“Catalina!” Manuel roars, his hands clutching the bamboo. One of the creatures jabs a spear toward him, and Manuel jerks back, cursing loudly.
I jump to my feet without thinking, only wanting to be near Manuel, even if I have to be in that cage with him. But the moment I take a step, I’m lurched backward again and dragged through the mud and inside the tent, kicking and screaming as I go. The priest’s magic forces me onto my knees in front of him.
“Try again.”
“I never saw gold—not in the way you’re imagining. There aren’t piles of it lying around!” I cry, trying to fight his magic. But it’s as hard as iron. “This is a fool’s errand.”
“There has to be,” he snaps. “I cannot face him empty-handed.”
“Who? Who can’t you face?”
He releases me and I slump to the ground. “What pact have you made?” I ask. “With who?”
“The king of Palma,” he says stiffly.
I think back to Ana’s lessons about the neighboring countries. Inkasisa is landlocked, surrounded. After the revolt on La Ciudad—the capital city—Manuel reported seeing soldiers pressing into our borders, testing our weaknesses. But Atoc pushed them back. It was now his younger sister’s problem to deal with overeager kings.
One of them being from Palma.
Notorious for their ambition and greed, with a power-hungry monarch bent on conquering his imagined enemies. My family kept him appeased by sending chests filled with silver from our mountain. What was his name? I hadn’t thought about him in a long time, so concerned about my own revolution against Atoc’s iron grip on my throne.
“Fuentes,” I say under my breath.
“What was that?”
“The name of your … employer. What will he give you in return for the gold?”
The priest leans forward, a slick grin on his face. “The Inkasisa throne.”
I’m removed from the tent, the priest wanting sleep. I expect to be taken to one of the empty cages near the others, but instead Rumi yanks me away from them, and Manuel stares furiously at my captor. I drag my heels, but his grip is tight and painful on my wrist. I’ll wake up with bruises tomorrow.
We reach a dark pit and he yanks me forward so hard, I’m surprised my arm doesn’t pop out of its socket. I stumble into the hole and land with a sharp thud on my side. Pain shoots up and down my leg. A grid of bamboo stalks slams on top of the pit opening. I scramble to my feet, my fingers digging into the moist earth. The space is claustrophobic, dirty, and damp, smelling of rotting mushrooms.
“Let me out!”
But no one comes.
Damn it. I don’t dare sit on the ground. Who knows what might take a sampling of my flesh? I let out a miserable sigh. It’s pitch dark, save for the moon and stars. A gasp rushes from my lips. My hand flies to my pants pocket—the priest never asked me to empty them. Perhaps he thought me too helpless.
I dip my shaking hand inside and pull out my trusty dented telescope.
My knees buckle in relief. Prayers fall from my lips—to Luna, Inti, and Pachamama. I beg for their help. No amount of breathing can slow the drumming of my heart. But I shut my eyes, focusing on quieting my cluttered mind, ridding it of the deafening chatter, terror, and doubt. I fill up my lungs with frigid air, and it’s ice against the back of my throat. I wait for the pulsing thrum, the delicious sense of peace, wait for my goddess.
I lift up the telescope. The stars have moved since I last looked. I squint, making sure I’m reading every word right.
Consume. Consume. Consume.
I lower the scope and pull at my bottom lip with my teeth. What does it mean? No answers come. Even as I stand stock-still, barely breathing, listening for Luna’s soft whisper against my cheek.
There’s nothing.
Something bites my leg. A sharp sting that I feel everywhere. I look down and screech—ants crawl under my boots, hundreds of them. I stomp on them, my breath coming out in freezing puffs of air. I scream when more come, remembering what Chaska told me about the ant that burns flesh, the feeling as if you’re being stabbed.
Someone peers down—Rumi the monster, by the shape of his outline.
“There are ants in here! Please let me out!”
I shudder, rubbing at my tunic, scratching my legs. The image of ants crawling all over my skin pierces my mind, and I let out a whimper. The only thing I can do is keep marching all over them throughout the night.
