The Girl of Fire and Thorns Complete Collection (4 page)

I study my sister thoughtfully. I didn’t even notice the flowers she speaks of.

“You may gather some tomorrow,” Calla says. “Now it is time for bed.”

She gestures for the nurse to lead Lupita away. The girl practically bounces out the door, listing all the places she has seen scarlet hedge nettle.

“Thank you for your kindness to my niece,” Calla says, addressing both of us. “Her mother, my sister, died several years ago. Lupita has become very special to me.”

“To both of us,” Paxón says softly. The look they exchange is one of understanding and affection. Rulers rarely get to marry those they care for. There is certainly no love match in
my
future, and I am a bit envious of them. It leaves me feeling even more determined to see this wedding through.

The mayordomo returns with a tray of savory pastries: small puffs filled with diced mushrooms, cheese and chive scones, and tiny quiches with red pepper. Elisa downs a handful of the mushroom puffs before I’ve made my first selection, and I glance around, a bit embarrassed, but no one else seemed to notice.

We speak of small, safe topics for a while, such as last winter’s unusually low snowline, the growing price of lumber, and whether or not Ventierra wine is the finest in the world. I’m glad for the opportunity to ignore the tension around us and be merely pleasant together. As a child, I found such exchanges tedious and awful, but lately I’ve come to appreciate the power of a seemingly senseless conversation to establish trust and heal relationships. I’m about to ask how Paxón and Calla first met when Elisa rises from her chair.

“I’d like to spend some time praying tonight,” she says. “If you’ll all excuse me . . .” Everyone stands when she does, and I’m torn between frustration at her gracelessness and relief that she will soon be gone, leaving me to finesse everything without her interference.

I’m leaning forward to give her a formal kiss on the cheek when the cat screams.

It’s high-pitched and wild, like breaking glass and deepest anguish. My whole body turns to gooseflesh, and my heart kicks at my ribs like a panicked horse trying to break from its stall. I’m not the only one so affected. We all stand frozen for the span of several heartbeats.

Paxón is the first to collect himself, and his face is pale as a ghost’s as he says, “It came from the eastern garden. Inside the—”

A woman screams.

5

T
HE conde rushes us through the halls. We are joined in our dash by household staff and watch soldiers. Paxón shouts at everyone to move aside and let us pass.

The walled garden is perfectly square and small, not much larger than my private suite at home. In the center looms an enormous tree whose canopy shades the entire garden. It’s the kind of place where I would have played as a little girl, especially during the hottest days of summer, when Zito forbade me to absorb too much sunshine lest it darken my skin.

Tucked against the wall is a stone sculpture of a crouching jaguar. The flickering torchlight casts random shadows, making it seem as if the tail moves, as if the cat is ready to pounce. The sight sends another chill up my spine, even before I realize that the wet blotches on the head and paws are blood.

Lupita’s nurse is on her knees bawling, begging someone, anyone to help. She grasps a tiny muddy slipper in her left hand.

Calla looses a sob, and Paxón wraps her in his arms. A servant gestures wildly, explaining that he saw the shadow cat escaping as he rushed into the courtyard. A black-pelted demon, he says, that skimmed the wall with ghostly grace. Whispers of “Espiritu!” swirl around us.

“This makes no sense,” Elisa mutters. She stares at the blood, eyes glazed. “This is not how jaguars act.” My sister has never seen so much blood, so much violence. It must be even more of a shock to her than the rest of us. Before I realize what I’m doing, I lift an arm to drape around her shoulders. But she stiffens, and I let the arm drop.

The men are organized by their captains and prepare to search in the dark. Several of our own guards look to Zito, asking permission to join up, and he grants it. Paxón shouts that there will be a reward for anyone who returns Lupita to her aunt.

Lord Zito grasps my shoulder. “Are you all right, Highnesses?” he asks, looking into each of our faces.

“Nothing here is right,” I say, shaking my head. The pool of blood at the foot of the sculpture is smeared by footprints, the wall above it streaked with crimson. “So much blood,” I murmur.

“Too much,” he says. “I doubt the girl lives.”

My heart squeezes, and I realize that I had warmed to the girl—her brightness and energy—and hardly knew it. “The men must search for her anyway,” I say. “They need a purpose, something to do so they don’t fight with one another.”

“And there’s a chance, isn’t there, Zito?” Elisa asks in a small voice. “A slight chance that she still lives?”

He nods. “But we also need to think ahead,” he says gently. “It would be indelicate to bring it up now with the conde, but we must consider that Lady Calla’s father is unlikely to allow the wedding to proceed if the girl is not found.”

Zito and I exchange a grim look. As war with Invierne looms, Papá and I must do all we can to strengthen this, our weakest border. The wedding must go on. But I have no idea how.

6

I
cannot sleep, not while the soldiers are out searching. I stand on the wall and watch their torches wink and flash as they wind through the hills. And I’m still awake long after midnight, when the last of the men returns empty-handed. The wedding is scheduled to take place the sunrise after this one, but based on the crying and arguing that rings through the castle late into the night, I am certain it will be canceled.

A sense of failure weighs on me. I need to
do
something.

While my servants sleep, I dress quietly in riding breeches and a stiff leather vest that is fitted to my body like a second skin. My calfskin boots won’t protect my feet as well as my riding boots, but they make it easier to step soundlessly. I don’t know yet exactly where I’m going or what I’m doing, but Lord Zito has trained me to be prepared.

My feet carry me to the place where Lupita disappeared. Someone is already in the garden when I arrive, someone whose profile I recognize even in the dark, long before I see the spear he leans upon.

“Lord Zito.”

He jumps as if I’ve startled him from deep thought. Bowing his head, he says, “Your Highness.”

“What brings you here?”

“I couldn’t sleep for thinking of the girl. Everyone is too shocked, too grieved. I’m trying to see this place with clearer eyes.”

“Explain.”

He gestures toward the sculpture. “For one thing, there’s too much blood. Jaguars kill by piercing the skulls of their prey, not by draining them of blood. And look here. See this second scrape of blood on the wall? Too far away from the first. Were there two cats? He couldn’t have carried the girl over the wall twice.”

That’s
what Elisa was saying. She wasn’t shocked; she was thinking. “So you agree with my sister?”

“I do. And you would do well to heed her. She reads widely and wisely, and knows an uncanny amount about those things with which she has little personal experience.”

It is more praise for my sister than I am accustomed to hearing. “Reading can only take you so far, up to the moment where you must take action with your own hands.”

He nods, which makes me feel relieved, though I’m not sure why.

“Let’s do it, then,” I say. “You and I. Let’s take action.”

“We will. The cooks are already up preparing breakfast, and our guard will be ready to resume the search as soon as the sun is above the horizon.”

“And their noise will drive off the jaguar or send it into hiding so that we have no chance of finding it. We must look now, while the countryside is undisturbed.”

“
Princesita
,” he says. It’s a diminutive he uses only when pleading with me, as he did when my heart was broken the first—and last—time, and I climbed out a window to the edge of the roof to mourn in private. He thought I was going to jump.

“The jaguar will be drowsy,” I say.
Because it has eaten its fill.
Zito winces. “If we bring the cat back, destroy this thing that has everyone so terrified, they’ll see us as heroes. Saviors. We might even save this wedding. At the very least, we’ll demonstrate that the crown still cares about Paxón’s people.”

“Alodia, please,” he says.

“Are you coming with me?” I say. I climb onto the back of the stone jaguar, careful to avoid the drying blood, and it’s only a short reach to pull myself atop the wall. But the garden is built into a slope, and the drop on the other side is longer than I anticipated. I hesitate.

“Here,” he says, a bit angrily. “If you’re going out there by yourself, you’ll need a weapon.” He pulls a knife from his belt and tosses it up to me. I snatch it from the air.

He means to discourage me, but he has failed. I slip the blade into my own belt. “Thank you. I’ll see you when I return, then.”

I swing my legs over the wall, then my body, and hang by my fingertips. The drop between my boots and the ground is little more than the height of a man, but in the dark, it feels like a chasm.

“Alodia!” The whispered exclamation is accompanied by the soft thud of his staff and the sound of his boots on the sculpture.

It is all I need to hear. I let go.

My legs are too stiff when I hit the ground. The impact shivers up to my knees, which respond by buckling, and I plop gracelessly onto my rear.

Are you all right, Highness?”

“Come find me if I’m not back by the noon meal.”

He mutters something under his breath that I’m fairly certain is a string of swear words in several languages, and then says, “Move away from the wall. I’m coming down.”

I’m glad the dark hides my smile as I scramble out of his way. His spear drops first, clacking against the wall before it hits the ground. He follows a moment later, rolling upon impact, and comes up standing. I am impressed.

He brushes off his pants. “Your Highness, this is foolish beyond measure, even for you.”

I hand him his spear. My left ankle hurts a little when I shift my weight onto it, but I’ll never tell. “You said something does not add up, and I agree. Let’s trace the creature’s path, and see if we can find what has eluded us.”

One thing I have learned from many years of watching my father is that some people, the best ones, are motivated more by the chance to prove themselves than by a command to serve. It is the work itself that calls them onward, especially if they believe they are the only ones who can do it.

“Zito, you’re the smartest man I know. I
need
your help with this.”

His eyes narrow with suspicion, but even he is not immune to such persuasion. “Just a quick look,” he says.

I have won. Grinning, I turn and hike into the jungle, following the faint deer trail an animal might take if it landed on the ground at this spot.

“Let’s go this way,” he says as he catches up with me, but I see the direction he is pointing and will have none of it.

“That would take us down toward the river and the village. Jaguars are creatures that retreat upward, into the mountains, into the trees.”

His answering sigh makes me laugh. “It was worth a try.”

Hours later, I’m beginning to recognize this trek as foolhardiness. I hate giving up on anything, but we’ve seen no sign of the cat, and my ankle is swelling. I’m about to suggest we turn back when we come face-to-face with a steep slope of loose rock, marked by dark spots that might be caves or shadows or pockets of vegetation. The air is still—too still. No birds sing, even though the sun now edges the eastern horizon.

“A good hiding place for a shadow cat, wouldn’t you say?” I whisper.

“Maybe,” he answers, his voice wary.

“We should look for scat or prints, then report back to—”

The jaguar’s cry, right on top of us, freezes me to the bone. A black shadow separates from an overhead branch and leaps. Zito crashes to the ground.