CAPÍTULO
Treinta y tres
The priest surveys the jungle and wrinkles his nose. He slaps a mosquito against his neck. “We leave for camp. Immediately.” He crooks his finger, and Kusi and Manuel lift to their feet. “My men will carry the girls. Should you attempt anything, it will be their lives.”
He marches forward. Manuel and Kusi follow, half dragged, half struggling against the priest’s magic. They have enough freedom to move only their legs. Rumi swings me over his shoulder, keeping a firm hold on the backs of my thighs. The other monster attempts to do the same with Chaska, but she fights him, scratching and kicking, until his hand grips her throat and squeezes until she faints.
This is how we travel up the hill.
My only line of sight is the ground and Rumi’s tattered pants sinking into the mud, the muck splattering up his legs. I cry the entire journey to the dead part of the jungle. What possessed me to think I could help in any way? This is all my fault. I’m a worthless seer—how could I not have seen this? Luna might have been trying to tell me more, but because of my inexperience, I missed crucial information. Sonco would still be alive if I’d known to demand he stay behind.
How many more people will I put in danger?
The ground transforms under Rumi’s feet. From green to gray to white. From alive to dying to dead within a few steps. I try to lift my head by pushing against his back, but his hold across my legs tightens and I wince. We walk on, the cold settling into my bones. By the time we stop, my whole body shivers, teeth clacking against one another from the bitter air. Each howl of the wind tears into my flesh.
Rumi drops me and I land painfully on my side. The dust lifts and then settles around me. I try not to breathe any in. It smells of nothing—devoid of any hint of life. Terror raps against my chest, rattling bone, making my fingers tremble.
The priest wipes his eyes, yawning. Our walk took a toll—or maybe it’s his prolonged use of his magic. The land is barren and bone dry. There are several cages made of tall bamboo stalks, fortified by liana vines. Manuel and Kusi are thrown into separate prisons. Both immediately attempt to rattle the stalks but there’s no give, and more monsters appear to guard them. Every time Manuel or Kusi reach for the bamboo, a creature jabs its spear between the bars, pushing the men back.
Kusi’s face twists in horror. The monsters are dressed in Illari-style tunics. These people must be the missing scouts.
“Catalina, you’re with me,” the priest says. “Take the other girl and lock her up.”
“¡Espera!” Manuel cries. “Take me instead.”
Rumi wrenches me toward a large tent made of fabric and leaves draped over bamboo. Inside there’s a simple woven mat on the ground and a narrow cot covered in mosquito netting.
The priest follows me in, breathing down my neck. I jump away, trembling.
He gestures toward the ground. “Siéntate.”
I carefully lower myself, my gaze flicking past his shoulder to the tent opening. How far could I go before he uses his magic on me?
He observes me shrewdly. “You won’t get far.”
There’s a small basket by the cot and from within it he pulls out a bottle of wine and a clay cup. He pours himself a full glass then settles across from me. “Rather interesting,” he says, “facing you here. Clever strategy to send a decoy to the palace in your place. Was that your idea?”
I shake my head, shuddering at the sight of the deep burgundy wine staining his lips. “It was Ana’s.”
He tilts the cup back, takes a long sip. His fingers clutch the cup possessively. When his cold gaze settles on mine again, I notice the smirk. “I remember Ana. Your general. She’s a screamer. Did you hear how she died?”
I wince, looking away.
“Atoc pushed her into a deep crack in the earth. She screamed the whole way down. A bit dramatic, if you ask me.” He studies me—my skin ravished by mosquito bites, my hair in thick tangles, my clothes damp with sweat. “You’ve lost everything, haven’t you? The throne. Your friends. And eventually your freedom, when I sell you to the highest bidder.”
“Who will want me? I have no land, no title.”
He shrugs. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, survived against all odds, you learn to take whatever is available. No opportunity is wasted.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly.
He rubs his eyes and then finishes the rest of his wine. Again I can tell he’s drowsy from the use of his magic. And again my gaze skitters to the entrance, the fabric fluttering gently against the bamboo.
The priest’s low chuckle makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. He lifts a single finger. My throat constricts, and I reach up, wanting to pull away whatever is blocking air from my lungs. But I feel only skin.
“Have you guessed my magic? Nothing to say?” The priest smiles coldly. “Not too bright, are you? At least your decoy knew how to stand up for herself.”
I flush hotly, even as my body yearns for sweet air. It wants to live. I know what kind of awful magic runs through his veins. But the words stick at the back of my throat. I’d been afraid of him for years after hearing about all of his exploits against my people. What horrors did Ximena face at his hands?
