“I love it. I’m not feeling well.”
It’s not exactly a lie. She frowns, concern flickering in her dark eyes. I tilt my head. Why the apparent concern? I thought she hated me.
“You must really be sick,” she says. “It’s not like you to leave food on your plate. You have a hearty appetite.”
“I … Gracias?” It’s the sort of thing Sofía would have said to me.
“I’ll send for the healer,” she says.
“¿Qué? No! Estoy bien,” I say, scrambling out of the bed after her.
She shushes me and walks out.
I stare at the closed door in disbelief. Not only did Inotwant to see Rumi, I was suffering from nerves—not an illness. He’ll see that immediately and assume I’m up to something, which of course I am. I have to explore the castillo tonight, and I can’t have him coming in here, potentially spoiling my plan.
The temperature of my arms, neck, and ears soars to feverish heights. Resigned, I tidy up the room. I fold clothes, tuck my shoes neatly in the corner. I chew on mint leaves and then berate myself.
What the diablos am I thinking? Mint leaves?
I spit the leaves into the basin, light a few candles, and curl under the covers. I leave the balcony door open to allow Luna’s moonlight to decorate the stone floor. Sinking into the pillow, I vow to keep the visit short. He’ll check for signs of fever and then leave. Hopefully it’ll dissuade him from thinking I’m up to something. He’ll be cold and silent, angry to have been summoned by the Illustrian condesa. Maybe he’ll demand I take something awful and forbid me from leaving the room.
Restless energy keeps me from calming down. I’m just about to throw back the covers when the guard opens the door. Rumi walks in, takes one look at me in bed, and frowns.
“You really are sick,” he says.
I widen my gaze. “What?”
He comes up to the bed and settles a hand on my forehead. “You’re flushed and a little warm. How are you feeling?”
I feel like I might die from embarrassment, and yourself? I move away, forcing his hand to drop to his side. “I’m fine. No need to trouble yourself.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Why didn’t you eat your dinner? It’s not like you.”
I shrug. “Not hungry. It happens sometimes.”
He lifts a dark brow. Just the one.
“Does everyone think I’m some sort of cow?” I ask, exasperated. When he opens his mouth to respond, I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that.”
“Have you been using the koka leaf?” he demands.
My jaw drops. “What? No. I’ve seen what it does to people.”
His expression darkens. “Don’t ever use it. Even with one use, you could become addicted. Too many people in this castillo already are.”
“And you’re the one who looks after them. That must be exhausting.”
“Don’t tell me you’re concerned.”
My voice rises. “Of course I’m not.”
“I’ll ask Suyana to make you té de maté,” he says with a trace of amusement at my loud protest. “You don’t have too high of a fever. Stay in bed and rest tomorrow. I’ll let the king know you’re ill.”
Suyana?I’m about to ask, but it hits me that he might be talking about my maid. I never thought to ask her name. “If you knew me better, you’d know that’s an impossible task. I’d rather swallow a hornet than stay in bed all day.”
“If you knew me, you’d know to take my advice,” he says idly. “It won’t be so bad. You can weave—”
“Except I don’t have any wool.”
