This place isn’t a random bar in the city—it exists for the cause, created aroundRumi.It’s more than a tavern. Rumi brought me to the rebel hideout.
The api arrives, hot and ready to drink.
“Umaq is here,” Taruka says when she slides the drink in front of me. I take a sip, enjoying the tartness from the pineapple mixed with the purple corn. The cinnamon stick adds plenty of spice to the frothy beverage. Rumi drinks half of his in seconds.
“Tell him to come over,” he says. “Juan Carlos, and the rest of the group too.”
She nods as I take another long sip. Seconds later a shadow falls across the table and I look up, expecting the face of a friend. But it’s not my charming guard. I spit out my drink. Peering down at me, a cold smile on his thin, long face, is the man who tortured me, who gave the order to kill Sofía. Who threatened my people and demanded I betray Rumi.
Atoc’s right-hand man.
The priest Sajra.
Outrage blossoms on his face when he sees me. “You fool! Why have you brought her here?”
“I don’t answer to you, Umaq,” Rumi says coolly. “And I suggest you welcome her.”
I listen to their exchange in horror. This cretin put me through the worst kind of misery. I stand up and rush at him, my hands reaching, ready to claw his eyes out. Rumi wraps an arm around my waist and holds me back. I struggle against his grip, pushing my elbow deep into his stomach. Rumi’s hold only tightens.
“Stop,” he whispers against my neck. “He’s one of us.”
My heart thunders against my ribs. I stop struggling, stop moving. I’m numb with shock, disappointment. “Let go of me.”
Rumi releases me. “Certainly.”
He’s watching me carefully, as if I’m a volcano about to shoot ash and hot lava. I seriously just might. The priest slides into the booth as if it’s a forgone conclusion that I’ll remain in his company, that I’ll talk to him, that I’ll accept this new development.
I clench my fists. “I’m leaving.”
Rumi stands in front of me, blocking my sight of the priest. “Condesa.”
I flinch at the title. What am I doing here? Maybe I was wrong about all of it: my feelings for Rumi, siding with him instead of Catalina, thinking Princesa Tamaya belongs on the throne.Luna,that hurts. If she can align herself with someone like Sajra, then I want no part of their plans.
“There’s nothing you can say that will convince me to stay.”
Juan Carlos is now standing next to his cousin, along with a few more people I recognize. Court nobles dressed down. Guards not in uniform. I try to move past them, but Juan Carlos drops a hand on my shoulder.
“Wait a moment,” he whispers.
I pull away. “Absolutely not.”
Rumi is looking at me silently, considering. Then he turns to the priest. “What did you do to her?”
Sajra—Umaq—polishes off the last of my api. “What was necessary.”
In his response, I hear condescension and superiority. He’s valuable to them, and he knows how to exploit that.
Juan Carlos mutters a low curse. Atoc’s nobles shoot me sympathetic glances. I barely notice. Rumi places both hands on the table and leans forward until he’s inches from the priest. “What does that mean?”
“He tortured me,” I say.
The priest smirks. Rumi lunges, swiping my abandoned glass and shattering it on the table. He holds up a shard against the priest’s neck. “You weren’t to touch her.”
“How else were we to know we could trust her?” the priest hisses. “I did the work neither of you could do. But now that you’ve brought her here, it was for nothing.Step back.”
“Rumi,” Juan Carlos whispers.
“He—” Rumi breaks off, letting out as sharp a curse as I’ve ever heard from him.
