Rumi gives me a sidelong glance. “What set him off?”
Away from Atoc, my nerves begin to settle and I feel safer. “My general well-being, I think.”
The corners of his lips kick up into a soft smile. We pass windows shaped into narrow slits. Outside is a closed-in courtyard, one I’ve seen but never visited. Llacsans are stomping koka stalks with their bare feet, turning the plant into a thick paste that’ll then be smoked in tobacco pipes. The result is something toxic and highly addictive. I turn away from the sight.
“Atoc’s personal stash,” Rumi says with one squeeze of lemon juice in his voice.
I’ve stayed far, far away from the drug, but nearly everyone at court smokes their pipes daily, littering the halls and grand rooms in cloying smoke. I don’t have to ask Rumi if he’s ever tried it; his distaste for the drug radiates off him as we leave the stomping Llacsans.
“He’s ruined our economy with the production,” I say as we approach a long string of doors. Above one of them is a block of wood with a carving of plants.
“King Atoc was desperate,” Rumi says. “I’m sure he thought it was a good idea at the time.”
“Will you stop defending him, healer? Por favor. He’s destroyed tens of thousands of farmlands for the koka plant. You can’t convince me it was a good idea.”
“Are you an expert in farming now?”
We stop in front of the infirmary. My hands are on my hips; his are folded across his chest. Rumi leans against the wooden frame, settling into the argument. I swear he’s trying not to smile, as if sparring with me isn’t annoying but … fun.
“Whether you believe me or not, His Majestydidhave good intentions. The koka leaf grows well in poor soil and withstands the onslaught of pests and blight. It’s lightweight and lasts a long time before rotting, which means it can travel long range across the mountains. It also sells for ten times more than, let’s say, citrus. King Atoc needed a viable export to lend credibility to his name. Because of the koka leaf, we are just as wealthy as our neighbors to the east and west.”
I hiss out a disgusted breath. How could he side with Atoc after what he just did to me?
“I don’t care about his intention,” I snap. “He’s made addicts of his countrymen. With the majority of campesinos planting the koka leaf, food production has stalled. No more regular supply of rice, bananas, yuca, maize, or citrus. Food prices have soared. When’s the last time you bought a loaf of bread? I can’t believe you’d support this. I thought you had more sense!”
“Stop putting words in my mouth and head,” he says. “I can speakandthink for myself. Thanks.”
“Wait, so you don’t agree with Atoc?”
“King Atoc,” he corrects me for maybe the hundredth time. “Of course not, idiot. My people have been using the koka leaf for centuries. In its pure form, I can createfortyremedies. Chewing the leaf helps with the high altitude and provides energy for miners and farmers doing strenuous tasks. But because the koka leaf is so expensive, many Llacsans and Lowlanders can’t afford a single stalk. I’m not saying I agree with his methods, but I understand why he took the easy path. That’sallI’m saying.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry.”
Rumi rolls his eyes and uses his shoulder to open the door to the infirmary. The first thing I notice is the smell. All manner of vegetation grows inside the room. Pots of basil and rosemary line the table next to clay bowls piled high with garlic cloves. Hanging from the stone ceiling are dried bundles of lavender and thyme.
The room smells a lot like Rumi’s clothes. Well, a rotting version of them.
Afternoon sunlight streams in from the large rectangular windows, casting patterns on the floor. There are several empty cots in one corner, folded blankets neatly stacked on each. I recognize the intricate detailing in the geometric patterns and the depictions of parrots. Tamaya’s work.
“It smells like you,” I say.
An amused huff escapes his chest. “Thank you?”
I settle onto a wooden stool. It wobbles under my weight. Smoothing my long striped skirt, I study the rest of the hospital wing. Drawings of various herbs and plants hang on all four walls. One catches my eye—a tiny sketch, and though it doesn’t shine like the other drawings, it’s still the same flower as the one in the diagram hanging in Sajra’s den.
“What’s that flower?”
Rumi looks over his shoulder. “Killasisa. It’s a legendary flower people have searched for throughout the years.”
I’m about to ask him more, but he pulls out a clear bottle from one of the lower drawers. Vinegar. My stomach roils. He sees the expression on my face and a small smile creeps onto his mouth. “I know,” he says. “But I have to clean it. If I don’t, you’ll get an infection. Then I’ll have to cut your arm off.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Am I?”
“Try not to enjoy this so much.”
His smile grows wider. “It’s too late for that, Condesa.”
