Something in me dies. Whatever I felt, whatever I yearned for in this moment—his smiles, to be seen by him as a girl and not just his queen—all of that vanishes like yesterday’s sunrise.
It’s another betrayal. I can’t look at him. Can’t speak to him anymore. Why am I the only one who still cares about what happened to us during the revolt? We lost family. We lost our homes. Our way of life. The throne. My parents were murdered.
“I’m going to find the Illari. With or without you.”
“Don’t do this to me,” Manuel whispers. “It’s been three years. I need to go home.”
“I know you do.” I look away. “So go.”
“You’re still not listening to me.” His hands reach toward me as if he wants to shake me. “It will mean your death.”
I’m supposed to die here anyway. But I don’t say the words out loud. “I have nothing and no one left, Manuel.”
“Let me take you—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I say, my voice cold and frozen over as if I were made of solid ice. “Do not.”
“My mother isn’t one to suffer fools,” he says gently. “She may have seen this as the best way forward—”
I slap my palms on the ground. “Your mother is dead!”
My words ricochet off the walls, clamoring in my head, ringing in my ears.
His face goes deadly white. “No.”
“Ana and Sofía both died at the hands of Atoc,” I say. “Do you still want to accept Atoc’s sister as your queen? If you do, then I guess I never knew you at all. Your mother would be ashamed, Manuel. Ashamed. Do you want to know how she died? She was executed while Ximena stood by and watched.” I pause. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to quit.”
He flinches at my words, at my tone.
There are tears running down my face. I’ve hurt him. I’ve hurt us both. He stands, head ducked to keep from bumping into the cave ceiling, and marches farther into the dark until he’s out of sight.
I don’t know how long I sit without him. The rain hasn’t stopped; neither has the roaring thunder. In the distance I catch sight of the flock of vultures, feasting on death. My back is sore and tired from not having anything to lean on, but the idea of pressing my wounds against the cool rock is not appealing.
I turn my head and gaze into the darkness where Manuel went. I never should have told him about his family that way. Impatient and frustrated beyond belief. Back at the Illustrian keep, when I was just the personal maid to Ximena’s condesa act, I helped soothe tempers, and tried my best to care for each family under my supervision. I was everyone’s friend, the person they came to when approaching Ximena was unthinkable.
I should have spoken to him gently, but he was starting to sound like her.
I’m tired of being the only one holding on to the Illustrian dream of reclaiming La Ciudad Blanca for ourselves. I want him to feel the same hurt I felt. I want him to remember what we’ve been fighting for. But more than anything I want to remember who I am: the condesa. Ruler of Inkasisa. I am the best answer to who will protect the Illustrians who survived the revolt.
Footsteps sound in the dark and draw closer. I stiffen, bracing myself. If he insists on leaving the jungle, I won’t fight him. But I’m going to stay and try to reach the Illari. I will not go home empty and without a plan.
I will not.
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.