“If it were true,” she asks quietly, “could you blame them?”
The Llacsans revolted because of our mistreatment. So whose fault is it really that my parents are dead? How many oftheirparents died as we neglected them for centuries?
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t blame them.”
The words are out in the open and I can’t take them back. I chance a quick look in her direction. I expect to see a triumphant smile. But the princesa merely tilts her head, curious. She’s analyzing me, trying to sift through what I really think. What I really want.
I wish I knew.
“That’s quite a concession,” she says. “Condesa.”
My chest tightens. I’m not her. I’m not Catalina.
“Do you know the story of the jaguar?”
I blink. “What?”
“It’s the perfect story to describe my brother—the jaguar king who had everything: a kingdom filled with loyal subjects. But every day he’d look to the sky and was jealous of the birds that could soar to the heavens. The jaguar king wanted the impossible.”
I remember the story. “He wanted to fly.”
She nods. “He wasn’t happy with the gifts he’d been given. He wanted more.”
“Maybe he thinks by marrying an Illustrian, he might have their support?”
The princesa arches a brow. “Making you queen won’t win their support. He could have had that without marrying … had he made different choices.”
The words hang in the air.
The princesa pulls more wool from her basket. “Will your reign look different than your aunt’s? And her father’s? And his father?” I shift on the couch.What does she mean by asking me this?It feels like a test. One that I’ll fail because I have to answer as Catalina. She wouldn’t change a thing. The condesa wants our old way of life back.
“What would you change?” I ask.
“I would make the system fair,” she says. “We all want the same things: opportunities and means for everyone to earn their bread; freedom of self-expression without consequences; for all children, not just Illustrians, to attend school—”
“What world do you live in, princesa? That doesn’t sound like Inkasisa.”
Her eyes blaze. “But it can be. Look into your heart, Condesa. I know you have your own ambitions, your own dreams and wishes. My heart is no different than yours. Why is it so hard to believe that even enemies may want the same things?”
I do believe her. And the realization shakes me to my soul. If I lived in that reality, then my whole life was for what? What about my parents? What about Catalina? Wasn’t all of this—risking everything—for her? To put the right person back on the throne?
The princesa’s eyes widen. “Don’t you think it’s possible? With the right person, can’t you see it?”
Ximena the decoy can. Inkasisa needs a leader who’d unite them. If Atoc would have ruled like his sister wanted, perhaps we’d come to see things their way. But now the idea of another Llacsan monarch will only enrage everyone back at the keep. Atoc behaved in the exact manner the Illustrians had expected.
Corrupt. Power hungry. Ruthless. Ignorant.
Tamaya would be a much better ruler than Catalina—who barely has a handle on the Illustrians at the keep. I know this the way I know a well-thrown dagger always finds its target. But Catalina? Becoming queen would make things right for her family. It’d honor her parents’ memory. She will never give that up. Not for all the silver in the mountain.
My breath catches. Or would she?
“What if people can’t change?”
The princesa gives a little laugh. “You don’t believe that. You only have to look at yourself to see that it’s possible. People change. For better or for worse, like my brother, they always do.”
Her words sink in, faintly uncomfortable. I can’t ignore that parts of me have changed any more than I can stop a river’s journey downstream.
“I’m going to trust you with a secret,” Princesa Tamaya says, leaning toward me. “Something only a few people know. People loyal to me. You don’t show much, but even I can see that you’re coming to understand who we are. I’m not your enemy.”
