Page 119 of The Gilded Survivor

“No te rindes. No matter what, you do not give up.”

My mother had said that. She said that after my father had hit her, and she tried to run. How could I have forgotten?

“The next morning, Cintia was found dead. She had died from internal bleeding. This is an excellent bit of writing. Listen, it says, ‘Her body was stiff from the night air, and her soft skin had transformed into an ugly gray. Pedro sold the house and left Puerto Dolores that day.’”

She glanced up at me, head tilted to the side, and said, “You and your brother were left behind.”

More of the nightmares flooded back. The further I dug through my mind, uncovering the buried memories, the more details became clear. My hands clutched the armrests while I helplessly spiraled into a looming abyss. The memories that died didn’t stay dead. As they came to life, I coughed.

The eery vision clogged every inch of my sight, and, for a moment, I forgot about Martina de León.

Just as Pedro was brutally beating my mother senseless, and she’d screamed for us to run, we took to the streets. I darted in and out of crowds, launching us onto a boat that was heading for some foreign country far away from Arrebol’s islands. We were so scared.

When I’d left Bendiciones with Magda, it was not the first time that I’d run away.

Unfortunately, ships had less space for children than crowded trains. We were caught the next day, and the red-faced captain threw us into the sea. He shouted, “¡Vayanse con sus papás, mocosos!”

Though he had acted like we could swim without a problem, we were too far away from the dock. The icy water from the ocean tossed me back and forth, trying to drag me under as I swallowed liters of seawater. Through the crash of the wild sea, someone called my name.

Enrique shouted for me. My brother.

The vision ended, and I was once again surrounded by the warmth of the Old Palace. I covered my mouth with my hands to silence the sob that was trying to escape. A sheen of cold sweat had coated my body. I was shivering.

“You were left at the Bendiciones orphanage, under the fine care of the niñeras. A short ten years later, the bombings exploded your poor hometown.”

“Stop,” I gasped. I knew what happened next.

Martina had already won, so she let me sob and choke until I was ready to ask, “Where is my brother?” I demanded. But I shouldn’t have asked. We had tried to escape, exactly like Magda and I had done when we were older. We tried to sail away. My voice wobbled through snot and tears, and she smirked.

“He drowned.” Martina de León spoke like she was moving the ultimate piece into place that would destroy me forever.

But this wasn’t a game. This wasn’t just about moves and countermoves,this was my life.

My chest constricted, and more hot tears came pouring down my face. I stood up again, so much heat and rage coursing through my veins. Grief was a horrible complement to anger. I kicked the small table between us and she flinched out of surprise.

“Why tell me this now? What do you want from me?” I shouted.

All her mock sympathy melted away like the winter snow. She looked up at me with such hatred, such avarice. “Because I love my son. And, I know what Rey José Maria was really like. Your people tried to ruin us once before.” She stood up. “You think it makes me happy that my son desires a monster? I want Isaac to forget you, and for our lives to go back to normal. You aren’t an Élite, you don’t belong with us,puta,” she spat, but there was fear in her eyes. “You aren’t even a Trabajador. You are something else, something dangerous. Something the Canciller wanted to eliminate long ago.”

Martina de León lunged forward, and snatched the necklace from my neck. I screamed, and I shoved her away.

Her hands disappeared into the silk folds of her dress. “I will do my world a favor by ridding them of La Chica Dorada.”

Then her hand returned with a knife expertly balanced in her palm.

My eyes widened, and I stepped back, away from the couches and toward the door. “What does the Canciller have to do with this? He didn’t even know me before the audition tape.”

Martina de León stepped forward, her brown eyes glowing with hatred, and scoffed. Fear bubbled up inside me and my legs trembled beneath me.

She raised the jeweled knife, and my vision was flooded with terror. I was going to die here in this room.

I closed my eyes, trying to fight back tears of desperation. But it was too late, and they came anyway.

“Please,” I choked out. “Please don’t do this.”

Chapter47

Murder at Midnight

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