My heart thunders against my ribs, rattling bone.
“Catalina.”
A whoosh of air escapes my mouth. I gulp more in, my chest rising and falling in quick successions. My body shakes, my teeth clacking against one another. “I’m so—so scared.”
“Did you know I love horses?” Manuel says suddenly.
His words reach me from far away, a sharp tug that momentarily stops the hitch in my breath. “W-what?”
“We had a farm before the revolt,” he continues. “Just outside of La Ciudad. When my parents were off for the season, we’d go out on horseback and get lost for a week or two in the mountains.”
My heartbeat stutters and then slows. “You’ve never talked about your father.”
Manuel lets go of me and settles against the cool stone. “He died when I was six years old—during a routine visit with a tribe from El Altiplano. I still don’t know what happened exactly, and the mystery made us all sick. The not knowing used to keep Sofía up at night. Mother spent more and more time training soldiers; I think because, if she stopped for one moment, she’d notice his absence … and then the revolt happened.” He pauses, his shoulders tense. “Sofía and I worried we’d lose Mother, too.”
I reach out and place a soft hand on his arm. The war has taken so much from us. My parents and cousins and aunts and uncles. People who made up my large family, all murdered in an afternoon. I carry their faces with me, and the memory keeps my hatred of the Llacsans burning.
“What was your father like?” It’s a question I wish people would askmesometimes. But no one really does, and why would they? The pictures I have in my mind of my parents are blurry, smudges on a blank canvas. I wish I had known them better. But all I have left are vague recollections. The scent of flowers in Mama’s garden and Papa’s scruffy beard against my cheek.
“He was a big bear of a man. Told stories during mealtimes and always ate second helpings. He didn’t like to dance, but he loved listening to my mother play the guitar. He was honorable.”
My breath quiets, no longer violently shaking my chest. “What’s your favorite memory of him?”
Manuel tips his head back and shuts his eyes. A long moment passes, and I think he may have fallen asleep. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his hands lightly clasped in his lap. His long legs are stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He’s calm, composed, and in control. I can’t help staring at him as I wait for him to speak.
“I was small for my age,” he whispers. “My mother worried about my size a lot, wondered why I wasn’t growing. But Papa never did. He’d pull me onto his shoulders, carry me around until I felt like I was a great giant. He promised me that I’d get to be that tall one day.” His lips twist into a sad smile. “I didn’t, obviously. But once Mother told me I’d reached his height, that was tall enough for me.”
He slowly reopens his eyes and stares unseeingly out into the dark room. “I volunteered for many of the missions into La Ciudad simply to be able to ride the horses outside of the keep. I could never go fast enough on our side of the bridge.”
“And did you volunteer on your mother’s mission to secure allies to get away from me?”
Manuel shifts his gaze to mine, and he keeps it there. “Yes, I did.”
There’s no need to ask him why. I think I understand what he can’t explain—he’d felt something for me back then, when we were younger and the outside world hadn’t yet intruded into our bubble. That kiss shattered the illusion, and Manuel’s profound sense of duty and honor prevented him from going further.
Just like it does now.
I tilt my head back until it rests against the cold stone. This place is terrifying, with its musty air and dark corners that hide secrets. Exhaustion clings to my bones, and I fall asleep, and as I do, I picture a yawning pit. Dark and black, with no escape, smothering me as I slowly starve.
CAPÍTULO
Trece
My stomach wakes me. The growl reverberates through the room, and at my core I feel completely empty. As if I haven’t eaten in days, weeks. I shake Manuel, and he sits up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. For some reason he appears more tired than I’ve ever seen him, even though I know we both slept through the night. Not that it was very comfortable; stone makes for an appalling bed. Manuel peers at me, assessing me in the same way I study him. There are bruises under his eyes, deep caverns stained purple.
“I’m hungry.”
He nods. “Me too—ravenous.” When he stands, I’m surprised to see him sway on his feet. He has to fling his arm out to keep himself upright. “Condesa, get up.”
I struggle to get to my feet, my back sore and stiff. My limbs are heavy, and I’m weirdly lightheaded. I don’t want to move from my spot on the floor. “I feel terrible.” A thought strikes me. “Could it be the butterflies, after all? Perhaps the honey didn’t work.”
The blood drains from his face. “Maybe.”
“We might seriously be poisoned.”
“If we are, we have to get out of here,” he says grimly. “There are plants that help with infection, but we won’t find any in this temple.” He slaps his face, once, twice. “I’m struggling to stay awake. Vision is a little blurry.”
He doesn’t seem to be talking to me. I use the wall to help me up to my feet. Once again, Manuel walks the chamber. His Moonsight makes his eyes softly glow like a fire blazing against the night. I watch him from the corner of my eye, wanting to make sure he’s all right. I wish I could reach out to him, but I know he’d look at me in alarm. Touches like that aren’t allowed between us. I walk to the base of one of the pillars, once again studying the carvings on the stone.
