The glow of a torch lurches me awake. I sit up, reaching for the dagger I always keep under my pillow—but come up empty. Where is my blade? I blink in the flickering dark, scrambling away from the heat of the fire. I don’t recognize the room I’m in. Gone are Catalina’s piles of books and clothes. None of my tapestries adorn the stone walls.
And I remember.
I turn toward the source of the light and meet the figure of a tall boy barely illuminated by the fire. Atoc’s smelly cousin. I groan.
“Are you wearing—” Rumi squints at me, moving the torch closer to me. “Are you deranged? You’re not supposed to wear everything at once.”
“I’m cold,” I snap, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to head downstairs,” Rumi says. “Congratulations. You get to be in a parade.”
I sit up, fumbling beneath my layers of garments. “What do you mean, a parade?”
Rumi strides to the balcony and throws the doors open. Dawning sunlight floods the room. The sounds of whinnying horses and lively chatter filter inside as I squint at him.
“Atoc decided to announce the engagement with fanfare. Most of the castillo has been awake all night preparing a lavish procession to herald the news throughout La Ciudad. Your dress is arriving any minute.” He pauses, a slight smirk framing his mouth. “It’s very colorful. Lots of ruffles.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and focus on breathing. His smile is unsettling because I know it means something else. An insult. Judgment.
“Get out of bed.”
“Un minuto.”
“You don’t have a minute,” he says coldly. “We need to go. Ahora.”
My hands itch for something to throw at his head. Instead I curl them as I look for my boots. Everything from the day before comes back to me in a rush: the ride to the castillo, Sofía, meeting Atoc, that frigid bath.
I start taking off the extra clothes but pause when I register his eyes widening. I turn away, surprised at the warmth spreading to my cheeks. I’ve never had a boy in my room before. Catalina had her flirtations among the aristócratas, but nothing ever came from those coy exchanges. I’d had no flirtations, coy or otherwise. It seemed cruel, considering my job. Why reach for a future that couldn’t be counted on? Why give in to a longing that’ll only cause pain? No one would really be flirting with me, but the condesa they thought I was. I am a decoy first. I trained, pretended to be Catalina, and tried to make Ana proud. That has been and will be my life until I can finally take my mask off and be me—Ximena.
“How could you possibly have fallen asleep in all that?” Rumi mutters. He’s leaning against the wall, holding on to the flickering torch. Whatever shadows remain in the brightening room dance across his face. His clothing is a watered-down version of Atoc’s from the day before, a well-made tunic of quality cotton, dark pants, and leather sandals. The faint smell of wet dirt and burnt ragweed attacks my senses. Does he ever wash his clothes?
Rumi lifts the corner of his mouth, as if my discomfort amuses him. I ignore him, and quickly step out of a skirt and pull the extra two tunics off.
The same girl who took the rest of my clothes the night before enters—without knocking—and holds up a dress that’s yards long and outfitted in every color of the rainbow. It’s clear the previous owner was taller than me since pollera skirts are supposed to stop at the ankles. Delicate white lace lines the hem, and I spot several ruffles decorating the short sleeves. All in all, the entire ensemble reminds me of the jam-filled pastries my mother used to buy in La Ciudad when I was a child. Puffed up and frilly. Catalina would have loved it.
“Do you need help dressing?” the girl asks stiffly.
“No,” I say as Rumi says, “Yes.”
I glare at him. He merely smiles again and leaves, calling over his shoulder, “Juan Carlos will take you outside. You have ten minutes.”
That bastard. He wanted to wake me, wanted to see my expression while he gave me the news about the parade. I’m still fuming as the girl helps me dress, tucking me inside the gown, tying bows, and laying all the ruffles where they ought to be. She pinches my cheeks, adds rouge to my lips, and braids my hair. She hands me leather sandals, and I’m surprised to see they’re a perfect fit. Her doing, most likely, given her satisfied smile.
Apparently pleased with my appearance, she leaves and Juan Carlos steps inside. “Ready, Condesa?”
“In a minute.” I start to make the bed. Some habits are hard to break. Coming back to a clean room always makes me calmer. In control and organized.
The guard stands off to the side, leaning against the wall. He watches me silently fold the sheets, tucking each corner until they sit crisp and flat. I pull the blanket off the floor, finally dry, and smooth it over the bed. The top still needs to be folded down.
“I didn’t expect you to handle chores meant for maids,” Juan Carlos says.
“I think it’s best if you keep your expectations to yourself from now on.”
“Whatever you want.”
The next minute we’re out the door, the guard at my side. I can feel his gaze on me. He keeps pace, and despite Rumi’s command to hurry, this guard doesn’t rush me. I peek up at him. He’s still watching me. I’m amazed how he’s deftly avoiding trampling on a wandering chicken.
“Stop staring at me,” I say through gritted teeth.
He sounds amused. “Sleep well?”
“Fine.”
“Bed comfortable enough for you?”
He almost sounds like he’s teasing me. “So, you’re a friendly guard.”
“Yes,” he says dramatically. “One of those.”
“Ugh.”
That makes him laugh. His smiles come easy and free, unlike Rumi’s. Juan Carlos shoots me a wink, coaxing me to engage with him. To grin or laugh. I force my expression to retain a careful blankness that reveals nothing, especially to a guard who might use whatever he can find against me. After all, I am a decoy.
Atoc leads a procession on horseback into the city. He’s dressed and adorned in an elaborate robe with detailed stitching of various flowers found in the wild, and a headdress that wraps around his gold crown; on his wrists are gold bracelets. No Estrella. Horn blowers alert La Ciudad of his approach.
I follow yards behind his retinue, Juan Carlos next to me. Craning my neck, I try to spot Illustrian spies in the growing crowd outside the city gates.
“See anyone you know?” he asks.
“If I did, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”
Neither my tone nor my words seem to bother him. He’s all smiles, waving at the people as if he were the main event of this spectacle of a parade. And the people eat him up as if he were dipped in dulce de leche. After a few minutes of playing the crowd, he shifts in his saddle and tries to engage me in conversation. Again.
“So, tell me about yourself.”
My lips thin. His affability is clearly a tactic to get me to trust him—which will never happen.
“Just making conversation,” he says. “Next to Rumi, I’m the main person you’ll be spending time with leading up to Carnaval.”
“Lucky me.”
He merely laughs and resumes waving at the crowd. “You should try smiling; it’s fun.”
Commotion bursts from a group of people ahead that keeps me from responding. How can he suggest I smile? I’m a prisoner. The commotion grows louder and Juan Carlos beckons to the guard riding behind him. “Possible threat. Watch the condesa.”
He rides straight for the growing mob. I can’t tell if it’s a fight brewing or if the people are making such a racket because Atoc is within a few feet of them. I lose sight of Juan Carlos in seconds, and the replacement guard urges me along until we’ve passed the noisy group.
Juan Carlos doesn’t return and the procession snakes into La Ciudad using the many winding streets that bleed into the heart of the city. A crowd of Llacsans waits for us in the Plaza del Sol. There are vendors selling sugared choclo and roasted nuts glazed in cinnamon and cayenne spices. A few are squeezing fresh jugo de mandarina into clay cups, passing them around for tres notas each.
The constant hum of chatter, the sound of animals and people and the wheels of their carts sloshing through puddles, remind me of life before the revolt. Merchants calling out prices for their wares, trying to coax someone into buying something they don’t need, the tolling of the temple bells, the grunts coming from masons building towers and tall buildings that reach the heavens, set against the hazy lavender mountain.
I love the song of the city. After moving to the Illustrian fortress, I found that the sudden silence filled me with regret. It took me years to get used to it, but it still always unnerved me.
I peer at the crowds, reveling in the bustle and noise. All the buildings are decorated with streamers and potted flowers, and in the middle of the plaza stands a platform where a group of prisoners wait for their fates. My gaze narrows at the trio.
Ana stands bound and gagged on that platform.
I gasp and pull on the reins. Acid rises in my gut, sour and faintly tasting like tomatoes. “What is this?”
The guard yanks the reins from my hands. “Move.”
I keep blinking, hoping what I’m seeing isn’t real. But there’s no mistaking Ana—head held high, graying hair fluttering in the morning breeze. On either side of her are bound Illustrians, lined up and waiting to be executed.
“Ana!” I scream. “Atoc! You promised. You said—”
Atoc whirls around in his seat, his brows slamming together into a sharp line. The guard riding next to me hauls me off the horse and drags me across his lap, his dirty hand slapping against my mouth to keep me quiet. I rage against his hold as his horse continues forward, pushing through the crowd.
I turn my head and catch sight of Sajra, his feet spread out, his fingertips lightly touching, giving an air of profound patience as the procession curls around the platform. The guard’s hand presses harder against my mouth, but I bite a stubby finger and he yelps as I slide off his lap, falling to my knees on the hard rock. I barely feel the impact.
I duck around the horse and then scramble forward, dragging my ridiculous dress across the dirty cobblestones and pushing onlookers out of my way to get to Ana.
Her shoulders stiffen and her gaze widens as she jerks her chin upward in warning. She’s seen me. Rough hands grip my shoulders and waist, reeling me back until I’m surrounded by a tight circle of Atoc’s men. I push and shove, but I might as well be fighting statues.
The chamberlain steps forward to announce the king, and everyone drops to their knees. I break off my attack, panting. Through the gaps of the guards’ shoulders, several people gawk at my display. I don’t give a damn. Atoc gave his word. He promised, he—
Luna. My eyes shut. He’d said the prisoners would leave the castillo. That’s all he said.
I let out a hoarse laugh. He tricked me.
The usurper steps in front of the platform, blocking my view of Ana. “You may rise, Llacsans.”
I scan the crowd with a mixture of hope and dread—half wanting to see a friendly face, and half hoping I don’t. Guards weave through the crowd, spears at the ready. If anyone attempts a rescue, it’ll be a massacre. There are too many of them. Atoc drones on and on, and the words scrape against my skin. He says something about flattening the last of the rebels, triumphing over his oppressors. Tears prick my eyes, a salty sting I don’t want anyone to see.
The high priest Sajra walks onto the platform. The crowd hushes. I didn’t realize Atoc had finished his ramblings, and now it’s time. I’m not ready. Sajra yanks off Ana’s gag.
“Ana, you are to be an example for all the Illustrians in Inkasisa,” Sajra says. “Let the condesa see what happens to her people should she not obey His Majesty, the faithful servant of our earth goddess and sun god, King Atoc!”
Ana looks in my direction. I can barely meet her gaze because of the guards blocking my view. This is the woman who brought me to the Illustrian keep. Who taught me how to defend myself. Who made sure I had enough water to drink and food to eat. This is Sofía’s mother, who I vowed to save. Without her magic, we’re near defenseless. The bridge will become visible and then only stone walls will be left to protect my people against Atoc’s army.
I shove against the backs of the guards, but they don’t move an inch.
“Condesa!” Ana calls.
I stop pushing. My hands are shaking, and I’m afraid to meet her gaze. I’ve failed her. Somehow we lock eyes. Her expression is soft and brave, resigned to her fate. It’s in her furtive stare that I understand what she’s trying to tell me. A last message—for her kids, Sofía and Manuel.
For me.
La Ciudad is ours. Inkasisa belongs to us. Never forget it. Fight for every stone, for every handful of soil. Do not show weakness, or you will lose it all.
Her words are as clear as if she had whispered them into my ear. These are the mandates I’ve grown up hearing. The truths that have guided my actions and governed my thoughts. We are the rulers of this great city, and every winding path in it, every building and home, every iron gate that stands at the barrier belongs to us. Illustrians.
Rage blazes beneath my skin, lighting my body as if I were a torch. “Atoc!” I bellow. “You liar! Bastard, heaping pile of—”
Someone shouts in the crowd. For a moment I think it’s the Illustrians launching a rescue. A whirring noise slashes the air, and something hurtles toward one of the guards standing next to an Illustrian prisoner. My breath catches as the guard is lifted off his feet and catapulted into the crowd.
There’s a sudden silence. Another voice cries out, pointing upward toward the parapets lining the plaza. A lone figure dressed entirely in black stands along the edge, holding his telltale slingshot.
El Lobo. The vigilante of Inkasisa.
He lifts an arm in mocking salute to Atoc, who lets out a guttural roar. Mayhem descends in full force: people shouting, feet stomping in frantic escape, overturned carts filling the streets with dried beans and corn and smashed fruit. The ground trembles, cutting through the commotion. Everyone freezes.
Pacha magic. Atoc’s earthquakes. I bend my knees to keep balance, but the sudden shaking forces me to the ground. I’m not alone—the tremor drives all the Llacsans to their knees. I catch sight of El Lobo holding on to a balcony rail as the building sways left to right and back again. The vigilante jumps, reaching an Inkasisa flag. His body spins in a wide arc, and then he lets go, landing onto the crowd and disappearing fully.
This is my moment. I lurch forward, the ground pulsating under my feet. People scramble out of the way, running in the opposite direction of Atoc. He’s climbed onto the platform, seemingly oblivious and unafraid of the waking earth. His arms surge upward and another quake cracks the walls and splits stone. I push closer, trying to reach Ana. Someone trips over my dress, and I curse as we both slam onto the cobblestone. I heave the person off me, desperate to get to my feet.
El Lobo rushes onto the other end of the platform. A silver glint catches sunlight as the vigilante uses a sword to slice at the ropes binding the Illustrian prisoners. The first captive is free, scrambling off the platform, the second follows suit, jumping into the crowd, fastened hands and all, but Ana has fallen onto her side, bound at the wrists. Atoc stands above her, arms still outstretched.
“Lobo!” I scream. “Help her, please!”
The roar of the crowd drowns out my voice. Several guards surround him, and El Lobo is fighting them off with his thin blade. Atoc conjures another massive quake. This one splits open a wide crack near the platform, revealing the deep belly of the earth. Ana tries to crawl away, but Atoc laughs at her attempt and pulls her back by grabbing her hair.
Her eyes widen in terror.
Another earthquake fractures the plaza. The stones slap my knees and my teeth chatter. Before I can push onto my feet, Atoc shoves Ana toward the yawning hole in the cobblestone. Rolling out of control, her feet jerking wildly, she can’t grasp anything because her wrists are bound.
Seconds later Ana vanishes into the earth, screaming the whole way down.
“No!” Tears stream down my face as the ground continues to shake. My fingers can’t find purchase to push myself up. I’m not getting enough air. It hurts to breathe.
The earth swallowed her whole.
Somewhere in the madness, I’ve lost sight of El Lobo. He must have broken free of the guards because he’s nowhere to be seen.
Atoc quiets the earth, and he’s the only one left standing. Everyone is a mess of dusted cheeks and hair, skinned flesh and bloody gashes. The plaza is a war zone, buildings nearly toppling over, overturned food and flower carts spilling onto the street.
The memory rolls into my mind swiftly, the scent of smoke and metal strong in my nose. Bellowing cries pierced the black night. Not a single star hung in the sky. Dust and dirt and blood stung my eyes. I sat on the ruins of our house. And somewhere beneath me, my parents lie buried beneath cracked stone.
Atoc’s men rise to their feet, and I shove the recollection from my mind. Horses are found, carts are righted. People slowly come back to life as the shock wears off.
Atoc stalks toward me. He stops when he reaches the tattered hem of my dress. His toes brush the fabric. I tip my head back, not bothering to hide the tears streaking my face. He stares at me, eyes bloodshot and furious.
“Get her out of my sight.”
One of the guards ties my hands with a thick hemp rope. I barely notice. My vision blinks to black, and I taste salt on my tongue. The procession forms its long line—Atoc at the front—and we all travel back to the castillo in single file, battered and filthy. I bring up the rear, the rope yanking me along while I try to keep up on foot. The hemp bites into my skin, rubbing my wrists raw.
The last thing I want to do is cry, but the tears keep coming. My grief pecks at me like a starving vulture, tearing deep into my flesh until I feel Ana’s death in every part of my body.
We arrive at the castillo, but instead of the pink room, the guards drag me below to the dungeon. “You’re to stay down here until the king changes his mind,” one guard says.
He unwinds the rope from my wrists, rough and quick. I force myself not to wince. Another guard pushes me into the small barred cell. Guttering torches give enough light for me to see my bloody wrists, burning as if on fire.
“Can I have water?” I ask, my voice hoarse from crying.
“There’s none,” one of them says in a curt tone.
No water. Of course. Last night I’d received a tubful. Today not even a drop. “What’s going to happen to me?”
One guard shrugs. “All I know is that you’re to stay here.”
My punishment for speaking out against the king. Their footsteps echo in the dim dark of my prison. The door clangs shut, ricocheting off the stone and ringing in my ears. But not loud enough to block out the memories of Ana’s terrified screams as she vanished into the earth.
My second day in enemy territory.