The Shadow Cats

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.