrian can see the glimmering outline. Even so, the ride to the other side makes me dizzy. I have a clear view to the bottom of the ravine.
“Even the horses are used to the magic!” Sofía yells as she passes.
“Cállate,” I say, clutching the reins.
