He shrugs for an answer, shifts to the other side of the creature, and stares at its hindquarters. A faint rosette pattern is barely visible in its matted black fur. “There’s an arrow deep in its haunch,” Zito says. “It was the hunted, not the hunter. Maybe it leaped into the garden to escape. The blood smears were the jaguar’s, not the girl’s.” After a pause, he adds, “You were lucky, Alodia. If the cat had not been injured and starving, you may not have been able to handle it.”

It’s getting harder to think as the fear and fury of battle dissipate, leaving only agonizing pain in their place. “That doesn’t make sense,” I manage. “If anyone in the village shot it, they would have raised the alarm.”

I don’t like the look that passes across Zito’s face.

He thrusts the knife into the cat’s flank, digging and prying. Blood oozes slowly now that the cat is dead, disappearing into the thick black fur and leaving a sticky sheen. A moment later, Zito pulls out an arrowhead. A string of muscle sways from the serrated edge. The shaft has been chewed off.

“Zito?”

“This is an Invierno arrowhead,” he whispers, and his eyes lift and scan the surrounding area. “That would explain what drove the jaguar out of the mountains. And perhaps more than that. We need to get back to Khelia Castle immediately.”

But it’s too late. Speak of evil, and you summon it. Voices filter through the jungle.

“It came from over there,” comes a clipped voice.

“The cat is long gone by now,” says another.

“The whole castle was out looking for it last night. They’ll come again. We need to find that arrow before they do.”

Zito and I must escape. But I’m in no condition to go anywhere.

Chapter 8

8

ZITO slips his arm under mine and pulls me up. “Pray there is a cave or shelter among those rocks,” he whispers. He places the hilt of the knife in my mouth. “Bite down. Do not cry out.”

The taste of jaguar blood makes me choke, but I swallow the bile as it rises. Zito leans on his spear, dragging me along as fast as he can manage.

The trees conceal us, but my foot dangles uselessly. It snags on a root, sending us both sprawling. The knife cuts my cheek as I slam the hard earth, but I do not cry out. I will not cry out.

A startled exclamation filters through the trees as the bandits find the dead jaguar.

Zito lifts me again, sees the blood on my face, and slides the knife into his belt. We limp onward, with barely two good legs between us. My head throbs. I hear him talking to me, as if from far away.

“This is well concealed,” he says. “Hard to reach, hard to find.”