“This room gets flooded!” Iván says.

“You figured that out all by yourself?”

“Red,” he says, coming to an abrupt halt.

I whirl back around, ready to lay into him for slowing us down.

“Please stop insulting me,” he says.

“What?”

“Threatening me. Questioning my intelligence. Calling me a daft dung beetle.”

“Don’t forget ‘ridiculous goat.’”

He sighs. “You’re being petty and mean.”

I open my mouth, but my protest dies. Hector would be so disappointed in me. You’re a member of court and a favorite of the empress, he always says. Your actions have meaning; your words have power. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You are?” He seems taken aback.

I’m angry and scared. Scared for Rosario, angry at everyone who voted against my adoption . . . maybe I’m even a little angry at Hector and Elisa for leaving me here all alone, even though it was mostly my own idea. It’s making me lash out at Iván, an easy target because of his own questionable parentage. “I won’t do it again.”

I turn back around to continue our journey.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” he mutters.

“It doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I would never presume.”

The cavern narrows to a tight corridor of rough limestone, and we squeeze inside.

“I can hardly see a thing,” Iván says.

“We’re almost there.”

Our path ends at a stair, rough-hewn, damp with water, and aiming steeply upward.

“It smells like fish,” Iván observes.

“Yes.”

The top of the stair opens onto a high stone plateau. When Iván’s head crests the stair, he gasps.

I know how he feels, because even though I’ve been to this secret place dozens of times, my first sight always takes my breath away.

We’re inside an immense cavern, lit by lanterns and torchlight. Spread below us is a small village with thatch-roofed huts surrounding a massive bonfire. Rope ladders and swinging bridges connect the village to smaller caves high in the walls, along with a few additional huts that have found precarious purchase on plateaus like the one we stand on. Lush vines drip from cracks in the ceiling. A cool night breeze teases the torch flames, so that the light in the cavern is constantly shifting. Something in the limestone walls catches the light just so, causing the entire cavern to glisten.

The underground river curves along the back wall, hugging a small beach area. The river is crystal clear and deceptively smooth, hiding a strong current. This close to the sea, it’s a bit brackish, mixing with ocean water during high tide.

Sitting on the beach is a bearded, barefoot man, mending a fishing net. Others are about as well, in spite of the late hour—cooking over the bonfire, sharpening blades, scraping scales from a fish.

“I had no idea this was here,” Iván says. “No idea at all. A whole village. Underground.”

“Rosario was in hiding here for a long time,” I say. Looking him dead in the eye, I add, “During your father’s coup of the palace.” I’m satisfied by a small wince.