“Do what I do.” The Illari stands, picks up a branch from the jungle floor, and jumps off the cliff. Holding either end of the bark, she zips down to the other cliff. The tracker lands on her feet, then turns around and waves for us to follow.
I watch in horror the entire time. Manuel bends and finds two branches, and then uses his dagger to cut off any smaller pieces sticking out.
Wordlessly, he hands one over to me. “You’re next.”
My mouth goes dry. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can and you will.”
I peer over the edge to stare at the churning water below. I’m not afraid of heights, but even so, my knees are shaking. What if the vine snaps? What if I lose my grip and fall? I’ve become a better swimmer, but I’m no match for the hungry river.
There’s a lump at the back of my throat as I take the branch. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”
“I can’t believe half of the things you’ve done.”
I raise my brows. “What do you mean? Anyone would have done what I did. A dog has that kind of survival instinct.”
He lowers his chin and levels a hard gaze at me. “Condesa, most people would have given up by now. But you’ve refused to. You are my queen.”
I can’t muster even a thank-you. I can only gape at him. Then he beckons me over to the vine and demonstrates how to hold the branch.
“You only need to hold tight,” he says. “The vine and the branch will take care of the rest.”
I nod and I let his words sink in. Back at the Illustrian keep, no one else knew I was the real condesa, so they couldn’t encourage me. Ximena and Sofía were supportive, but not in the way I needed. They understood the circumstances were inevitable: I was going to reclaim the throne. Perhaps they thought I didn’t need to hear affirmation.
But I do.
I grip the branch the way Manuel showed me, and draw close to the edge. The wind tears at my hair, and the river rushes past, snarling. I take deep sips of the warm air.
“It helps if you jump,” Manuel says from behind me. “Suerte, Catalina.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s utterly calm and adorably ruffled with his dirt-streaked clothes and tousled hair. I want to rush into his arms and feel his embrace again. But I force myself to turn around.
I take the leap.
My stomach swoops as I fall for half a second before I’m jerked upward as the vine keeps me from falling straight down. I zip across the wide river, feet kicked up and my fingers clutching the rough bark. I let out a cry—but it’s not one of terror. It’s something between a laugh and a yell, and even to my own ears, the sound is a happy one. The wind teases my hair, and my tunic flutters behind me like the tail of a beautiful bird. Much too soon, I reach the other side, and I veer toward the large tree where the other end of the vine is secured. At the last moment, I let go and drop to the soft jungle floor, rolling until I come to a stop.
The tracker looms above me, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “You enjoyed that.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. I more than enjoyed it. I want to repeat the entire experience over and over again. My body thrums with barely contained energy, and every beat of my heart against my ribs is joyous. I scramble to my feet and watch Manuel’s crossing. His face is set, matter-of-fact, and when he lets go, he lands on his feet at a run. When he doubles back, he glances over at me, as if to make sure I didn’t break anything. And when his gaze lifts to mine—he winks at me.
I am breathless.
Our guide motions for us to follow, tucking herself into the jungle, embracing its song. I follow after her, and Manuel brings up the rear. We travel single file for most of the day, though it’s impossible to tell the hour under the dense canopy. The heat coats our skin, and sweat dampens every inch. My clothing smells disgusting; there’s no other word for it. I want to bathe, but I’m afraid to go in the water, afraid of the creatures waiting for prey. Every mile or so, we stop to drink. The Illari woman disappears and returns with large nuts, ripe bananas, and several avocados. We eat and drink our fill and continue the trek deeper into the jungle. Or perhaps we’re already as deep as we can go. Perhaps we’ve arrived at the heart.
We hike up a small hill, and when we reach the summit, the view forces me to still, demanding to be enjoyed. The jungle is immense, stretching in every direction for miles and miles. The noise is deafening from up here, monkeys howling at the top of their voices, birds calling to one another, and insects buzzing. It is an amazing, humbling sight. I glance at Manuel, who stands at my elbow, arrested by the scene.
“Is it weird that this place is starting to feel like home?”
He answers without looking in my direction. “Yes.”
I can’t help but laugh. Somehow this dangerous place has forced its way into my heart. The magic it hides, deep within its belly, the vibrant colors and glorious river, and the stern mountain in the center, lording over it all. My gaze snags on a stretch of white forest. The trees glint silver, as if sprinkled by moondust.
“Is thatsnow?” I ask the tracker.
She looks at me carefully. “No, no es nieve.”
“Then what is it?” But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, a memory comes rushing back. We found a similar stretch of silvery leaves surrounding an equally silvery flower.
