“A stranger gave them gold yesterday,” he continues. “Tall, young, hair slicked back with olive oil. Said he owed Felipe a debt. They gave it up eagerly once they learned what had happened.”
My sweaty hands grip my skirt. “He was paid to do it!”
Hector nods. “The note was meant to scare you—if you survived.”
I force my hands to release the fabric, to relax. Without meeting his eye, I say, “Maybe the poison wasn’t meant for me. Maybe it was meant for someone else. The conde. Or even Alentín. He’s an ambassador now, you know.”
“Honey-coconut scones, Elisa. Distilled duerma poison, according to Enzo. It’s hard to come by in Brisadulce. You have to cross the desert to find it. Someone was making a statement.”
I rub at the headache forming at the bridge of my nose. “Someone who knew I poisoned the animagus with duerma plant.”
“You also poisoned half the Invierne army, remember?”
“Hector, if that poison was meant for me, then someone truly wants me dead. Not taken alive, like the Inviernos do.”
“That has occurred to me.”
“Which means I have more than one enemy.”
He says nothing, just presses his lips into a firm line. For the first time, I notice a shadow of stubble along his jaw. He is always clean shaven, as befits the commander of the Royal Guard. Either he hasn’t had time today, or he forgot. It makes him look darker, fiercer.
I jump when Ximena’s hand settles on my shoulder. “I wish we could get you away,” she mutters. “There are too many people in Brisadulce. Too many agendas, too many dark corners.”
I round on her. “No!”
She recoils, black eyes wide.
“I won’t run away again. You and Papá and Alodia sent me away to keep me safe, remember?” Anger I barely knew I was holding in check rises in my throat like bile. “You forced me to marry a man who didn’t love me, who hardly even acknowledged me. It didn’t work out very well, did it? He’s dead. And I’ve had more brushes with death than I can count. Running away just made . . .” I hesitate, realizing how shrill my voice is, how awful I sound. Like maybe I hate this place and this life.
She regards me with endless calm.
“I don’t regret anything,” I tell her.
“I know.”
“But I won’t run away again.”
She crosses her arms and leans against the bedpost, which creaks in response. “Would you consider running to something?”
“What do you mean?”
She glances around at the room. Besides Mara and Hector, three guards stand watch, and as usual, their faces betray nothing of the conversation they are overhearing. They are so still and silent as to be nearly—but not quite—invisible. Ximena says, “There is something to the, er, line of research I’m engaged in that might require a long outing.” She forces cheer to her face. “Maybe we can incorporate it into that tour of the country the Quorum would like you to go on.”
She’s talking about the gate. The one that “leads to life.” And she doesn’t want to discuss details in front of the guards.
Hector says, “I thought the conde’s conversation grew particularly interesting tonight at dinner, before his man took ill.”
“Indeed,” Ximena agrees.
In the silence that ensues, I know we are thinking the same thing. The words used by the conde to describe his legend were uncannily similar to the verse carved into the rock beneath my city. The gate that leads to life is narrow and small so that few find it.
I say, “Our friend in the Wallows might know something.”
Ximena nods. “He also might have insight into this latest attack.”
The thought of seeing Storm again gives me a shudder. I imagine his too-perfect face with such clarity, dread the arrogance in his sibilant voice. But I need to take him up on his offer for information as soon as possible.
With no small amount of reluctance, I say, “I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow morning.”
Hector looses an exasperated breath. “Please don’t. I don’t know the territory. I wouldn’t know how to place the guards. And the way that cavern echoes . . . there’s no way you could have a private conversation.”
I open my mouth to protest, to remind him that I refuse to be governed by fear, but I pause. Ignoring his advice has gotten me nearly killed.
“You’re about to insist, aren’t you?” he says, looking pained.
“No. I was thinking I ought to let you do your job for a change.”
He gapes at me for a split second before recovering his usual poise. “In that case, I’ll send my men to fetch him tomorrow morning.”