“Well, well, well.” The woman cackled when they entered. “I haven’t seen such a pretty face around these parts since the Liberator himself kicked them humans out of this fortress.”
“We’re looking for geomancia metals—iridio, to be precise,” Maior said, bravely leading the conversation.
The woman produced a pouch and a stoppered bottle from beneath the counter. “Trying your luck with Ches’s Blade, like all the other travelers who’ve come by my door since the coming of Rahmagut’s Claw? I have it in powder form and in solution.”
“Excuse me?” Maior uttered uselessly.
“Since its arrival, that star has been the best thing to happen to my business in many years.” The woman chuckled.
It wasn’t every day that an ancient legend was brought to Reina’s attention twice, especially not by two independent sources. Her heart was weak, but her mind was razor-sharp, and it whirred as she connected the crumbs of the books Celeste had left behind. She said in a flurry before she could stop herself, “Did a valco woman come by seeking your iridio? A noblewoman.”
The chair creaked as the woman leaned back with a satisfied, vulpine smile. “Why, indeed. Valcos are not easy to miss.”
“Light-skinned and black of hair? Was she seeking Ches’s Blade?”
The memory of the open books and ripped pages came rushing back to Reina. If only she had spent more time deciphering what Celeste was trying to get out of them.
“The look of most Segoleans. And yes, like most of the strangers coming by my shop these days. La Cochinilla isn’t known for much. It’s not like travelers are pouring down for our cassava and maize. But we are at the foot of the Plume. This is the last place you’ll find geomancia reagents if the lure of adventure is telling you to look for the weapon.”
Maior looked from the woman to Reina as if they were speaking in another dialect.
The heat suffocated Reina, as did her own desperation. She approached the counter, where in the candlelight, she had a better view of the curandera, and she of Reina.
“The valco woman, did you see her wear the ivory eagle crest of the ?guilas? Did she wield a scythe?”
“She was the daughter of the caudillo of Sadul Fuerte, yes.”
“You recognized her?”
“Not immediately, but I know of her father. Who do you think supplies my iridio? ?guila is a famous name for anyone who makes a living out of trading geomancia materials.”
“That’s why Celeste connected the house to La Cochinilla. She’s after the blade, at the Plume,” Reina said, thinking aloud and turning to Maior with a crazed, distant look. But as she regarded the shorter woman, she thought only of Celeste, imagining her standing under this same roof seeking the iridio powering her scythe and Gegania. Reina asked the curandera. “You said there were other travelers going to the Plume as well. Why?”
Like a perched feline enjoying the attention, the woman laughed. “I suppose, for many, seeing Rahmagut’s Claw in the sky is proof of the old gods, despite how hard the Penitents try to erase this truth. If Rahmagut’s Claw makes his legend real, then Ches’s legend must be real as well.”
Maior’s warm hand circled Reina’s elbow. The gesture was familiar, intimate, and it grounded Reina. “What is Ches’s legend?” asked Maior.
“His blade, girl.” The curandera’s words were a lash. “Rahmagut and Ches are gods at odds. Ches, the creator of the sun, and Rahmagut, his greedy opposer. Rahmagut gives boons to his followers, a promise of power to those who weaken the seal Ches forced on him. Ches does the same, but his blessings fall on those who seek the light.” She snorted wetly. “All of you coming to me for iridio before heading to the Plume, your heads are filled with nothing but hot air, thinking you are Ches’s chosen one, destined to find his blade. Only tinieblas and death await. Mark my words.”
Maior’s eyes continued to be clouded in confusion, so Reina explained the crux of the matter. “In the stories, Ches’s Blade ends nighttime. It cuts through it and brings back the day.”
According to Do?a Ursulina, Rahmagut’s Claw needed to be visible for the offer of the damas; thus they could only do it during the twenty days it took the star to travel through their skies. Though now, from Celeste’s actions, Reina understood it also needed to happen during nighttime. But not if the night itself was prevented by the blade. And every part of Reina knew without a droplet of doubt that Celeste was worthy to be blessed by Ches, to wield his blade.
The realization paralyzed her, tugging her with equal force in opposite directions. Celeste was relying on a nozariel legend to deny her father and Do?a Ursulina. If Reina cared for her （and she did, deeply）， how could she act against her wishes? How could she reconcile the promises of her grandmother with her dreams of Celeste?
Her heart, too, protested, whispering devilishly and summoning the pain Reina and Maior had numbed with their spells. Her vision muddied with dots of black. She supported herself on a nearby chest of drawers, which gave under her weight and squeaked loudly as it slid over the marble. Reina had known it was coming—knew the bismuto and galio had worn off—yet it didn’t make it any easier when the air was knocked out of her.
Maior called her name, rushing to her.
Reina’s body betrayed her as she collapsed like a rag to the floor. Searing pain erupted from her chest, constricting her throat, ringing in her ears, and blurring her sight into blackness. She curled into a ball, grasping herself. She was crying or moaning—she couldn’t be sure. And someone screamed above her. Maior. Her voice was shrill and obnoxious, and Reina couldn’t understand why this woman couldn’t just let her writhe in peace.
Maior gathered her in an embrace, but her touch was also fire, until it wasn’t. The agony in Reina’s chest turned to a warm, comforting water. She smelled moras, and in that moment, the image of Celeste smiling crossed her mind. Like when they’d built castles of pebbles and dirt in the courtyard after sparring lessons or shared the freshly picked overripe moras from the ?guila finca.
Was this going to be her end?
Clarity yanked her back to consciousness. Maior and the curandera crowded her, moved her so she lay on someone’s lap.
Reina glanced directly overhead and met Maior’s wide doe eyes as she massaged Reina with soothing galio magic. Maior unbuttoned Reina’s vest and yanked her shirt up, her hands working with purpose to move her bindings and unclasp a tube from her heart’s contraption.
“Don’t,” Reina moaned, panicking at the prospect of Maior undressing her. If she handled the wrong tube, it truly would be the end.
“I know what to do.” Maior’s voice trembled, like she cared. She told the curandera, “Please let us have the iridio—we’ll pay for it later.”
“I have no guarantees you will pay for it once it’s all consumed,” the woman said. “Humans betray my trust at every opportunity they can.”
“She is nozariel like you!” Maior hissed with a fire Reina had never imagined she could wield. “And her death will be on your hands if you don’t give it to us now. It’s not for me! You have a solution of it right there on your counter. Bring it over, and if our gold isn’t enough, I will personally be indebted to you until it can be paid back in full.” She had conviction, even if it came brittle and broken. “If you call yourself a curandera, then you must give it. Please.”