“I know.” Juan Carlos takes a breath and switches to the old language, speaking low and urgent until Rumi lowers the glass shard from the priest’s neck. His cousin pulls him away so that they’re standing shoulder to shoulder.
Rumi faces me. There’s regret in his expression, but also rage, barely contained. “I’ll take you back.”
My face is carved in stone, refusing to betray the tumult I’m experiencing under my skin. The shock of seeing the priest, the disappointment of learning he’s involved with Princesa Tamaya.
Rumi pulls me away from everyone’s watchful gazes. “His part in our plans can’t be replaced. He has Atoc’s ear and influence. That didn’t come easy or immediately, and replacing the priest would be tantamount to giving up before the real fight begins.”
It’s my choice. I can’t stand the priest, but it’s clear the people I respect in this room had no idea of the tactics he used against me. The horrible truth, whether I can stomach it or not, is that Sajra was right to suspect me. I’d made the decision to betray Rumi if I didn’t get my hands on the Estrella. They’ll never know how close I came to giving myself away. I hate the priest for what he put me through. I’ll never forgive or trust him, but I can hear what else these people have to say. I owe them that much.
I sit in the booth and level a look at Umaq. “Stay away from me.”
There’s that brittle smile, full of ice. Little does he know of the fire deep in my belly.
I won’t let him touch me again.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t enjoy it,” Umaq says.
I flick one of the shards of glass at him, and he snarls when it slices into his tunic sleeve.
I bare my teeth in a feral smile.
The rest of the group slides into the booth until we’re all pressed together like books on shelves. More drinks are ordered, along with bowls of sopa de mani topped with roasted carrots and chopped cilantro, and it’s in the commotion that the mood lightens, shoulders relax, the tight lines around their eyes disappear. Easy camaraderie returns and private jokes are shared.
I’m the intruder in their inner circle. I can feel their watchful stares as they assess me, the expression on my face, the way Rumi sits closer to my side. They are protective of him and looking at me as if I’m a potential threat, a weakness that might make their entire foundation sink.
In the hubbub, Rumi presses a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist. In front of everyone. The chatter hushes as my face inflames. Juan Carlos, sitting on the other side of Rumi, leans forward and gives a suggestive eye wag that only prolongs my blush.
Rumi blinks long and slow, staring straight ahead. That’s his only reaction to his cousin’s gesture. If possible, my face flushes even more. Umaq makes a sniffing sound, like a predator searching for blood.
One of the nobles, an older woman with lustrous graying hair, clears her throat. “As charming as all this is, I’d like to know why you saw fit to bring the condesa to the tavern.”
It’s as if cold water has been doused all over me. I’m still deceiving them. The truth sits deep in my belly, an indigestible lump.
Rumi needs to know who he’s dealing with.
Tonight.
My pulse races, but before I can dwell on confessing, Rumi takes ahold of the conversation. Thoughtfully explaining how many rebels are hidden within the castillo, ready to pounce the moment Atoc’s weapon is destroyed.
The Estrella. I’m the only one present who knows its current whereabouts.
“Without the Estrella, he’s weak and surrounded,” Rumi says to me. “We have soldiers in his army, servants and stable hands, and more nobility on our side than you can guess.”
He takes both of my hands. My breath catches.
“But without the Estrella, I can’t give the signal. There’s no chance of success without its destruction. Condesa, tell me where it’s hidden so I can destroy it myself.”
This is the moment. The final nail in the coffin between Catalina and me. Turning my back on long years of friendship and duty. The second I give away the location, it’s truly over for her and all the Illustrians hoping for her reign. The silence stretches, poking and stabbing between us as I mull over the decision. Catalina’s heartbroken face swims in my mind.
“If I tell you,” I say haltingly, “what will happen to the Illustrians under my watch?”
“They are welcome in La Ciudad,” Rumi says. “None will be harmed. I consider them peoples of Inkasisa, our equals and allies.”
Juan Carlos is uncharacteristically silent. The rest of them watch me from hooded gazes, their guards up and not daring to make a sound as I consider Rumi’s explanation. I sense how important my next words are to them.
I shut my eyes. “You swear?”
His hands tighten around mine. “I swear to Luna.”
