There’s iron in my blood, after all.
Manuel reappears, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. My heart pinches, sharp and painful. He’s been crying and he didn’t want me to see. He drops to his knees in front of me and lifts his chin, daring me to say something. But I don’t. Instinct tells me to keep my hands close, no matter how much I want to offer some comfort.
I need him angry.
“I’ll take you as far as I’ve gone, Condesa,” he says quietly. I stiffen at his use of my title. “I’ll help you and protect you with my body. Whatever I can do to give you access to the Illari, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for them—my family.” His voice nearly breaks, and he takes a deep breath. “But I’m in control. Whatever I say, you do. That’s the only way we’ll survive. If I say to stop, hide, or run, you obey me. Do you agree with my terms?”
“Yes.”
Manuel nods, and gone is his harrowed look. Now he lets me see his fury. The expression on his face steals my breath. The scant lines around his eyes are tight and his mouth is a white slash against olive skin. Gone is my friend. He won’t call me by my name anymore. I’m looking at a soldier, born and raised by a warrior mother.
I’m almost sorry to have pushed him.
Almost.
CAPÍTULO
Siete
Once again, I hold on to Manuel’s back as we climb down the impossible granite wall, this time using the coiled vine from within the cave. His shoulders are tight beneath my arms, probably from the exertion, but maybe also because of my decision to find the Illari. I try to forget about the disappointment in his eyes, the apparent despair in their depths. He’s homesick, missing his family, and terrified we won’t survive the jungle.
I ought to cut him loose. Force him to go home and mourn his family. But I need him with me. I can’t survive this place without him. He’s been living in this nightmare for eight months—living and somehow surviving.
Manuel’s faster on the way down, even while carrying me and the canvas bag, filled with his meager possessions and my dented telescope. The second his booted feet touch the jungle carpet, I drop my legs to the floor and back away from him as if he were a feral jaguar. He glances up to the cave, an unreadable expression on his face.
“What is it?”
Grudgingly, he turns away from the rock wall and pulls out his machete. “For three years I’ve kept moving, never staying longer than a few weeks in each village. That cave was my home for two months.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Three years is a long time to be away from home. I want to hug him, offer some encouragement. The words bubble to the surface, but his walls are up. He’s suffering. I know he is, and now I’m the burden he has to carry. “Tell me how to find the Illari, and after you do, go back to La Ciudad, Manuel. You don’t need to be here.”
He hacks at thick liana vines, and then glances at me from over his shoulder. “Did you come here with supplies?”
I nod, my heart sinking. This is it: He’s changed his mind. “I lost them though.”
“¿Dónde?”
“Over the cliff. Near that pit you found me in,” I say. “The way out is about a day’s walk from there. Maybe less.”
He looks away and hacks at several broad palms. “Anything worth saving?”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be following him, so I stay put. “Hammock and mosquito net. Dagger. Some food.”
He pauses, his hand held high over his head. “Supplies are hard to come by in the jungle, especially a weapon.” Then his arm swoops down and slices away at the dense foliage. “We’ll search the area for your things before crossing the river.”
I barely hear his words, except for the one that matters most:we.He’s made his choice; I gave him a way out. I even told him how far of a journey it was to the border.
Manuel turns around and I have to blink at the sight of him. Sweat drips from his brow, and his arms are corded with muscle. He towers over me, grim and silent, appraising me not as his sovereign, but as a weakness he’ll have to compensate for.
“I can defend myself,” I say.
His gaze drops to my slim hands, the blisters gone, the skin soft once more. I drag them behind my back. Embarrassment sweeps across my cheeks.
He swears under his breath.
“I’ll keep up.” I lift my chin, pride demanding it of me, even as the blood rushes to my face. “Try not to worry.”
“This is the height of stupidity,” he says. “You know that, right?”
