Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  Soon, men flooded out of the house—into a rain of musket and pistol fire from Valencia’s men. Some of the bandits fell back into the burning house, where the fire had spread from the roof to the wooden frame of the door; others who avoided the gunfire ran forward to engage with Valencia’s men. Amaya saw Edmund drop his opponent with a well-timed fist to the jaw just before someone was upon her. She ducked, punched the man in the stomach, and raked her claws across his face, making him scream. He fell to his knees, and Amaya took his head in both hands and twisted, snapping his neck. She dropped his body and ran on, searching for another victim.

  She could no longer hear anything over the noise of the fire and the screams of dying men. Such sounds told her nothing; now she depended on her eyes and the indefinable sense of her surroundings that rose from touch and scent combined. She stripped out of her coat to free her arms, snapped it into the face of someone who brought his gun to bear on her, and bore him to the ground. Wrenching the gun from his grip, she brought its butt down to smash his face. She sprang from his lifeless body and raced for the burning door, where men continued to emerge.

  One man aimed a pistol at her. She dove, turned her dive into a roll, and a shot cracked the night over her head. Another shot followed that one immediately, and pain creased her back, but she ignored it. She ended her roll on her feet and took two steps to grab the shooter around the waist and knock the pistol from his hand.

  The man gasped and flung his hands up. “Spare me!” he begged. “I will give you anything you require, everything I have—just spare my life!” He let his second pistol fall.

  Amaya pressed her claws against the throbbing vein in his throat. “You beg for mercy after what you have done?” she said, breathing heavily. She hated it when an enemy disarmed himself in a plea for mercy. Killing an unarmed man went against all her instincts.

  The man swallowed. His eyes were white and terrified, focused on her as if he might prevent her killing him by the power of his gaze. “We have done nothing,” he said.

  Amaya cut him off. “You raided the Salazar estate and killed my friend. That is hardly ‘nothing.’”

  Confusion touched his face. “You are mistaken,” he said. “We have not attacked anyone. We live in peace with our neighbors. I swear this on my life.”

  Amaya snarled. “You lie. You are my enemy.”

  The man jerked as if he wanted to shake his head in denial, but feared her claws. “El Encendedor told me what would happen if I did not follow him. He is terrible in his wrath. Please, let me flee. Show mercy.”

  Someone approached them, someone who smelled of smoke. “Enrico Solano,” Valencia said. “I warned you what would happen if you continued to attack the innocent.”

  Solano’s gaze never left Amaya’s face. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not leave me to him. Kill me now.”

  Amaya released her grip on Solano’s chest and stood. “He says he did not attack Don Fernándo,” she said. “Why would he lie?”

  Valencia took her elbow and drew her away from the man lying on the ground. “Does a villain need a reason to lie?”

  “No, but he knows we know what he has done, and there is no point in lying about it.” Amaya glanced over her shoulder at Solano, who lay rigid, his hands clenched and his face distorted as if in preparation for receiving a blow.

  “His lies do not concern me,” Valencia said. “Only freedom and justice.”

  Solano burst into flame, screaming.

  Amaya gasped. The white heat of the fire battered at her, and Solano’s screams cut to her heart. She took half a step toward the man and was restrained by Valencia’s hand, still gripping her elbow. She turned to face Valencia. The man’s handsome face was impassive, as if none of this had anything to do with him. Solano thrashed, rolled a short distance, and collapsed, still burning. The fire ignited the dry grass beneath him and died as abruptly as fire dropped into water does.

  Valencia closed his eyes briefly. “And so it ends,” he said.

  Amaya found herself breathing far too rapidly, as if even she had reached her physical limit. “You burned him,” she said.

  “I destroyed an enemy of freedom,” Valencia said, still in that distant, impassive way. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “As you have done. I watched you fight. You are extraordinary, and not just in your talent. I have never seen anyone more skilled at dealing death than you are. Thank you for joining my cause.”

  The sense of rightness that had carried Amaya all this way had faded into a faint memory. “But surely,” she began, hesitated, then said, “Suppose you were wrong? Suppose Solano was telling the truth?”

  Valencia laughed. “Truth, from that liar? Miss Salazar, you are new to Spain, and you do not know the depredations Enrico Solano has wreaked upon this country. And if he was not the one who attacked your grandfather’s home? What of it? We have rid the world of a villain regardless.”

  “Then you do not believe his men killed Mrs. Paget.”

  “No, I believe it. But it is irrelevant.” Valencia released Amaya and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead. “Take heart, Miss Salazar. You have done a good deed, you and your companion. He surprised me. I had not believed him anything but a fop and a useless hanger-on.”

  “Mr. Hanley is full of surprises,” Amaya said. She looked around, searching the landscape that was hellishly lit by the burning house. She did not see Edmund anywhere, and her heart ached with worry and an inexplicable sorrow.

  “We will return to the camp,” Valencia said. Abruptly the fire—all the fires—extinguished, leaving Amaya blinking in the darkness as her eyes tried to adjust. “Tomorrow we ride east, to Aranjuez. I wish to show you my country, Miss Salazar, and show you what it is you have chosen to defend.”

  Amaya nodded. The powerful surety no longer flooded her veins; all that was left was a lingering sense that what they were doing was right. But the smell of charred flesh lingered in her nostrils for miles.

  Edmund found her as their company emerged from the hills some distance from the lone fire left burning at their camp. “You are well?” he asked.

  “Well enough. I always feel hollow after a fight in which I take lives. It is not a feeling I understand, since I never feel guilt over killing someone who would have killed me or mine. A good night’s sleep will restore me.”

  “I have never seen an Extraordinary Scorcher in battle before. It was awe-inspiring, and terrifying.” Edmund wiped soot from his face, leaving it streaky and dark. “I understand now why Lady Enderleigh is so feared.”

  “Elinor would never…” Amaya could not finish that sentence. Elinor had certainly done as Valencia had, killed in battle, and Amaya did not hate her for it, so why should she feel such doubt over Valencia’s actions? “We succeeded,” she said instead.

  “That we did.” Edmund stopped, forcing Amaya to stop as well. The filth streaking his face could not conceal a look of concern. “You do not have doubts?”

  Amaya shook her head. “It is as I said, that I feel strange after a fight. I feel in my heart we have done well tonight. And done good, which is more important.”

  Edmund gripped her shoulder briefly before releasing her. “And tomorrow we ride east, I understand. I feel eager to follow where Mr. Valencia leads.”

  “As do I,” Amaya said, and a flash of uncertainty struck her. In half a breath, it disappeared, leaving her doubting what she had felt. But that instant prompted her to say, “Perhaps we should send word to Madrid of what has happened.”

  “That is unnecessary,” Edmund said. “We will not be gone much longer than the ten days we agreed upon. Barely long enough for anyone to grow concerned. And whom would we send? We will finish the task, and return with glorious tales of adventure and battle.” He grinned. “You did not believe this trip would be so exciting, did you?”

  Amaya began walking again. “I did not expect anything of it. Perhaps my imagination is faulty.”

  “I doubt anyone coul
d imagine what has happened to us,” Edmund said.

  The following morning dawned clear and warm and windy, sweeping the scent of growing crops toward them. Amaya ate her small breakfast of porridge and bread with enjoyment. As she had predicted, a night’s sleep whisked away her doubts, and she felt once more the confidence and surety that had propelled her all this way.

  The curly-haired woman, Ned, neared the fire Amaya crouched at alone, lugging a coffee pot big enough to serve an army. On impulse, Amaya called out, “Ned.”

  Ned jerked in surprise and stopped some ten armlengths away. Her wide, blue-grey eyes regarded Amaya with hostility Amaya could not explain. She ignored her discomfort in the face of that hostility and said, “May I have some?” She did not care for coffee, but it seemed the only way to have a word with the mysterious woman.

  Ned stared at her in silence for a few moments. Just as Amaya was sure Ned would simply walk away, the woman came toward Amaya and indicated that Amaya should hold her cup ready. Amaya dumped the last of the water it held and extended the cup, and Ned filled it. The heat of the beverage warmed Amaya’s hands.

  As Ned finished and prepared to walk away, another impulse seized Amaya. “I know your secret,” she said.

  To her surprise, Ned recoiled as if Amaya had struck her. The pot slipped from one hand, lurching and sloshing and spilling coffee on the ground. Amaya had never seen anyone so terrified. It filled her with unexpected compassion despite the woman’s hostility.

  “No, please, do not be afraid. I would never tell,” she assured her.

  Ned’s breathing was rapid, her pupils dilated. She said nothing. Amaya continued, “I do not know why you choose to pretend to be male, but I promise I will not give away your secret.”

  Ned’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and her look of fear vanished, replaced by impassivity. She set the coffee pot on the ground carefully and said, “And I am to be grateful to you for this?”

  “No.” Amaya wished she understood why Ned seemed to hate her. “It was a chance discovery—” she chose not to say it had actually been Edmund’s discovery— “and one I do not believe I am entitled to share. But I wondered…”

  Now Ned looked curious. “Wondered, what?”

  “I wondered,” Amaya said, “why you need the disguise. You have seen how Mr. Valencia treats me. He would not think less of you for being female.”

  “Alejandro knows all my secrets,” Ned said. “But I am no Extraordinary Shaper. ’Tis easier that the others believe me male, so I need not fight a constant battle against my comrades who believe a woman is easy prey.” She smiled, rather bitterly. “I suppose it is kind of you to be concerned about my self-worth.”

  “You intrigue me,” Amaya said. “You are not Spanish, you are not male, so how did you come to be here?”

  Ned picked up the coffee pot. “That is none of your concern,” she said, but without the hostility that had marked her previous words. “We are not friends.”

  “No, we are not,” Amaya said, feeling stung. “But I see no reason we should not be.”

  Ned’s eyes narrowed. She seemed to be searching for more words. Then, in English, she said, “My name is Jennet,” and hurried away before Amaya could respond.

  Amaya watched her go, wondering at that interaction. It was true, they were not friends and did not need to be, but Amaya’s curiosity, once roused, was hard to lay to rest. Jennet. She had never heard such a name before, though the faint accent in which Jennet had spoken English reminded her of Dr. Macrae. She determined at once that she would make Jennet like her. Then perhaps the woman would be forthcoming about her mystery.

  She stood and went in search of Edmund, whom she found laughing and joking with several of Valencia’s men. He saluted her with his coffee cup as she approached and left the group to join her. “What a glorious day,” he said. “I swear I could ride for days and never tire. Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.” They were too close to the men for Amaya to share what she had learned about the mysterious curly-haired woman. “Walk with me?”

  Edmund shrugged. “We will leave soon, and there is little time for a walk, but whatever my lady wishes,” he said with a gallant bow that made Amaya smile.

  “You are in rare fine spirits,” she said when they were some distance from the others. “Edmund Hanley is not an early riser, and he rarely communicates in more than grunts before noon. Pray, what have you done with my friend?”

  “I have never had such purpose before,” Edmund said. “You feel it, do you not? That sense of rightness?”

  “I do.” Though she did not feel as elated as Edmund seemed to. “And I have made a discovery that will surprise you.”

  Edmund’s jovial expression became pensive as she related her interaction with Jennet. “Astonishing,” he said. “And you intend to dig to the bottom of her mystery.”

  “Would you not do the same? I feel she could be a friend.”

  “That may be, but if I were you, I would not be so sanguine about the prospects of my success. She looks at you as if she wishes to disembowel you.”

  “That is why it is such a challenge.” Amaya stopped and put a hand on Edmund’s sleeve. “She must be so lonely, never able to reveal her true self.”

  Edmund shook his head slowly, smiling. “I believe you see yourself in her, Amaya.”

  Amaya blinked. “Myself? How so?”

  “So much of who you are must be concealed from polite society. Only a few of us see your true self.” Edmund rested his hand atop hers. “If you feel compassion for this woman, it is because you know what it is to be hidden from the world.”

  Amaya looked away from his gaze to where their hands joined. She had rarely been so conscious of him, of how his hand was larger than hers and warmer, the palm slightly roughened in a way no gentleman’s would be. “I hope that is not a criticism,” she said, lightly so as to conceal the turmoil he had thrown her into.

  “Of course not. Praise, and pride that someone such as you calls me ‘friend.’” Edmund withdrew his hand, and a moment later Amaya let him go. “There, I see the signal for us to form up. Let us ride, and see what the day brings!”

  They had walked quite a distance from the camp without Amaya noticing, and as she followed Edmund to where the horses waited, she could not help pondering his words. He was right, she concluded; she felt a kinship to Jennet, and the idea of befriending the prickly woman cheered her in a way unlike the warm glow of exhilaration that was her sense of Valencia’s cause.

  She mounted her horse and let it fall into line behind the others, with Edmund riding beside her. Ahead, Jennet rode next to Valencia as, Amaya suddenly realized, she always did. Amaya did not believe Jennet was Valencia’s lover; they did not behave to one another in a loverly fashion. It was more as if Jennet were Valencia’s lieutenant, quick to respond to his commands and first to ride where he ordered. More mysteries. Amaya flicked the reins, and her horse stepped out more smartly. She had all the time in the world to ferret those mysteries out.

  Chapter 15

  In which Amaya and Edmund learn more of the glorious cause

  They arrived in Aranjuez at just after noon on the following day. Amaya had been content to ride at the rear, the dust notwithstanding, but as they set off, Valencia had sought her out, saying, “You will ride beside me, that you may see my country’s beauty.” So she rode at Valencia’s left hand, Edmund on her left and Jennet on Valencia’s right, and admired the countryside. Valencia was correct; Spain was beautiful with a stark, warm beauty that appealed to Amaya in a different way from England. The two could not have been more different, and yet Amaya liked them both. It would not be so terrible, she thought, to call Spain home.

  They had followed the Tagus River, more or less, keeping a straight line where the river curved so that it flowed in and out of their sight. Amaya liked the sound it made as it washed along its banks, slower and quieter than the icy rivers that flowed from the mountain heights of Peru. She listened to its cha
tter and allowed the conversation Valencia and Edmund were having to flow past her unheeded.

  “Do you not agree, Miss Salazar?”

  She started. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Valencia, I was listening to the river,” she said without thinking of how that must sound.

  Valencia and Edmund laughed. “I cannot hear the river at all, from this distance,” Edmund said. “It must be remarkable to be a Shaper, and tune one’s ears to the most distant sounds.”

  Amaya glanced past Valencia to Jennet, whose rigid attention to the distant panorama told Amaya she was actually listening closely to this conversation. “I am certain every talent has aspects others might envy,” she said.

  “This is true,” Valencia said. “I have great joy in my talent, and yet there is a part of me that wishes to be an Extraordinary Mover, to take to the skies whenever I wish.”

  “That would be my wish as well,” Edmund said. “The power of flight is remarkable.”

  “I have never wished to have any talent but my own,” Amaya said. Then, daringly, she said, “What is your opinion, Ned?”

  Jennet flinched, casting a quick glance at Amaya, but said nothing. Valencia said, “You must excuse Ned; he is shy around strangers. You may yet make friends with him if you are willing to wait him out!” He laughed, and Jennet smiled mirthlessly before returning to her customary impassivity and dropping back a few steps so Amaya could no longer see her past Valencia. It was an intentional snub, but Amaya did not mind it. She was determined on befriending Jennet, however long it took.

  “We were saying,” Valencia said, “that it is unlikely Napoleon has given up his dream of conquest, just because the Duke of Wellington has swept across France. Say, rather, that he has gone into hiding to regroup and restore his forces. And that we must all be vigilant against his return.”