At his words, the guard’s chest puffs up. I turn my attention to the crushed leaves, trying to commit the color and shape to memory. This is a plant I don’t want to forget. One of the guards nudges my back, and we form a single-file line and continue our trek. We walk seemingly for hours. My pants are a shredded mess, my tunic soaked with sweat. The mosquitos are endless. Buzzing in my ear, sticking to my skin, riding my breath. My clothing isn’t the fortress I think it is either. I slide the fabric up my arm and discover several welts marring my skin.
I’m not used to the exercise, long as it is from the miles we’re traveling. I’m not told where we’re heading, how much farther there is to go, or if I’ll be given a weapon to defend myself against the jungle once they leave. But then, that’s the point.
The princesa wants me dead.
At last, at last, one of the guards signals and we stop. The Llacsan turns to look at the healer, who gives a slight nod. I look around, but the forest is as dense as ever. I thought we’d find a clearing, or someplace close to a water source. But no. They’re dumping me in a nondescript area. A single column of stone is the only landmark, made nearly invisible by the amount of foliage suffocating it.
“You’re leaving me here?”
Rumi ignores me as he rummages in his pack. I tilt my head back to study the overhang of tangled branches and leaves. I can’t find a single star through the tree limbs. The constellations are useless to me under the canopy. Any messages from Luna are hidden, not that I have much success in interpreting the stars. My first and foremost failure as the only remaining Illustrian seer.
Fear grasps at my heart. I’m so close to unraveling, and the urge to give in to my frustration and hurt nearly overwhelms me. I want to drop to my knees and howl and sob and scream out everything that’s in me, but I can’t—I’m terrified they won’t care. That their last sight of me will be a crying mess on the ground.
Pride keeps my back straight. Lifts my chin and fortifies me for the night ahead.
Rumi finds two items in his pack, both wrapped crudely in fraying fabric. Wordlessly, he hands them to me. I open the smaller one—rolls of bread, smashed together from being tossed around in his bag. The second bundle is longer, and when the wrapping falls softly to my feet, my breath hitches at the back of my throat.
It’s my dented bronze telescope. The one tool I need to properly read the constellations.
“From Ximena,” he whispers.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip. I want to hurl both gifts into the dark jungle. Let the beasts devour her pity. But my fingers clutch the telescope as if on their own accord, refusing to let go. I lift my eyes as they fill with tears. I dash at them angrily. Rumi stares for a moment, deliberating, until something in his gaze changes—softens and bends like a slash of starlight.
“Help her settle in for the night.” He slings his pack off his shoulder. “I’ll start a fire.”
The guards stiffen, their mouths opening at the mandate. Apparently, helping me set up camp wasn’t part of the plan. They divvy up the tasks—clearing the area and setting up a perimeter. Someone thrusts a hammock into my arms, and motions toward two trees a few yards apart. There’s rope on either end and I set about tying each to a trunk, careful not to touch any of the vines.
“Damn it,” I say as each end slides down the trunk. “Wouldn’t bedrolls be easier? I’d rather sleep in one of those.”
One of the guards barks out a laugh and says something to another, who promptly rolls his eyes in my direction. Rumi looks over at me, his hands at work making a fire. When it roars to life, he comes over to help with the hammock.
“If you sleep on the ground, you’ll wake up with several nasty bed companions. Scorpions, snakes, and spiders.” He finishes tying each end, and somehow the rope doesn’t slide. “Still think it’d be easier?”
I shake my head, shuddering.
“This is the jungle, Condesa,” he says softly. “Don’t you forget it. Have you had any water?”
I shake my head again, and now that he’s mentioned it, my throat suddenly feels dry, my tongue hot and swollen.
Rumi half turns and one of the guards tosses him a sac, the liquid sloshing loudly. He hands it over, and I drink my fill, not caring how the water is slightly warm. When I’m done, he passes the bag back to the owner.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask. “Because of her?”
I still can’t say her name. I’ve finally reached my breaking point. I went from having nearly everything to having nothing in a matter of days. For a few moments I was invincible. In my hands I had the power to reclaim our throne, and my people believed in me.
It still wasn’t enough.
“Because of her,” he echoes. “I want to be able to look her in the eye when she asks me how I left you.”
His words hit me oddly. I don’t want her empty pity, I didn’t need her to send Rumi—
“She sent me because she cares,” he says softly.
I flinch in surprise and it makes Rumi smile.
“You wear everything on your face.” He picks up the fine netting. “Drape this over your hammock, but not too close. The bugs will bite you right through it.” I stare at the bundle, despairing. His jaw clenches, but then he lets out a slow exhale, as if attempting to control his impatience. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”
Rumi places the netting up and over the hammock, using rocks and twigs to spread the fabric out into a canopy. Then he removes everything and hands over the netting so I can do it on my own. I imitate what he does, collecting various flotsam to hold my netting away from the hammock. Rumi nods in approval. I duck under my netting for a few minutes of respite from the mosquitos, and after a couple of wobbly attempts, manage to encase myself inside the hammock. The material is rough and scratchy.
My gaze returns to the fire, oddly reassuring as it pushes the dark heart of the forest away. Hunger flares deep in my belly, but I leave the rolls alone. What am I going to do after they leave? I peer into the steaming jungle, away from where the guards have convened around the cozy fire. All I see is a flat darkness that sends a chill down my spine.
My fingers curl around the edges of the hammock. How am I going to survive on my own? I’m optimistic, always have been, but making it out of the forest in one piece—alone—sounds foolish at best. If a menacing vine almost did me in earlier, imagine something with claws.
Unless … I turn to Rumi. Could I persuade him to stay with me? I nearly scoff at the idea until I remember that he really does seem to care for her. He might stay if it meant pleasing my former friend—the traitorous rat. As if he can sense my thoughts, the healer meets my gaze over the flickering fire. He slowly shakes his head, as if I’d asked the question out loud. His kindness has its limits, it seems.
I avert my gaze. What did I expect?
“Catalina,” he calls softly. I climb out of the hammock and make my way toward the group. My steps are heavy on the tangled brush under my boots. The guards are fidgeting, eager to be on their way. They have to survive the trek back out—follow the trail before the jungle swallows the way home.
“So this is it,” I say numbly. “Lovely meeting you all.”
“Don’t stay here for longer than a night,” Rumi says, ignoring my jab. “Keep moving and head downhill; eventually you’ll find water. Don’t touch any vines.” He thrusts his pack at me. “There’s a blanket inside, and a weapon. Do you know how to defend yourself with a dagger?”