But an unbidden image assaults my mind. A memory long tucked away and witnessed by a younger version of myself. Llacsans protesting, blocking roads, and walking off their hard-labor jobs. No one could travel anywhere or buy anything because of their demonstrations around the city.
They wanted better pay.
Swallowing hard, I glance away from Rumi’s scrutiny. That picture of the protest hovers in my head, and I can’t escape it. I try to imagine what it must have been like living under an Illustrian queen.
“I didn’t create the system—I was born into it,” I say at last. It feels like a fair thing to say.
His face seems to be at war. A flash of anger, a sharp narrowing of his gaze, then a slight pull of his eyebrows—exasperation maybe, but smoothed away to make room for a clenched jaw. “Please stop talking before I do something I regret. Por favor.”
“What did I say that was so terrible?” My hands fly to my hips. “If you don’t explain it to me, how am I supposed to know—”
“I’m a little tired of explaining myself,” Rumi says flatly. “Have been for years. And you all never listen. Do your own reading on the subject, why don’t you? And then come back and we’ll discuss whatever you like.”
No one has ever spoken to me this way before. I wonder how I’d feel if I had to explain why I distrust the Llacsans. I wouldn’t want to talk about my dead parents to strangers. I wouldn’t want to share my hurt over and over again.
“Where’s the book I lent you, Condesa?”
I shut my eyes. I’d left it in the dungeon.
When I open them again, a sad smile twists his lips. “That’s what I thought.”
Rumi turns and leaves me standing there thinking about that infernal book.
He doesn’t look back.
The guards arrive as he rounds the corner. I scurry to my room, shut the door, and lean against it. I wish my thoughts would return to the wool and how to get more of it, so that I could weave more messages. But instead I think about that sad, twisted smile and about the book I never cracked open. Lying forgotten in that cold prison.
I slide all the way to the floor, feeling boneless. What just happened? I’m Catalina’s decoy—her friend and confidante. Rumi is nothing to me. What do I care about his opinions?
Stop it, Ximena.I shake my head.Focus. Remember what’s at stake.Catalina’s reign, the lives of all Illustrians.You don’t have time for this.I stand, pushing away from the door.
Tomorrow I’ll begin the search for the Estrella.
Nothing and no one will keep me from looking.
CAPÍTULO
The bell tower rings, announcing the eighth hour. I curl over, flipping my pillow to the cool side and snuggling deeper under the covers. Today is the day. The pretender and his entourage are planning on visiting La Ciudad this morning.
I wait to hear the sounds of people gathering in the courtyard: a smattering of chatter, horses neighing, and carriage wheels clipping against stone as they’re brought around to the castillo entrance.
I smile against the rough cotton of the pillow.
I’ll have the whole castillo to myself.
Of course, I’ll have my watchdogs hovering over my shoulder. But I can memorize the number of rooms on my floor, take stock of the castillo’s layout, determine the number of sentries on rotation. If my guards don’t let me wander around, then I’ll use the moondust powder.
A couple of pinches is risky, but it’ll get the job done.
The door snaps open, and the maid comes in carrying a tray laden with fried eggs, thick slices of bacon, and café con leche. The aroma of the dark nutty roast swirls in the room and I inhale deeply. A slab of what looks like dark chocolate sits next to the coffee.
“From the merchant,” the maid says, following my gaze. “His thanks for your gift.”
My mouth waters.
“You’re going to have to eat this fast,” she says, pulling drawers open. “I’ll pick out your clothes for the outing. His Majesty will want you in a full skirt, I think. Perhaps you’ll wear the mantilla, too?”
She drops several tunics onto the bed.
