Ana is gone.
The earth swallowed her whole.
Somewhere in the madness, I’ve lost sight of El Lobo. He must have broken free of the guards because he’s nowhere to be seen.
Atoc quiets the earth, and he’s the only one left standing. Everyone is a mess of dusted cheeks and hair, skinned flesh and bloody gashes. The plaza is a war zone, buildings nearly toppling over, overturned food and flower carts spilling onto the street.
The memory rolls into my mind swiftly, the scent of smoke and metal strong in my nose. Bellowing cries pierced the black night. Not a single star hung in the sky. Dust and dirt and blood stung my eyes. I sat on the ruins of our house. And somewhere beneath me, my parents lie buried beneath cracked stone.
Atoc’s men rise to their feet, and I shove the recollection from my mind. Horses are found, carts are righted. People slowly come back to life as the shock wears off.
Atoc stalks toward me. He stops when he reaches the tattered hem of my dress. His toes brush the fabric. I tip my head back, not bothering to hide the tears streaking my face. He stares at me, eyes bloodshot and furious.
“Get her out of my sight.”
One of the guards ties my hands with a thick hemp rope. I barely notice. My vision blinks to black, and I taste salt on my tongue. The procession forms its long line—Atoc at the front—and we all travel back to the castillo in single file, battered and filthy. I bring up the rear, the rope yanking me along while I try to keep up on foot. The hemp bites into my skin, rubbing my wrists raw.
The last thing I want to do is cry, but the tears keep coming. My grief pecks at me like a starving vulture, tearing deep into my flesh until I feel Ana’s death in every part of my body.
We arrive at the castillo, but instead of the pink room, the guards drag me below to the dungeon. “You’re to stay down here until the king changes his mind,” one guard says.
He unwinds the rope from my wrists, rough and quick. I force myself not to wince. Another guard pushes me into the small barred cell. Guttering torches give enough light for me to see my bloody wrists, burning as if on fire.
“Can I have water?” I ask, my voice hoarse from crying.
“There’s none,” one of them says in a curt tone.
No water. Of course. Last night I’d received a tubful. Today not even a drop. “What’s going to happen to me?”
One guard shrugs. “All I know is that you’re to stay here.”
My punishment for speaking out against the king. Their footsteps echo in the dim dark of my prison. The door clangs shut, ricocheting off the stone and ringing in my ears. But not loud enough to block out the memories of Ana’s terrified screams as she vanished into the earth.
My second day in enemy territory.
CAPÍTULO
There isn’t much to do in a cold, dark place except count the stones that line the floor and walls—nine hundred and eight—and do exercises to keep warm. I stretch and walk around in circles, jump and practice my high kick.
Without a single window, I lose track of time. I think it might be morning, given the way my stomach rumbles with hunger. Maybe all that jumping was a bad idea. But if I don’t keep moving, if I don’t stay busy, then I’ll only think about Ana and Sofía.
And my burning wrists.
I’m sick of my heart hurting. The pain goes deep, deeper than the fissures Atoc opened in the earth. It’s been forged by long years of living without my parents, of nearly starving as I tried to survive in a city blown up after the revolt. The ache grew when Ana and Sofía died. I’m bleeding, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I need Catalina. Not the condesa. Mi amiga. My friend.
My only visitor comes during the night to add more oil to the torches—one guard, who ignores my request for a blanket.
This is very bad. I can’t doanythingfrom down here. All I’ve managed to do so far is cause my friends’ deaths. Reason tells me it’s not my fault. I didn’t shoot the arrows, and I didn’t create a giant hole in the middle of the earth for Ana to fall into.
But my heart—my traitorous heart—whispers that none of my friends would have been in danger if it hadn’t been for me. I shouldn’t have executed that messenger. I ought to have expected an attack once we reached the castillo. I ought to have found a way to secure Ana’s release. Or stopped her from leaving on that mission in the first place.
I could have pushed harder. Planned better. Done more.
But I’d been arrogant.
Catalina was right. The weight of the condesa’s responsibility is tremendous.
