Page 39 of Of Shadows and Death

I tell Raúl what she’s said, and he scratches his chin. “Do you think they’d ever help me with a problem?”

“Perhaps? Which problem?”

“The rebellion,” Raúl says. His voice has a hint of desperation in it. “I haven’t found where they’re hiding.”

I ask Nava, smiling at the thought of being a translator for a vampire king and a spider. She agrees to keep eyes and ears out for the rebellion, promising to tell me when she knows anything.

“Why is the rebellion such a big deal to you?” I ask. “Is it very uncommon?”

His grip around me tightens. “No, it’s common every few years to have one. Ever since the queen died five hundred years ago.”

I wait, knowing there is more. It takes him a minute to start talking again. “My grandfather. He leads it. The amount of pain he’s caused me and my mother… he needs to pay for what he’s done.” His voice has an undercurrent of anger, but he doesn’t explain what exactly his grandfather did.

“What has he done?” I ask.

He looks away, not answering. I gently stroke his hand, trying to lighten his mood. “How can I help?”

Once again, he doesn’t answer. Not knowing what else to say, I voice my simple thought. “You’ll get him, I just know it.”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Thanks, Penny.”

Raúl remains in bed with me for a couple more hours, turning the conversation to different topics. We chat about everything under the moon. He promises to find any info he can about a woman named Dreselda. When dawn is on the horizon, Raúl gestures to the sky. “I have to go.”

I groan in protest and rest my forehead against his chest. He gently tugs on one of my braids. “I will be back tomorrow night. Wait for me here when shadows fall.”

He presses his mouth on mine, stroking a fire in me, until at last he vanishes out my window. I touch my lips and smile, my despair momentarily forgotten.

My door handle rattles, and my heart drops into my stomach as I stare at it.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I slow my breathing, keeping my eyes shut, but not tight. I am no stranger to faking sleep. Many times I’ve hurriedly put out a candle when I read late into the night, breaking the rules to spend time listening to voices outside my own.

Nava narrates Mother’s movements, whispering to me what she is doing. She walks around you, her hands on her hips.

The footsteps stop near me, and my breathing continues to stay steady. There is a rustling, and then a snip of scissors, along with a low muttering.

She is cutting the ends of your hair, Nava says.

The sound of footsteps connecting with tile begins again, then I hear my door shut. My eyes open and I sit up. “Thank you, Nava,” I whisper. My stomach revolts. How many times has she creeped into my room at night to cut my hair without even asking me? I’ve always been so exhausted at night, I haven’t ever woken up to it. Has she been doing this my entire life? It feels… violating.

Is this it? Is this why I’m stuck in this tower?

She is working spells, Nava says. We will continue to watch.

“Be careful, please. The last thing I want is for one of you to become an ingredient for her.”

Nava laughs and assures me they will stick to the shadows. Orange light is filtering through the sky above the trees, and I sigh. It is time to get up, anyway. I yawn, my body unused to keeping such early hours.

Upstairs, I throw open the curtains to the windows, making sure sunlight can shine through. My hands twinge each time I use them, but I ignore the pain.

Dust has settled on the surfaces, and I get to work eradicating it before Mother comes down. I don’t wait long. She arrives as soon as I set oats on the stove.

“I need tea,” she says, her voice weary.

Instead of answering, I nod and get to work making her strong tea. I could use some as well.

“How was Ixtla?” I ask.

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