Dimly, I notice a creature at the top of the hole, digging to widen the opening. With a gasp I bring in my legs, pressing my knees against my chest. Clumps of dirt land on my face from the jaguar’s incessant movements.
The hole is barely big enough to fit me, and the jaguar’s size prevents him from jumping in. But not for long. I have minutes, maybe, before he tunnels inside.
There’s nothing left in me to block my fear, the rising panic, the tears streaming down my face. I’m going to die in this pit, mauled by a jungle cat. I’m going to die a failure. Betrayed by my people. A blight to my family name.
The jaguar widens the hole big enough to slip in its massive paw. His claws spread, scrambling for my leg, inches away. My hands are shaking, imagining his teeth ripping at my skin, sipping the gushing blood as it pours out of me. If Ximena could see me now, would she care? Would my death even matter to her now that she has her new friends, and she supports another queen? Tears carve tracks down my cheeks.
I tip my head back and scream as loud and as long as I can.
The jaguar startles but resumes his digging. My gaze snags on the rock I hit on the way down. Using both hands, I launch it upward toward the jungle cat. The rock smacks his face, sending him back from the opening. Then the rock plummets and hits my leg and I wince. The beast returns in seconds and continues digging, furious now that I’m defending myself.
I throw everything within reach. Rocks, twigs, handfuls of dirt. Much of it rains back down onto me, but I don’t care. I keep throwing whatever I find, but my assault barely slows down the big cat. My arm tires and I stop, breathing heavily. There’s nothing left to throw.
All I can do is curl up and wait to die.
Without warning the jaguar slumps forward. Blood splatters my legs. Someone shoves the creature away from the opening and a face appears in its place. Narrowing my gaze, I try to discern if it’s one of my guards—or Rumi.
The face belongs to a man half hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. Patches of scattered moonlight illuminate the bottom half of the stranger’s countenance: scruffy beard and a strong jaw. Someone young—the skin on his arms is smooth.
“Rumi?” My voice is shaky. Did the healer have a beard? I can’t remember. I clutch at the dirt walls, trying to stand. “Is it you?”
“I’m going to get you out,” he says, but then moves away.
“No!” My limbs are tangled in the small space. “Por favor. No me dejes.”
“Listen to me,” he says calmly as his face reappears. “I’m not going to leave you down there.”
His voice is low and rough, as if he’s not used to talking. It also doesn’t sound the least bit like Rumi’s. The stranger disappears again, and I stifle a sob. What if another jaguar attacks him—what if he can’t come back?
“Espera! Come back!”
A heavy vine drops, landing in a coil on my stomach.
“I told you I wasn’t going to leave you. Hold on to the vine,” he calls. Amusement threads his tone like the night sky stitched with stars. It soothes me because it radiates confidence. He’s really going to pull me out of this hole.
“Sí,” I say, and yank on the vine to let him know I’m ready. It snaps, taut, against the dirt wall. I concentrate on his heavy breathing as the man slowly drags me out of this infernal pit.
When I’m close to the top, he hooks his hands under my armpits and pulls me out the rest of the way. He underestimates my size, because we topple forward, him onto his back and me crashing against his chest. His wide-brimmed hat flounces off, revealing his face, his softly glowing eyes. Twin fires against rich olive skin. A chill skips down my spine as my mouth goes dry.
I know him.
The man squints up at me and then gasps. “Catalina?”
I blink at him, feeling his chest rise and fall underneath me. My hands are on either side of his head. He has black wavy hair that reaches his shoulders. Dark eyebrows shaped in surprise are set over a pair of brown eyes, fringed by even darker lashes. His nose is broken—that’s new—and a rough beard hides the bottom half of his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere. It’s been years, though.
My heart does an odd flip. Even after all this time.
“Manuel,” I whisper.
My former general’s only son. A ranger and scout for the Illustrian throne. I frown. He’s wearing black clothing, not our traditional white. A leather vest is set over a long-sleeved shirt, and there’s a machete poking out from behind his back, attached by a leather strap that crisscrosses his chest. His leather boots ride up to mid-calf, and the only thing that remotely looks Illustrian is a pendant hanging from his neck.
A silver crescent moon his mother gave him on his seventeenth birthday three years ago.
“What are you doing here?” He clutches my arms and hauls us both to our feet. Then he starts shaking me. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve fought in a battle.”
Which is entirely correct. I open my mouth to say so, but a laugh escapes instead. Suddenly I’m giddy with relief. My skin flushes, growing warmer. I’m not alone in this jungle. I’m not going to die. More laughter erupts and Manuel frowns at me.
“Catalina.” He shakes me again, but I can’t stop the giggling. Tears stream down my face. My giggles turn to gut-wrenching sobs. “What’s wrong with—”
He breaks off with a low curse, staring at something over my shoulder. I turn and stiffen.
A tall girl is staring at us. She’s outfitted in various shades of green, from her wide-leg pants to the black-and-white checked tunic covering her powerfully built frame. A circlet of gold sits on her dark hair. She’s carrying a slingshot in one hand. There’s a small pouch attached to her leather belt, I’m guessing filled with polished stones.
“We have to move,” Manuel whispers. “Ahora. Right now.”
But the girl vanishes into the jungle, tucking herself behind the tree and out of sight. It happens so fast, for a moment I think I must have imagined her.
“Who was that?” I try to take a step forward, but Manuel places a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“An Illari tracker,” he says grimly, still staring at the spot where she disappeared.
I gasp. “She’s Illari? You mean they actually exist in here?”
“Yes, and where there’s one, several more will follow. She’s been hunting me for days.” He removes his hand from my shoulder. His voice drops to a whisper. “Follow me. You can tell me what in diablos is going on when we get to safety.”
“Is there such a thing in this place?”
His lips quirk.
Again, my heart does that odd flip.
Manuel uses his machete to hack through the jungle. He doesn’t hesitate where to strike, or where to step and what to touch, seeing clearly in the dark. He has Moonsight, a gift from Luna, the ability to never get lost at night. As a little girl, I watched him from the Illustrian tower. Out at night, doing various tasks. He comes alive when the sun goes down. We have that in common.
Manuel half turns, one eyebrow raised, his eyes illuminated in their soft, warm glow.
“I’m all right,” I say. I don’t mention my wounds. There’s nothing he can do about them right now anyway, what with the Illari tracking us.