Rumi gets to his feet. “I have to tend to the guards who survived El Lobo’s attack. The capitán wants them lucid for questioning.”
“Have you learned anything?”
He glances down at me, looking faintly amused. “If I have, why would I share it with you?”
I keep my face neutral. I’d give anything to listen in on that conversation. I want some hint, somewarningas to what will come next. Any one of those guards could have seen something.
“Let me take you back.”
“No need.” I gesture to the approaching Juan Carlos. “The infantry is here.”
I throw Rumi a wry smile as I stand. The whole way to my room, our conversation sits heavily in my heart. This isn’t an act of my imagination—Rumihasbeen different. Less hostile. Now when he disagrees with me, his tone remains even. Aside from his unapologetic loyalty to his cousin, our exchange was almost pleasant. Enlightening, even.
He isn’t so bad when it’s just the two of us talking. Atoc brings out the worst in him. Bumbling, idiotic, and embarrassingly effusive in his praise for the usurper. He tries too hard to win Atoc’s approval. Everyone knows it and his king takes advantage of it.
It’s hard to watch. I like the person Rumi is without an audience.
Juan Carlos opens my bedroom door and waits for me to walk inside. But I stand transfixed, my attention on the lone figure standing at the end of the hallway. One of Sajra’s attendants. The eggplant-colored robe covers every inch of his body, and a hood obscures the upper half of his face.
When he’s sure I’ve spotted him, the man moves out of my line of sight.
“Condesa?” Juan Carlos asks. He jerks his chin toward the open door. “Your dinner will be up soon. It’s your favorite.”
His words surprise me. “How do you know what my favorite is?”
“Anything fried is your favorite.”
He grins the moment a smile stretches across my face, but it fades as soon as I catch the priest’s man still lurking at the corner. I walk into my room, shuddering. That had been deliberate. The priest wants me to know I’m under his watch. The air in my room feels thin, as if I stand miles high on a mountain cliff. My Llacsan dress clenches around me, as if I’m caught in a fist. What does Sajra’s threat mean?
I am someone he won’t let go unnoticed.
Darkness descends and Luna’s moonlight washes over me as I change into my disguise and I strap the sword to my belt. On a whim, I take my three little woolen ants and tuck them into my pocket. I’d been thinking of bringing some animals with me on my adventures in case they prove helpful. Better to start small. Then I throw open the balcony doors and look down.
Hello, old friend.
Sighing, I throw a leg over and face my room. The animals leap from the tapestries, their hiding places during the day, and come to watch my progress, creeping out onto the balcony as if they want to go with me. “Sorry, amigos,” I mutter, looking over my shoulder as I turn around. “I’ll be right back.”
I pray to Luna I’ll find the Estrella hidden in that damn tower.
Chanting reminders to myself to keep my knees loose, I drop to the empty room’s balcony, and then climb over the rail and drop again before heading straight for the entrance of the watchtower.
A torch blazes near the tall iron entrance. Orange and yellow light bathes a yawning sentry standing next to it. The guard lazily casts an eye around the garden before leaning against the doors, his arms folded across his chest.
I reach for the small canvas bag I took from my room. It’s filled with moondust. Choosing the right moment to use it will be tricky. I can’t be seen using it, or else I’ll draw suspicion. The guard has to look like he fell asleep while on duty.
Massive potted plants flank each side of the door. I tiptoe over and hide behind the sprawling greenery. Quickly, I blow the moondust in the sentry’s direction. All it takes is one breath.
The sentry yawns again and I smile into the night. A palm frond tickles my cheek. Frogs croak their eerie song. In seconds the guard slumps to the ground.
I pull the door open and peek inside. Darkness shrouds the entry room. I bend over and then hook my hands through the guard’s underarms and haul him inside before his snores draw the attention of other patrolling guards. It isn’t easy, and even harder to do without cursing myself into a frenzy, but I manage the task, sweating the whole time.
Once inside, I wait for my eyes to adjust and at last catch sight of a dim archway. I take cautious steps toward it. My breath comes out in huffs—it’s sweltering inside this circular room. I steadily climb each step. There are cracks in the stone, and rays of moonlight shimmer inside the tower like shafts of mercury.
When I reach the top, there’s a single wooden door with a heavy cast-iron lock waiting for me. My breath catches as I palm the handle of my sword. What if the Estrella is hidden inside? I know,I know,that it won’t be this easy, but my heart flutters as if it were a bird rustling within a cage, yearning for freedom.
But first, the lock. I dip my hand into my tunic pocket, pull out the three woolen ants, and place them onto the lock. “Do your worst.”
They scramble into the hole and the lock falls to the stone floor with a heavy, ricocheting clang. I collect my bugs, stuff them back into my pocket, and push the door. It swings open, creaking loudly from the rusty hinges. I step inside, blinking in the dim room, and I’m brought up short by a sputtering candle propped on a three-legged stool that looks precariously off-balance.
