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The woman stared so hard I wanted to back up, but Zara was behind me.
“Decide how much ruin you’s willing to accept, and go on home, before you find out what true ruin is. Magic ain’t worth the price it demands.”
“Thank you,” Zara said politely, yanking me along the sandy path. The word magic hung in the air as we left the woman behind. “We should go. Now.”
“If we go home empty-handed, my family will be a laughingstock at the races.” I pressed my hands to my face and inhaled sharply. “We already owe Ortiz too much. Almost all the profits we stand to make are his already. Without Sol…” I let the sentence die.
Up ahead, silhouetted by flaming torches, three large men stood outside a tent, hands clasped at their waists, frowns carved on their dark faces. Pulse thundering, I approached the closest man.
“We need to speak to Romero.”
The man’s chest jerked in a small, silent laugh. “Business?” The question was part-growl.
Lifting my chin, I said confidently, “Buying.”
The gruff man let out a small hiss through his pierced nose. “You’ll have to wait.”
“How long?”
The man huffed and lifted his chin. “Horses wait over there.”
I steeled my expression and returned his huff. “I will not leave my horse.”
“If you wish to speak to Romero, you will.”
“Are the horses guarded?”
He sneered. “By me.”
A man emerged from Romero’s tent, received his weapons back from the guards, and departed with a smug smile on his bearded face.
Pacing in the small space beside the tent, I tapped my palms together, whispering to Zara. “I could say he got sick. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to pay out all the debts.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Tal.”
I pursed my lips. “Or if I told everyone that Sol was stolen, perhaps they would feel bad, and…” I slapped my forehead. “No, they wouldn’t. They’ll still want their money back.”
“We don’t know yet what’s happened to him. Calm down.”
“If the Wild Hunt is real, maybe there’s some magical way I can get Sol back.”
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “Magic isn’t something to joke about.”
I crossed my arms but didn’t meet her gaze. “Well, it’s not even real, so it doesn’t matter.”
Zara’s huff told me I’d offended her. She’d always been apt to believe the stories told at Festival de los Cuentos, even the outlandish ones about magical folk and dragons and immortals. As I waited, my mind flipped through some of the stories I’d heard at last year’s festival. A man who could disappear like shadows. A blue lion who roamed the earth at night. The sun god’s wife, who could turn into a macaw—always a popular tale. But none of those stories offered me any hope right now. No solutions. No Sol.
The smell of cumin and paprika and garlic wafted through the thin alleyway as someone prepared a pre-dawn breakfast. My hunger pangs only meant the race was getting closer.
By the time my feet ached from standing in one place and my stomach gurgled in embarrassing fashion, I threw up my hands and walked toward the burly guard once more.
“How much longer? People expect me home.” It was true.
The guard snorted in a particularly disgusting way.
Despair crept in, and a small whimper escaped my lips as someone exited the tent. With the heavy canvas pulled aside, I strained to catch a glimpse of what lay inside. The tent was certainly large enough for a horse to walk through. Light shone inside from a large chandelier, and a patterned red rug ran into the depths of the tent.
Whoever owned this tent had money, that much was certain.
