Chapter 28
Wading through the muck of the island’s coastal waters is near impossible.
My polleras become heavier with every step, the wool absorbing incredible amounts of water and doubling in weight.
The extra fabric gets pulled back and forth by the waves, made more powerful by the boat’s engine coming to life again.
There’s something about being in the water that floods me with dread.
This is the third time I’ve found myself surrounded by water with the princess at my side, and, while it is the calmest situation we’ve been in, it is heavy with anticipation like the others.
We’re not under attack or fighting, at least not actively.
So, why do I feel like I’ve seen this all before?
The princess makes it to shore first, even with Mare on her back.
Her arms are outside the lliklla, and her well-defined muscles flex as she lets him down.
I lick my lips and heave my knees up again, fighting for my life against the currents.
I’m more worn out than I thought if this is giving me so much trouble.
Can the princess tell how weakened I am? Is that why she took Mare without asking?
I fall onto the shore, my polleras the only reason my knees don’t get torn open by rocks. I need to get up, but my body fights my every move. The boat ride here was the longest I’ve sat down, not including sleep, and it’s made my legs useless.
Mare runs up to me, and I put my hand up to stop him from getting closer.
“You’ll wet your shoes,” I huff out. If he nods, I don’t see it. I’m too busy staring at the ground.
The shore here is sandy, nothing like the shining black stones of Lima. I dig my fingers into the packed sand and feel the grit underneath my fingernails. With a slow sigh, I stand up.
I fight the wet fabric around my waist to take off two polleras and leave on one. I feel like an idiot having kept them on in the water, even though the princess kept hers and doesn’t look out of breath. I try to wring the water out of the two, but the fabric is so thick, I can’t twist it fully.
Or maybe I’m just too weak.
I curse and kick some sand. It’s a feeble attempt, bogged down by the remaining pollera sticking to my legs. “Did he kick us out?” I ask, realizing the princess and Mare are just watching me throw a fit.
The princess is silent as she looks me up and down.
She picks up the two polleras from where I threw them on the ground in frustration.
She’s already shed and folded her extra layers.
Now, she folds mine and places them on top of the k’eperina she laid out.
She’s getting them ready to carry on her back.
The movements come naturally after our days of travel, but then she sighs to herself and throws it all back on the ground in defeat.
“No. He didn’t want to let us get out since there’s no dock, so we had to leave fast,” she says.
I gape at her. I look at my soaked clothes and feel the tremble in my legs.
“That’s what you were fighting for? For us to wade in the water?
” I make sure to enunciate every word. Maybe if she understands what I’m saying, she’ll prove me wrong.
Maybe she’ll make it make sense. A full body shiver passes through me, and I don’t know if it’s from the wind or the princess’s glare.
“I definitely wasn’t arguing for us to be dropped off at a community dock.
He’ll figure out the necklace belongs to a Panaka soon enough.
In case you forgot, there’s a bounty on my head, and news of the assassinations will reach here sooner rather than later.
I won’t risk anyone’s lives by having us dropped off at a dock, let alone near where we’re going to stay.
” The princess stops her tirade with a tired sigh.
My mind jumps ahead, trying not to get caught up in embarrassment. “Which means we’re nowhere close to where we need to be,” I speak slowly yet again, but this time it’s in horror rather than annoyance.
She nods.
“We need to start now if we’re going to make it before sundown. I won’t risk us camping here overnight.”
I expect to hear Mare’s insistence that I’ll keep them safe, but it never comes.
We make it right before sundown, and the first words out of the princess’s mouth are simple.
“The Inka is dead,” she says in Quechua to the man waiting for us at the entrance of the community.
He saw us walking up, the same way we saw him, a dark silhouette atop a hill in the fading light. I had asked the princess if we should hide, but she said no. It’s better that they send someone to meet us. And they did, though how she knows he understands Quechua is a different matter.
The man we initially saw is now flanked by two teenagers, just on the younger side of us. Though they’re all dressed in traditional farming ponchos, the younger people at his sides look more robust. They’re here for security.
“The Inka…” the man responds, every word heavily accented, and drifts off.
He looks at the sun setting behind the mountains on the horizon.
He snaps back to attention and continues.
“Why would we believe you?” He asks in stunted Quechua, more like a challenge than a question.
He’s staring at the princess like he already knows exactly what she’ll do.
The princess must notice this too, because she rises to the defense. She pulls her shoulders back and stands strong, stronger than she already does in her day-to-day. I’ve never seen her slouch, but I’ve never seen her this alert either. And all for an old farmer from Isla Amantani.
“I am the Inka’s daughter, Princess Yanami. I would not lie about my mother’s death,” she says.
The farmer smiles, but it’s a sad motion. His eyes soften, and his unshed tears reflect the orange of the setting sun. He blinks rapidly and says something in Aymara to the two youths beside him. They go off running toward the few lights in the distance.
“Yanami,” the old man whispers. “Yanami of the Yana family. You’re home.”
He takes a step toward the princess, but I step in his path.
“Ah, and you’ve brought your champion. Just like your mother.”
It hasn’t been long since the last time I was referred to as Yanami’s, but the words stab me in the chest so hard I have to hold back a gasp. Yanami, just like her mother. Me, just like mine.
“Don’t compare me to my mother when she’s dead–”
“And you’re alive? By the Guardians’ grace, you are, baby Yana,” the man dares to cut the princess off mid-sentence.
I’m lost. They’re speaking Quechua, yet I don’t understand what’s happening. The princess is breathing hard as if in a fight. The man immediately wipes away the first tear that dared to break free from his eyes.
“Come. We cannot risk you out here without the sun,” he tells her, continuing to ignore Mare and me.
The moment he turns around, the princess deflates. I look away to give her a moment of privacy, but I’m shocked back into her orbit when she takes my hand. It’s a jumpstart to my heart. It’s a kick to the ribs. Her hand in mine is a haze-filled dream.
But I’m awake, painfully so.
“Neither of you let go,” she says. Mare immediately nods his head, but I’m slow on the uptake, still too surprised by the broken promises of her soft skin to confirm. “Promise me, champion.”
What am I supposed to say to that? Lake Titicaca at night is a terrifying entity on its own. To get split up as night creeps closer… There is no easier way to disappear.
We walk forward together, the princess taking the lead and guiding us through a series of stone arches marking a path that’s becoming harder and harder to see in the fading light.
“Hurry,” the man says, not bothering to look back at us.
He’s not far enough ahead for us to lose him, but the fear is there as it gets darker. My burning legs struggle to keep up with the princess’s fast strides. A part of me is glad it’s getting dark. That means I can’t see any of the blood on Mare’s bad leg. It means I can almost ignore it.
That is, until he trips over a root I barely notice, and it’s only my grip on his hand keeping him up.
“Wait,” I yell, but she won’t stop. Mare stumbles behind me, and I pull the princess back to slow her down so Mare isn’t dragged on the floor. “Princess, wait.”
“No. We keep going. It’s almost night.” Her voice is cold in a way I haven’t heard since we first met.
Mare whimpers, but before I can protest, he’s regained his footing and is jogging behind me once again, hand still firm in mine. I realize then how much more effort he must be putting in to keep up with our long legs.
When we make it to a house and stop, I breathe a sigh of relief. I pull Mare into my arms and try to support as much of his weight as possible, but he wriggles out of my hold and demands to stand on his own. I want to be proud of his independence. I should be proud.
The man grunts as he pulls open a thin blue metal door. The princess guides us inside, and the door shuts with a clang as the last of the natural light fades.
We’re in an open air courtyard only a few feet wide.
There’s a light on the ground, shining like a fallen star.
I’m wondering why someone would leave an oil lamp on the ground like that when I feel Mare squirming at my side.
He’s making the hand I’m holding into a fist, tensing and then releasing in erratic turns.
His brows are furrowed, and the light casts shadows on his face that accentuate wrinkles.
“He’s talented,” the old man says from where he stands in front of a door to our left.
“What he is or is not is none of your business,” the princess answers. She snarls like he’s one of her own. “Use a natural light.”