“What do you mean?”
“You look … feral. What is it?”
I shake my head. I need to focus on today. On protecting our future queen.
Her dark eyes flick to mine. We’ve never talked about the cost of switching places, because I’m afraid of what would come out of my mouth. Does she know the anger I keep trapped inside?
“Wear the white skirt and woven belt.” She sighs.
“I promise to tell you everything,” I say. “Every word, every detail. But I need you to stay out of the way. You can go over your notes on the constellations. Perfect your craft—”
“Funny thing about my craft,” she says sarcastically. “I sort of need it to be nighttime.”
I search for something else. “Then think about ways to lure El Lobo to the keep?”
Catalina’s eyes light up, and I sneer. Even she falls for that overhyped act. If the masked vigilante is on our side, why haven’t we received a visit from him? For all I know, he’s merely having a laugh at the king’s expense. That’s very different from the revolution we’re planning. The revolution I’ve trained for every day of my life.
I change out of my trousers and knee-length tunic and pull on Illustrian-white garments. Catalina clasps a silver beaded necklace around my neck. I wrap the leather laces of the only sandals I own tight around my ankles.
The condesa turns me around so I face a chipped full-length mirror. She narrowly gazes at my reflection, the corners of her mouth turned down. I examine what she sees: unruly wavy hair, face clean of any makeup, shoulders slightly hunched. I try to imagine what I’d look like if I wore the simple clothing Catalina usually wears as Andrea, helpmate to Condesa. The person I might be if I weren’t her decoy. Whoever that is.
I quickly wind my hair into a knot on top of my head, pinch my cheeks, and turn to face her. “This is the best it’s going to get.”
“You’re not going to brush out the knots?”
She says it like I’m suggesting I greet Atoc’s messenger naked. “It’s already up.”
I grab my sword propped against the dresser. It’s not that I don’t care about my looks—it’s that I feel ridiculous dressing up. Maybe one day I’ll be able to put on a skirt without trying to be somebody else. Maybe one day I’ll look like myself.
I move toward the window to check on the progress of the messenger. The faded curtains whip in the breeze, and a smattering of rain sprinkles my face. The usual pull in my belly flares as I lean out of the window. We’re three stories high and I feel every one of them.
I shield my eyes from the drizzle. The messenger rides a dapple-gray mare, flanked by twelve guards. I grip the handle of my sword, the weight a comfort in my palm. The group gallops confidently toward our fortress, an arrogant set to their shoulders, as if they own the land and the people on it.
Catalina stands next to me, hands on her hips. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“Well, he’s not inviting us to tea,” I say dryly.
“At least Atoc didn’t send the priest,” she says, relief palpable in her voice.
The messenger and his companions ride through the iron gate and into our courtyard. They stop next to the fountain with exclamations of delight. The group dismounts their horses and creeps closer to the fountain, which is fed by an aqueduct carrying water from our coveted mountain spring. Ana destroyed the aqueduct’s path to La Ciudad after the revolt. Because of her, all the fountains in the city dried up, contributing to the water shortage crippling the region. Her hope was to hit them where it would hurt most. Then cut them down at their weakest.
Our guards draw their swords and surround the Llacsans. The messenger, dressed in a vibrant striped vest and black trousers, tips his head back and peers up toward our window. I sidestep out of view, pulling the condesa with me.
“He looks like a brute,” Catalina says.
“I’m going down. I’ll send for you when it’s safe.” I dart around her and shut the door behind me. I don’t want to see the forlorn expression on her face.
My feet somehow carry me down the two flights of stairs and toward the great hall. I keep my steps light on the stone floor, ignoring the sting from the leather laces wrapped too tightly around my ankles.
My heart thrums wildly. What does Atoc want? He doesn’t have designs on peace, that’s for certain. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. The last thing I want or need is to reveal any weakness.
I straighten and push the double doors to the courtyard wide open. Droplets of rain patter softly onto my shoulders.
Everyone hushes at my entrance, Illustrian and Llacsan alike. Sofía steps aside so I can face the Llacsans, but signals for our guards to press closer, forcing the enemy into a cramped circle. Their spears lie at their feet in a neat pile. Every one of them wears sandals and loose-fitting tunics under brightly hued vests. None are dressed for battle. Thankfully, the courtyard is closed off to the rest of the Illustrians. Sofía’s doing, more than likely. She doesn’t have much patience for pesky questions.
Archers stand in the windows of the twin white stone towers guarding the entrance of our keep. I’ve never climbed to the top, but Catalina says that from them you can see La Ciudad in the distance.
Sofía comes to stand by my side. “Condesa.” She nods and I return the gesture, thankful she’s present.
