Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  Edmund shook his head slowly. “It is nothing. Or, rather, nothing that is a danger to either of us. He is simply too accommodating.”

  “Too accommodating?” Amaya laughed. “Because he is polite to Don Fernándo?”

  “He is the kind of man who does as he pleases, and is polite when it suits him.” Edmund no longer looked neutral; he scowled as if facing his worst enemy. “I fear what might happen were he to decide either of us were in his way.”

  “You said you did not believe him a danger to us.”

  “And I do not.” Edmund sighed. “We leave soon, and it will no longer matter.”

  The idea of returning to Madrid both reassured and disquieted Amaya. “I must pack my things,” she said. “We will leave when Mr. Valencia does.”

  It took very little time for Amaya to return her belongings to her small trunk. But when it was packed and fastened shut, she sat on the edge of the bed and reflected on the terrible events of the day. Poor Lady Kynaston, who would have no reason to believe Mrs. Paget in danger and would be devastated to learn the news. It would be a relief to return to Madrid, to leave behind Fernándo’s demands and the oddness that was her father’s family.

  And yet the disquiet would not go away. The visit had not been bad, all things considered. True, Ynes was hostile and Mateo even more so, but Graciela had been kind, and Leocadio seemed an honorable man. Even Fernándo, despite his bullying nature, cared deeply about his heritage. It was not so awful a thing to be a Salazar. Had Amaya not made other commitments, she might have welcomed Fernándo’s invitation.

  And that was the source of her disquiet. Amaya’s commitment to Elinor was a short-term one. Once the babe was born, and Elinor seen past danger, Amaya would once more be without purpose. Why, then, should she not consider returning to Toledo, to become a part of the Salazar family?

  On the other hand, this was not her only family. Having made one connection, she found she wished to learn more of the Nevilles as well. That would be difficult if she were living in Spain. It seemed she would have to choose, if she wanted a connection to her family, which family to be connected to.

  Amaya stood and collected her trunk before remembering a lady did not carry her own luggage. She set it down and looked out past the green veil that shrouded her window. The issue of which family to join was irrelevant at the moment because she had a duty that superseded it. She would return to Elinor and permit the question to lie dormant for a few weeks. Perhaps something might become obvious in that time.

  She found Graciela at the front door when she went in search of Edmund. “Your carriage is in the yard,” Graciela said in her flat, colorless voice.

  Impulsively, Amaya said, “Why do you not stand up for yourself, Aunt Graciela? I understand if you wish to serve and run this household, but surely you need not let Don Fernándo treat you so poorly.”

  Graciela’s hand rested on the lower half of the door, near the latch that connected the top and bottom. She flicked the latch with her thumb, idly, as if she did not know what it was for. “It is my duty,” she said. “I promised Mama I would care for this place when she was gone. Father’s behavior means nothing beside that.”

  “But—”

  Graciela’s other hand flew up between them, palm out to stop Amaya saying anything else. “It is my choice, child,” she said. “And besides, where else would I go? The world is not kind to Discerners, even those who are not Extraordinaries.”

  “Did you never desire a home of your own?”

  Amaya had meant it as an idle query, but Graciela reacted as if she had been slapped. “A daughter’s life is in her father’s hands,” she said, her voice even quieter than before. “That is not my choice to make.” She turned and hurried from the entrance.

  Amaya stared after her. She felt uneasy at having pressed her aunt, though she did not believe she had been harsh about it. It was easy to imagine a thwarted romance, a suitor sent away—for Amaya was certain, though she knew little of Spanish customs, that a daughter would not remain in her parents’ home once she was married. It would not surprise Amaya at all to learn Fernándo had kept Graciela a spinster so she would go on caring for him and his house. Amaya’s irritation with Fernándo deepened. If she had charge of this family—but that was a possibility, was it not? She turned away from the door and walked through the house to the garden.

  However overgrown the garden was, it was still cool in the heat of the day, and Amaya took her time passing through it. The yard, by contrast, radiated heat from its packed earth surface and from the white-plastered servants’ house. There, the carriage waited, the horses already harnessed and the driver standing at their head. The baggage was already stowed, but Amaya did not see Edmund anywhere.

  She did see Valencia, speaking to two of his men. Or, rather, one of his men and the curly-haired youth Edmund had said was female. Amaya examined the latter. Yes, if she knew what she was looking for, it was obvious the guerrilla was female; the curve of her hip and backside was too pronounced, and her cheeks were downy and had never felt the touch of a razor. But to the casual observer, she passed quite well for male.

  Amaya heard someone come up beside her and said, “We should not leave before bidding Fernándo farewell.”

  Edmund said, “And the rest of your family. They are all present, I believe.” He covertly pointed in the direction of the stables, where Ynes and her four sons were dismounting.

  Amaya noticed Leocadio talking to Graciela near the servants’ house. Graciela’s expression was distant, the kind of look that says a person is not actually listening to what is being said. She wondered at Graciela’s rudeness to a brother who had never been anything but respectful of her, but then Fernándo emerged from the garden and stumped toward her.

  “You will return,” he said without preamble. “Leocadio has Dreamed it.”

  Amaya shot a glance at Leocadio, whose attention was still all on Graciela. “Dream is not accurate over many days.”

  “Accurate enough.” Fernándo harrumphed. “Humor this old man. Remember who you are. Please.”

  It was so unexpectedly humble Amaya was left with nothing to say. To cover her confusion, she watched Valencia, who had turned away from his comrades to accept the reins of a golden dun horse. He mounted smoothly, making the action look like part of a graceful dance.

  “My friends!” he shouted, bringing all other conversations to a halt. “We ride today on a terrible errand. This very afternoon, we lost friends to a vicious, cowardly attack by men who think nothing of murdering a helpless woman simply because they can. This cannot be allowed to go unpunished.”

  A cheer rose from the watching crowd, all except Graciela, Fernándo, and Amaya and Edmund. Regardless, Amaya felt the power of Valencia’s words. A comforting warmth centered on her breastbone filled her, and she could not help but remember times she had fought to keep herself and her companions alive, and how wonderfully right that had felt.

  Valencia sat tall in the saddle, his head held high. “I know you wish for peace,” he continued. “But peace is worthless if it is the result of giving in to evil. It is true, if we do as Solano demands, his men will no longer attack us. Is that what you wish?”

  “No!” shouted the assembled crowd. Amaya saw Mateo and his brother shout as loud as anyone else. Across the yard, beyond where Valencia stood, the curly-haired woman stared at Amaya, her peculiar gray-blue eyes as fierce as the shouting.

  “Then will you fight?” Valencia shouted over the voices.

  “Yes!”

  “You will fight for your homes? For your families?”

  “Yes!”

  “You will fight to make Spain great?”

  “Yes!” The roar this time was overwhelming. Amaya’s heart surged within her. The warmth suffused her body. She had felt this way so many times, surrounded by the other jaguar warriors, certain of who she was and what she was meant for. It had been many months since she had felt so powerfully connected to anything.

  Sh
e found her objections to Valencia’s request had faded. She watched her memory of them go with only a curious detachment, and then the warm passion flooded over her again, filling her with confidence in Valencia’s words. She wondered where the new, unexpected feeling had come from, and then the wondering, too, vanished.

  Valencia waited for the noise to subside. “Then you know what we must do,” he said, his voice so quiet it made everyone else go silent to hear him. “We do not act out of pride or pleasure, but out of honor and love. I would give my own life for the sake of Spain, and I will be honored to fight beside such as you.” He dismounted and gestured to Leocadio. “Father, we ask your blessing.”

  Leocadio walked forward and bowed his head. He prayed in some language Amaya had never heard before, though she could tell it was prayer by the way Valencia and everyone else in the courtyard bowed their heads. Leocadio finished by making the sign of the cross over Valencia, whose head remained bowed for a moment more before he stood straight again.

  “We will fight,” he declared, “and we will win. There is no other outcome. But remember, my friends—” He paused, and now his gaze fixed on Amaya. “Remember for what we fight. Remember for whom we lay down our lives. We are the protectors of Spain, every one of us. We seek not for glory, but for peace. And we are strong because we are one.”

  Cheering erupted throughout the yard, several dozen voices crying out in excitement and fervor. Amaya let out a cry of exultation she could not contain and heard Edmund beside her doing the same. She turned to him and saw his expression was as joyful and fierce as she knew her own to be. “Edmund,” she began.

  “I know,” he said. “I cannot believe we did not see the justice of Mr. Valencia’s cause before this.”

  “I will tell him,” Amaya said.

  She hurried across the courtyard to where Valencia stood beside the curly-haired woman. “We wish to fight,” she told him.

  Valencia’s eyes widened. Then he laughed, a delighted sound that made the warmth in Amaya’s chest burn brighter. “This is a rare joy indeed,” he said. “You and your companion both are welcome to join us.”

  Amaya nodded. “I must have other clothes. I will not fight in a gown.”

  “Very reasonable.” Valencia looked around. “I believe Doña Graciela can help you. We will wait.”

  “But I do not wish to delay you.”

  Valencia’s smile grew warmer and more intimate. “For such a one as you,” he said, “we will wait.”

  Amaya blushed and turned away, catching the eye of the curly-haired woman. She, too, was smiling, but her smile was not very pleasant. When she realized Amaya was looking at her, the smile disappeared. Amaya’s warm feeling surged over her again. Comforted, she took hold of Edmund’s hand and towed him to where Graciela stood statue-like near the servants’ house. “We will fight,” she told her aunt, feeling joy at the thought.

  Graciela regarded her somberly. Amaya realized she was the only person in the courtyard not celebrating. Even Fernándo had shouted with the rest. “I will find clothes for both of you,” she said, “if you will come with me.”

  “Aunt Graciela, is something wrong?”

  Graciela gave Amaya another long, searching look. “Nothing I can do anything about,” she said. “I hope you do not regret your choice.”

  Amaya shook her head. “I have never felt so powerfully how right my actions are,” she said. “Edmund, do you not feel the same?”

  “Mr. Valencia’s cause is the most just I have ever known,” Edmund said. “I feel it in my bones.”

  “That is what I mean,” Graciela said, and refused to elaborate further.

  Chapter 13

  In which Amaya uses her warrior’s skills

  Graciela found for Amaya trousers of a heavy, coarse weave, a fine linen shirt, and a coat that was slightly too large for her. As it left room for Amaya to enlarge her arm and shoulder muscles if necessary, she did not mind its size. The trousers came with straps that went over the shoulders to hold them up, but Amaya found her hips curved enough to make the straps unnecessary. Graciela also gave her a large cloth, bigger than a handkerchief and of soft red cotton, that she indicated was for Amaya to wear around her neck and pull over her face when the dust of the road became too much to bear. Amaya concluded it was simpler than altering her body to filter out dust.

  She considered freeing her hair from the simple arrangement that was all she could manage on her own, but decided having her hair bound around her head was almost as convenient to a warrior as being clean-shaven. It left nothing for an enemy to grab hold of.

  The riding boots were made for a man, and Amaya took a moment to Shape her feet to better fit them. This left her slightly off-balance as she accustomed herself to her wider feet, but the moment passed, and she found her footing more stable than before.

  Excitement, and the joy of newfound purpose, fizzed through her veins as she hurried to the stable yard. She had a moment’s fear upon exiting the house that Valencia might have changed his mind, but he waited there with his dun horse, talking to the curly-haired woman. His eyes lit with appreciation when he saw her. “This clothing suits you,” he said. “Far better than the other. Though I do not believe anyone would ever mistake you for other than a warrior, no matter what you wore.”

  His regard threw her once more into confusion, which she concealed. Regardless of her respect for Valencia, she did not wish to show weakness, even in such a small way as acknowledging his apparent attraction to her. “I thank you for the compliment,” she said.

  “And here is Mr. Hanley. Let us ride,” Valencia said.

  Amaya turned to see Edmund approaching, his walk no longer that of the careless fop, but powerful, his long stride suggesting contained strength. He was dressed much as she was, in trousers and a rough coat that strained somewhat across shoulders whose breadth Amaya had never noticed before. She had expected him to look odd, dressed like a laborer instead of a gentleman, but the rough garb suited him well. It was now not at all difficult to picture him as the skilled amateur pugilist he was.

  Edmund nodded to Valencia as he neared their little group. “And where do we ride, sir?” he said.

  “South and west,” said Valencia, “as far as we can get this afternoon. I fear we will sleep rough tonight. My apologies to the lady.”

  Amaya laughed. “I have slept rough, as you say, for most of my adult life. You need not fear for me.”

  “It is your reputation I fear for.” Valencia looked solemn. “Your aid is so welcome I cannot bring myself to reject it simply on the grounds that this is not what fine ladies do.”

  “I am no fine lady, Mr. Valencia, and this is what I wish to do.” Amaya walked to where the horse she had ridden earlier that day stood, its saddle now a conventional one. Mounting was so much easier when one wore trousers.

  “Drawing room manners are irrelevant in this situation, where we ride in the cause of justice,” Edmund said. He, too, mounted, more gracefully than Amaya had, and added, “But I doubt anyone who might care about Miss Salazar’s behavior will ever discover what we have done.”

  His words struck Amaya as odd. A tendril of doubt threaded its way into her heart. Edmund had always been more careful than she to guard her reputation, and for him to dismiss it as drawing room manners seemed strange. She said, “Perhaps I have been too hasty.”

  “Hasty? In what way?” Valencia asked. He brought his horse close beside her. “You know what must be done.”

  “Yes, but…” Her eye fell on the curly-haired woman, who was engaged in saddling a piebald gelding and did not seem to be paying attention to the conversation. Another rush of confidence swept over her, and she let out a long breath. “No, you are correct. I care nothing for the opinion of others, so long as I know my motivations to be pure.”

  Valencia smiled and put a hand briefly over hers where they held the reins. “That is good.” He wheeled away and approached the curly-haired woman. “Ned, make haste. We lose daylight when we
delay.”

  The woman, Ned, nodded curtly and swung herself into the saddle. Valencia shouted a command, and the rest of his men mounted and fell into a loose grouping around their leader. “Ride out!” Valencia exclaimed, and Amaya and Edmund hurried to bring up the rear of the procession.

  “This is exhilarating,” Amaya said. “I wonder what he will have us do.”

  “I find I care not, so long as I have a part in defeating this enemy,” Edmund said.

  Amaya lowered her voice. “Did you hear what he called that young woman?”

  “Ned. That is not a Spanish name. I am increasingly curious about her.”

  “He must not know she is female.” Amaya covered her mouth and nose with the neckcloth; the many horses riding before them kicked up a cloud of dust.

  Edmund mimicked her gesture. “Or he knows, and does not wish to reveal her to the rest.”

  “That is possible.” Amaya looked ahead to where Ned rode close beside Valencia. “I will try to speak to her. She is a mystery, and I dislike mysteries.”

  They rode south and west along the road, nearly facing the setting sun, until Amaya’s posterior and legs ached from the unaccustomed exertion. Rather than alter her body to ease the pain, she decided to endure until they stopped for the night. Touching the horse to assess its condition revealed that it was not tired or in pain. It was a fine animal, she concluded, capable of running harder than she currently demanded, and some of her resistance to riding fled.

  After almost two hours, they left the road to ride across the broad, dry plains that lay south of the Salazar lands. More trees grew here, sprawling and low enough that the party could not ride beneath them. The setting sun cast their shadows across the riders, however, and the evening was cool and comfortable after the heat of the day. Even the splotches of grey-green scrub that dotted the fields seemed less sere.

  They came out of the fields into a series of low hills, brown and grey with bare earth and stones, and made their way west along their base. Amaya wished she had a slouching, wide-brimmed hat like most of Valencia’s men had, to shield her eyes from the direct glare of the setting sun. Altering her eyes to provide protection was impractical, as it took far too long to Shape an inner membrane, and by the time she had done it, the sun would have set. So she shielded her eyes with her hand and did her best to look elsewhere.