Someone has sealed shut all the windows with heavy wooden planks. There’s a narrow bed, a small dining table, a couch, and a writing table. A basket of multicolored alpaca wool sits at the foot of a large loom.
What is this?
A sound comes from behind me and something heavy hits the back of my head. I drop to my knees, my vision swimming. I can’t stop myself from falling forward.
The world blinks to black.
When I wake, the first thing I feel is the cold stone under my shoulder blades. Then it’s a dusty pillow that props my head off the floor. I sneeze. My mask is lying next to my fingertips. I blink, my gaze fuzzy, when a scorch of heat burns my arm. I wince and reach for the spot.
“Oh, damn it,” someone says. “Sorry, so sorry. Now I’ve gone and dripped wax on you. I’ve already knocked you unconscious too. Lo siento.”
My vision crystalizes. There’s a girl hovering over me, long hair framing her face. She’s frowning and poking me with her bare foot.
“Will you make it?” she demands. “Please don’t make me scream for help. Talking to my brother is theworst,and I’d rather not if it can be helped. Why don’t you try sitting up?”
“Stop doing that,” I say, wriggling away from her when she tries to poke me again. I do sit up, feeling the back of my head and finding a bump the size of a small lima near my left ear. “What did you hit me with?”
She holds up a massive tome with hundreds of pages squeezed between the covers. “My brother’s biography. It’s practically a murder weapon.”
My gaze narrows as I try to read the title. There’s a painting of Atoc on the cover, but it looks nothing like him—it hardly does the size of his nostrils justice.
Then it hits me. I scramble to my feet. “You’re his sister!”
“Of course.” She chucks the book onto the cot and turns to face me, hands on her hips. “You must be my future sister-in-law. I’m terribly sorry for your bad luck.”
I let out a startled laugh. “How do you know I’m the condesa?”
She merely shrugs, but there’s a mischievous glint in her honey-colored eyes. The look sends a ripple of panic through me. What else does she know about me? I take a step forward, reaching for my sword, but I come up empty.
“I’ve hidden it.”
I scowl at her. “How do you know who I am?”
She smiles, and I remain scowling as we examine each other. Princesa Tamaya doesn’t resemble her brother. Which is to say that she’s very beautiful. Glossy black hair, high cheekbones, and dark slanting eyebrows. My age, but more sophisticated and refined. She wears her threadbare cotton wrap as if it’s the finest gown in all of Inkasisa. No wonder Rumi is in love with her.
I feel unaccountably murderous.
“Bienvenido a mi hogar,” she says, sweeping her arms wide.
I’m forced to look at the room in a new light. It’s dreary and dark, and utterly wrong for her. I don’t know her at all, but anyone can see she thrives around people. Yet she’s locked away from all the world. The princesa of Inkasisa. Why would Atoc keep her trapped up here?
She eyes me shrewdly. “Dismal, isn’t it?”
“Regrettable.”
“I don’t have much in terms of refreshment,” she says. “As you can see, I’m sometimes forgotten up here.”
The only thing on the table—aside from the one candle—is a half-eaten bowl of cold, unflavored quinoa. I’d be bitter about that too. “You don’t get any visitors? Not even your brother?”
Her words are said with a hint of bitterness. “Especially not him.”
“Why are you locked up?” I ask. This is Atoc’ssister.
She motions for me to have a seat.
“Hasn’t your betrothed mentioned it?” Instead of sitting next to me, she paces the room. Despite her polished exterior, she’s a ball of barely contained energy, even in the middle of the night. Stacks of books litter the stone floor. The princesa uses her foot to push them away in order to clear a path for her pacing. She has a weaver’s needle tucked behind her ear. The pockets of her robe are stuffed with wool.
“No one mentions you,” I say. “Well, no one except Rumi.”
