A pair of doors blocks the main entrance—tall, formidable, and made of iron, designed to keep intruders out. They swing open and a man around Ana’s age walks out to meet us. He studies me coldly. He’s stocky, wearing amulets at his throat and wrists, and dressed in an eggplant robe that ripples as he approaches. His nostrils flare as he continues his assessment.
“Condesa.” He says the title condescendingly. “I am the priest Sajra.”
My heartbeat thrashes in my ears and I instinctively reach for the handle of my blade. Sofía sucks in a deep breath. This is the man behind the king. The loud shadow responsible for some of Atoc’s most unthinkable edicts. The torturer who uses his blood magic to ruin lives.
He stops in front of my horse and runs an index finger along the horse’s neck. I keep still, my attention on his hands.
“You were supposed to come alone,” he says in a neutral tone.
I clench my jaw, my body coiling tight.
The priest steps away from the horse. A prickle of warning makes the hairs on my forearms stand on end, and a glint of silver arrests my attention, turning it to a darkened window.
I gasp.
Something long and thin blurs past me.
My mouth drops open as the force of an arrow catapults Sofía off her horse. Her head cracks against the ground.
Blood gushes from the hole in her chest, staining the white stone.
CAPÍTULO
I keep blinking. My eyes tell me one thing, my head another. This isn’t real. It can’t be.
Shaking, I slide from my horse and fall to my knees beside Sofía. Her eyes watch me. Blood trickles out of her nose and mouth; long, snakelike streaks slither down her cheeks and neck. Her body convulses as her blood soaks through my skirt and sticks to my shins. She’s losing too much. The arrow pierced her chest, near her heart. Pulling the arrow will only kill her faster. But maybe I can stop the bleeding? I reach for the shaft.
“Don’t,” she says, panting. “I’m already dead.”
I grip her hand. It’s icy. “No.”
“Condesa,” Sofía whispers, her voice thin, as if she’s already a ghost. “Save my mother—”
Rough hands jerk me away. A rattling gasp comes from Sofía, but I don’t see the moment she dies. That’s taken away from me like everyone and everything I’ve already lost. My parents and home, the city I loved before it was corrupted, the chance to wholly be myself. It was my decision to bring Sofía. This is on me.
Instinct takes over.
My heels smash toes, my elbows drive into stomachs. I claw and kick as the Llacsan diablos pull me farther away from Sofía. The world is awash in blood red. I flip soldiers onto their backs, crush windpipes, and break arms. My hits are imperfect, sloppy, fueled by rage and grief. More of them come. I’m surrounded. My small daggers are hidden in my boots and thanks to Ana, I know that a well-placed thrust can cause as much damage as a sword. I bend and reach for my right boot.
The priest steps forward and everything slows.
“That’s enough, Condesa,” he says, giving an arrogant lift of his jaw, his eyes careful.
By now I have a dagger in each hand. I have two more hidden deep within my shoes. My chest rises and falls in tune with my breath. Then suddenly my throat tightens, as if someone has wrapped their hands around it, squeezing. A subtle constriction that makes my toes curl. The priest holds up a single index finger. That’s all it takes for him to block the air from my lungs.
I freeze.
“That’s it,” Sajra says with a cold smile. “You’re done now.”
I shut my eyes. Something sour tickles the back of my throat.
The priest loosens his hold and I suck in air, the smell tainted from all the blood staining the cobblestone.
My heartbeat slows, shock and hurt melting away, leaving dread and guilt tangling together like unattended balls of wool. When I open my eyes, the scene before me is so depressing, I almost laugh. Twelve men encircle me, arrows notched at the ready. Their stunned faces spell out their horror. The men I’ve taken down half crawl, half limp away.
I made a mistake. I’m supposed to be the condesa—not a resistance fighter. Not Ximena the rebel. Catalina wouldn’t have fought. She would have been expected to cry furious tears while remaining dignified.
Fool that I am, I’ve giventhe priestof all people a reason to suspect me. Even after Sofía had warned me not to lash out and show strength. As Catalina’s decoy, I’m her greatest weapon against Atoc. He’s supposed to think I’m docile and subservient.
