“You would know, outsider.”
“¿Cómo puedo yo saber?” I ask, baffled.
Her hands curl into tight fists. “That part of the jungle is dying.”
I return my attention to the affected area. For some unfathomable reason, she’s implying that I’m responsible. “I don’t understand.”
Manuel steps closer to me. “Speak frankly, Illari.”
The tracker straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin a fraction of an inch. “It’s this way.”
She marches from us, down the other side of the hill. I pull my brows into a swift frown. “What do you think that was about?”
“No idea.”
“But she seemed angry.”
His expression turns grim. “Furiosa.”
CAPÍTULO
Diecisiete
The Illari tracker takes us to a massive statue of a vulture, made entirely of stone and painted the purest white. It’s double the height of the temple, hidden at the base of the hill and surrounded by a moat with the darkest water I’ve ever seen—the color of night without Luna’s twinkling companions. A single wooden-slat bridge permits entry. I’m suddenly reminded of the Illustrian fortress. We, too, had a bridge, enchanted by Ana. What kind of protection will this bridge have? I turn to Manuel, but his attention is on the swirling water. He clenches his jaw.
“I never thought I’d see it again,” he says.
Realization dawns.Oh.This is the bridge he’d hinted at earlier. The one he refused to talk about.
The tracker steps forward and points to the wooden platform. “You must cross here. No one will shoot.”
“Why am I allowed to cross this time?” Manuel asks.
She jerks her chin in my direction. “We are interested in the stunted seer.”
I glance at Manuel and mouth,Stunted?
“You’re not coming too?” Manuel asks, his voice deceptively calm. He inches closer to her, as if readying to attack should he not like her answer.
“Both of you first.”
There’s no room for argument in her tone. I stare at the statue with its outstretched wings lowered to a spot on the ground, the fierce expression carved into the face of the stone. “This is the last test?”
The tracker nods. “If you pass, I will have no choice but to take you to Paititi.”
I walk to the bridge—it gently sways over the river, perhaps ten or fifteen feet above it. The fall won’t kill me, but the caimánes might. There are three of them, lounging in the water, patient and trusting that food will come their way.
I lift my foot to take the first step, but Manuel stops me. He glares at me and gently sets me aside so he can go ahead of me. But I don’t let him.
I grab onto the sleeve of his tunic. “It has to be me.”
I’m not made of porcelain. This is the farthest I’ve been from home, and I’m still alive. Much to everyone’s surprise.
Even my own.
Manuel studies me carefully, and I meet his assessing gaze without flinching. His face shifts, and he beams back at me, full of pride. A warm glow spreads throughout my body. Then he moves away from the bridge, and I walk forward, head held high.
“Be careful,” he says.
