I close the book, a sense of dread flooding my body. I can’t think of a single recent building designed and built by any of the tribes. When’s the last time they created the things they’d been famous for? We stifled, buried, and stomped on them as if they were hormigas.
I settle into the pillow, my eyelids heavy. I want to stay awake, but sleep comes unbidden and unwanted.
The next time I wake up, I’m not alone.
I sit up with a jerk. That prickly feeling of unease courses through my veins like blood.
“You’re a light sleeper,” says a familiar voice from the corner of the room.
My eyes settle on the chair and the dark bulk sitting in it. I blink, waiting impatiently for my eyes to adjust. “Obviously not if you were able to get in here without me detecting you.”
“You know, I actually felt bad about waking you,” he says, faintly amused. “Clearly my chivalry was misplaced.”
“Who ever said you were chivalrous?”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
My eyes finally adjust to the dark. A quick scan of the room reveals that my animals are deep in hiding. Probably underneath the bed or in their tapestries. I squint at the corner of the room where my chair is propped against the wall. El Lobo’s slouched, his long legs stretched in front of him, his ankles crossed. His hands are folded behind his head.
“Did you fall asleep in here?” I ask, suspicious.
“For a little while,” he admits. The mask obscures the smile on his face, but I hear it anyway.
“Long day working? I forget—you tend the gardens, right?”
He laughs softly. “Nice try.”
“Maybe you spent too much time near the stove?” I press.
“You wouldn’t want me near a stove.”
Again, I hear the smile in his voice, hovering in the air like a glittering star. Not a cook, then.
“Perhaps you had a hard day training?” I ask. “Right,Juan Carlos?”
El Lobo startles, as if I’d prodded him with a stick. He shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”
My intuition spikes like a fever. He isn’t telling me the truth. Maybe he isn’t Juan Carlos? Or maybe he’s just trying to throw me off? Maybe he’s a gardener or a cook?
“Why are you here?”
“You visited the princesa today,” he says, all traces of laughter gone. “I thought perhaps there might be a message.”
I curl the sheet higher until it’s tickling the bottom of my jaw. “How do you know? You weren’t there.”
Or were you,Rumi?
“The outcome of your competition spread throughout the castillo. It wouldn’t surprise me if half of Inkasisa knows of your defeat. How does it feel to lose to a Llacsan?”
“Strangely, I don’t mind.” I don’t need to be the best at weaving. It’s enough to know how to make something beautiful.
Which is not the answer he’s expecting. He blinks long and slow and it seems vaguely familiar. That minute tilt of his head. The color of his eyes. Every interaction shows me a glimpse of the boy who sometimes surfaces beneath his black mask, like how he made sure I had a sword to defend myself, or when he tried to help me when I fought the priest’s men. If I support Princesa Tamaya, we may even become friends.
What a terrible friend I’d make. If I can’t find the Estrella, I’ll have to betray him.
“What do you think of her?”
I stand up and march to the dresser. The night air gives me goose bumps. As I pull a long-sleeved tunic over my head, I watch El Lobo. His gaze centers on my every move. I settle back onto the bed and snuggle under the sheets. “I like her,” I say. “She’s different from what I’d pictured.”
