When I finally catch up to him, I get a better glimpse of the rock wall. It’s an odyssey of cracks and grooves, some gaping, but most barely a fist wide. I look higher and there’s a smattering of ledges that appear to be the width of shoes meant for children. My eyes strain in the dim light to catch sight of every possible way up, but there aren’t that many footholds.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask. “I mean, logically, I physicallycannotclimb this wall. Even without my injured back, this is impossible. I’d rather face another jaguar.”
Manuel frowns, turning me around. His quiet gasp makes my stomach lurch. He uses gentle fingers to part my tunic where it’s sticking to dried blood. I wince as some of the cloth refuses to budge.
“How bad is it?” I ask. I can tell he’s trying to hide his concern, because he’s not quite successful. That deep line appears between his brows.
“Bad,” he says, his voice grim. “Come on.”
He leads us back the way we came and down to the river, motioning for me to kneel beside it. Manuel looks to the left and then to the right. Satisfied the coast is clear, he squats next to me and proceeds to cup water into his hands, then gently washes the areas around my wound. It doesn’t matter how soft his touch is—tears drip down my cheeks.
I can’t seem to stop crying. My head is pounding.
“Three deep gashes,” he says quietly. “You’ll have scars, but I’m more worried about you contracting a fever. ¿Cómo te sientes?”
“Feverish.”
He falls silent and continues to wash my back. “Can you stand?”
I nod, and with his help I’m back on my feet. His forearm rests against my forehead, and his lips thin to a narrow slash. He mutters a low curse.
I can’t believe he’s touching me. Manuel.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper. “She banished me.”
Manuel’s face darkens. He removes his arm slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “What do you mean,banished?”
We’re standing close, inches apart. He’s grown up since he left the Illustrian keep. Filled out in the shoulders, his features no longer soft from boyhood. There’re new lines that cross his forehead. Manuel’s gaze is intent on mine. His anger is palpable, radiating heat like steam coming from a boiling pot.
I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to have it all out right now. But it’s the middle of the night, and who knows what monsters are hunting us. He seems to realize the same because he tugs me away from the water and back up the riverbank. We reach the wall and he stands with feet braced apart, fists on his hips, head tilted back to better study it.
“I can’t climb it.”
“I know,” he says. “But we can’t stay on the ground. The cave is our best hope for survival. There’s only one entry point, and I can defend us from any dangers. Down here …” He trails off. Manuel comes to a decision and turns to face me. “Get on my back.”
“Impossible,” I say. “It’s raining.”
“Barely misting.”
“It’s a long way up—”
“You either get on my back or we stay down here. If we do, it’s over.” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to quit. The condesa I knew wasn’t afraid of heights.”
“This is very different from climbing the Illustrian tower and you know it.” As children we’d race to the craggy walls and finagle our feet into the grooves, reaching high for the next bit of stone and continuing upward until we’d reached the top. Manuel always teased me that I’d never do it, but of course I did. He quickly learned never to say I couldn’t do something.
“Are you through?” Manuel waits for my reply, patient and quiet.
I summon whatever stubborn energy I have left. I shake my head. He nods, satisfied, and then turns. I place my arms on his shoulders, then wind my legs around his waist. Manuel bounces me up higher. “Do you have a strong enough hold?”
I study the spidery cracks in the wall. “Willyou?”
He reaches for the first ledge. My cheek softly glides against the back of his head under the brim of his hat, rustling his dark hair. “Don’t let us fall,” I whisper. My lips almost brush his neck. I’m half out of my mind with fever, my back is raw, but all I can think about is how soft his olive skin looks. It was soft then too, the night he kissed me all those years ago. I’d been surprised, delighted.
Overwhelmed.
I’ve thought about him every day for three years. And now he’s here with me. Inches away. I’m such an idiot. I think it even as I slowly dip forward. I place a feathery kiss right under his left ear.
He immediately stiffens, his arm still outstretched. “Donotdo that again.”
