Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  “Because he is the diplomatic liaison, and will recognize us,” Edmund replied. “A mayordomo de semana is one of the king’s personal attendants and accompanies him everywhere, particularly to important functions and at meals. They guard their privilege closely. King Ferdinand showed respect to Lord Enderleigh by assigning Don Martín to his household while he is in Madrid. He is the only person I know here who can gain immediate access to the king. And if he will not see us…” Edmund’s voice trailed off.

  “Then we must tell Lord Enderleigh, because he will be able to speak to the king,” Amaya said.

  “You are correct, though I fear I see in that course of action nothing but delay.” Edmund took a few steps away from Amaya, causing the hangers-on to tense. Edmund paused, then returned to Amaya’s side. “We should not have delayed on the road.”

  “You told me we could not have traveled faster.”

  “Not without killing the horses.” Edmund blew out his breath in an impatient sound. “Even so.”

  “I understand.”

  Amaya heard footsteps approaching, softened by the thick carpet, and turned to see the man returning, followed by Don Martín. The Count of Álava’s short black hair was unexpectedly in disarray, as if he had been running, but neither he nor their impromptu messenger bore any other signs of haste. Don Martín strode forward. “What is so important that I must leave my king’s side?” he said. His superficial politeness covered what to Amaya looked like profound irritation.

  “Let us be private, and I will tell all,” Edmund said.

  Don Martín glanced at Amaya, then looked at her more closely. “You are Miss Salazar,” he said. “I beg your pardon, I did not recognize you immediately.”

  “I understand, my lord,” Amaya said. “But we truly must speak privately. I assure you it is a matter of great importance.”

  Don Martín turned his attention on Edmund. Finally, he said, “Walk with me.”

  They left the throne room and walked through halls Amaya was certain she had never seen before. She listened with only half her attention to Edmund quickly telling Don Martín of their experiences and what Valencia intended to do in Aranjuez. The rest of her was preoccupied with watching for anyone who might try to listen in. She understood the value of concealing important facts that might cause panic in the wrong listeners, and surely this qualified.

  Don Martín said nothing, did not even make noises of surprise, but when Edmund finished, he said, “El Encendedor has long been a thorn in my king’s side. Has he plans to march on Madrid next?”

  “I regret that I do not know,” Edmund said. “My understanding is that he intends to pacify Aranjuez and use it as his capital, from which he will extend his armies. Though what armies he might have, I also do not know. But…”

  “You have some speculation?” Don Martín pressed.

  “Mr. Valencia’s Coercer is quite powerful, as we know from experience,” Edmund continued. “It would not surprise me to learn she had suborned the remaining regiments in Aranjuez.”

  Don Martín cursed under his breath, too softly for anyone but Amaya to hear. “We must tell King Ferdinand,” he said, but he did not sound certain.

  Edmund heard his uncertainty as well. “Is there nothing the king can do?”

  Don Martín hesitated. “He can order the troops to march on Aranjuez,” he said, sounding less certain than before. “A quick, clean strike may rid us of El Encendedor for good. Finally we know where he is, and he is unlikely to leave that city immediately.”

  “Then you mean the king may not order such an attack,” Amaya said.

  Don Martín shot her a quelling glance. “I do not criticize my king,” he said, and would say no more.

  Amaya’s apprehension rose. She understood little of kings and European armies, but she knew there were many men in command of the fighters, and the king was only one of them and, she guessed from what Don Martín did not say, the least well-informed about strategy. Were she Uturunku over the Spanish warriors, she would command them to secretly spy out the enemy forces and bring her word so she might plan an attack. But she was not Uturunku, and she had no say over what the Spanish warriors did. She hoped they had leaders who might convince the king of what was best.

  Presently, they arrived in a dining room as ornate as every other room in the palace. Amaya, to her surprise, found herself longing for the relative simplicity of an English house, or of Fernándo’s estate. Walls draped in blue velvet hushed conversation to a soft murmur, unintelligible even to Amaya’s ears. The smell of food, of half a dozen kinds of meat, filled the room. The effect was as overwhelming as the ornate furnishings and décor, and Amaya’s stomach gave her a moment’s queasiness before Need soothed it.

  The king sat at one end of the long table. His companions flanked him on both sides, standing rather than sitting and not partaking of the sumptuous meal. Amaya recognized the Count of Molina, who had spoken to her upon her meeting King Ferdinand. He was the first to look up at their entrance. His eyes narrowed briefly, and then he looked away before Amaya could guess at how he felt.

  The king, eating with great gusto, did not put down his knife and fork immediately. Amaya stood beside Edmund and watched him eat, feeling an unaccountable uneasiness. Obviously King Ferdinand could have no idea what news they brought, but their presence here, interrupting his meal, must surely stir his curiosity.

  Finally, the king looked up. “I assume you have good reason for intruding upon our presence,” he said.

  “Your majesty,” Don Martín said, “Mr. Hanley and Miss Salazar bring news of El Encendedor. He has killed the Count of Aranjuez and taken over that city.”

  A murmur rose up from the other royal attendants. King Ferdinand did not show surprise. “Has he,” he said, with no more emotion than if he were commenting on his meal. “And you know of this how?”

  Edmund stepped forward and bowed. “Your majesty, Miss Salazar and I traveled with El Encendedor, Alejandro Valencia, and observed his actions. Our understanding is that he intends Aranjuez to be the starting point for his revolution.”

  “You traveled with him?” The king patted his lips with a white linen napkin and set it down delicately on his plate. His tone of voice suggested that their having traveled with Valencia was at the very least a weakness in character and at worst a crime.

  “We did, but not by choice,” Edmund said, not flinching. “Mr. Valencia’s much-vaunted rhetoric is enhanced by the talent of an Extraordinary Coercer whose obedience he commands. People follow him because they have no choice. Miss Salazar and I fell under the Coercer’s sway, and it was only good fortune that freed us.”

  “I see.” The king rose, prompting every other man to step back respectfully. “What an extraordinary story.”

  Amaya did not like the way he referred to their experience as “story.” “It is the truth,” she protested. “And we have ridden hard to bring you the news. If you act now—”

  “I do not permit my actions to be dictated by women,” King Ferdinand said. “Tell me, what precisely did you do while you were…Coerced?”

  Amaya felt like a small animal who senses the approach of the hawk. “I fought for Mr. Valencia,” she admitted, “but it was not by choice.”

  “So you say.” King Ferdinand approached them, but halted some distance away, well out of Amaya’s reach. “How am I to know you are not still Coerced, and here to do El Encendedor’s bidding? To kill me and my brother and open a way for my enemy to take the throne?”

  Amaya’s mouth fell open. Edmund said, “I beg your pardon for my bluntness, your majesty, but that supposition goes against all reason. Were we truly here as Mr. Valencia’s agents, we would not have bothered approaching you formally.”

  “And I take that as a threat against my person,” the king said. “Take them into custody, pending trial for treason.”

  Amaya snarled and extended her claws. “You would not dare.”

  “Amaya, no!” Edmund exclaimed. He put a hand on
her shoulder. “You cannot.”

  The king’s royal stewards had not moved. King Ferdinand said, “I command you to seize these two.”

  Don Martín cleared his throat. “If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear,” he said, his voice calm and certain. “Please cooperate, and you will be unharmed.”

  “It is you who should fear us,” Amaya said, still poised to attack.

  “Amaya.” Edmund’s grip tightened. “If you kill these men, there will be no saving us. Don Martín is correct; we must go quietly.”

  All Amaya’s sunqu were roused to attack. She soothed them, calmed Heart and Sense and Need, and retracted her claws.

  “You will send word to the Earl and Countess of Enderleigh,” Edmund said. “They will insist we be released, even if it is to their custody instead of yours.”

  “That remains to be seen,” the king said. “Take them away and confine them. We will learn if their words are true.”

  The royal stewards looked at one another as if willing someone else to fulfil the king’s command. Finally, four men stepped forward. They looked extremely disinclined to lay hands on Amaya. She raised both her hands in a pacifying gesture and said, “You need not touch me. I will go with you and will not fight.”

  Don Martín bowed to her as he had not to the king. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, and Amaya could tell he meant it. At least one person understood what she might have done.

  Chapter 22

  In which a more sinister revelation threatens to spark international panic

  The room in which they were confined was in another unfamiliar wing of the Palacio Real, one as gaudy with gilding and velvet as the rest. It was not a single room, but a suite of five chambers, most of which were empty of furnishings. The walls were all covered with fine silk, patterned in gold and white, and Amaya’s steps on the bare wooden floors, which were scuffed and free from wax, echoed off the fabric. Gold drapes tied back with thick golden ropes the size of Amaya’s wrist absorbed some of the echoes, but for the most part, the rooms felt as hollow as mountain caves, if warmer.

  Amaya explored the five rooms, though she was not certain what she hoped to find: an exit, a weapon, even an unburned log with which to attack anyone who approached with evil intent. The fireplaces were all bare and swept clean of ash; there were no blades decorating the walls nor even empty urns capable of battering an enemy; and the windows, while offering a grand view of the gardens behind the Palacio Real, were not made to open.

  She returned to where Edmund sat in the first room. It alone was furnished, but only with a low-backed sofa, an armchair, and a narrow table beneath one of the windows. The upholstery of the sofa and armchair did not match, and the table, painted white with the ubiquitous gilding, was not a partner to either. Amaya suspected the furniture was simply stored here, but then why not fill all the rooms with castoffs? She did not understand the Spanish at all.

  Edmund eyed her as she paced restlessly before the door. “You should sit,” he said, “and conserve that energy for the point at which we might have to fight our way out of this place.”

  Amaya made an impatient gesture with one hand. “I can break down the door at any time, Edmund. And I must pace or go mad. I cannot believe King Ferdinand is so stupid.”

  “Not stupid, but paranoid and, if I dare say it, rather self-absorbed. He seems to see the situation only in terms of what it might mean to himself and his rule, not to the country.” Edmund rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “I doubt we will be here long. And we have delivered our news, so it matters little if we are.”

  “You are far too patient.” Amaya resumed her pacing, flexing her hands open and shut. It did not relieve her sunqu, which wanted to be free of this unpleasant room.

  “I am simply very good at disguising my impatience.” Edmund’s voice was muffled by his hands. “I assure you I am no happier about this situation than you are.”

  “I know you are correct, and it does not matter if we are free,” Amaya said. “But do you not wish to have some part in fighting Mr. Valencia? I feel, not guilty, but culpable, if that makes sense, and I wish my claws in his throat.”

  “It makes sense.” Edmund raised his head. “But you need not attack him with claws. Not if you can paralyze with a touch.”

  “That is true,” Amaya said, taken aback. His tone bewildered her; he sounded distant and impassive in the way that suggested he was actually in the grip of a strong emotion. “But you knew this. Why do you speak as if my abilities are a surprise?”

  “Amaya, I assure you, I had no idea you were capable of such…” Edmund’s voice trailed off. “How is it done?”

  “I cannot explain the way in which I command a body, my own or another’s.” Amaya came to a stop before him. “I touch, and I know every sunqu—you have no word for it in either Spanish or English—every part of the body. And it does what I tell it. If I say to the legs, grow strong, they grow strong. If I say to the nerves, be still, there is paralysis. It is who I am.”

  Edmund’s lips thinned in a tense line. “Then you might tell a heart to burst,” he said, “or you might crush veins. Amaya, you can kill with a touch.”

  His suppressed emotion frightened her. It was not the terror Jennet had Coerced in her, but a more subtle, insidious fear as if she were losing something precious. “You must have known this,” she insisted. “All Extraordinary Shapers are capable of it. And it is not as if I have ever killed innocents in that manner. I have taken lives, yes, but in the cause of protecting those who cannot defend themselves. Edmund, do not look at me that way!”

  Edmund’s head turned away so he was looking out the window at the gardens. She did not believe he saw them. “No English Extraordinary Shaper can use his talent in that way.”

  “That is not true, Edmund. I am certain that it is inherent to the talent. They must have a reason for not revealing it, but it is not that they lack the ability.” Amaya followed his gaze and saw a pair of blue birds banded with black swooping and diving in perfect harmony. They swept past, separated, and were gone.

  “Of course they would keep it a secret. No one would welcome the touch of someone who could take a life as easily as breathing.” Edmund let out a deep breath, as if demonstrating how easy the act was. “Not even if that touch meant life instead.”

  Amaya felt frozen in place. She wished she dared go to him, make him look at her as he had before, not with that dreadful, empty, almost fearful look. “Edmund,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “you should not fear me. I would never hurt you.”

  He rose from the sofa and walked to the window, rested his head on the frame, and let out another breath. “I know,” he said. “It is simply impossible to comprehend. All those Extraordinary Shapers concealing such a terrible secret.”

  “Is it so terrible?”

  Finally, he turned to look at her. “There would be no stopping someone who chose to use that talent for evil,” he said. “And I shudder to imagine the rioting and massacres that might occur were ordinary people to learn about that aspect of an Extraordinary Shaper’s talent. It would be the Frenzy all over again.”

  “I do not know what that is.”

  Edmund’s thumbnail scraped the window sill restlessly, peeling up thin curls of paint. “When talent first arose, it was in the wake of plagues that killed thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. People were terrified because no one knew where the plagues came from or how the illness was transmitted. When those who had been taken for dead woke, that terror transformed itself into what in Europe was called the Frenzy. People feared the dead were rising, and since those who woke had talent, that frightened people even more. In some places, the newly talented were torn apart by mobs of people they had once called friends. It took fast action by courageous community leaders to prevent the Frenzy from spreading.”

  Amaya nodded slowly. “And you believe it could happen again.”

  “Ordinary people do not fear the talented bec
ause the talented do not, for the most part, abuse their talent and the status that comes with it.” Edmund’s thumbnail dug deeper. “No one fears Scorchers as a whole, for example, rather reserving their animosity for those who use their talent to commit criminal acts. Were it to turn out that Scorchers are capable of, for example, igniting fire miles away from where they can see, instead of being limited to no farther than their range of vision, people would not be so generous of spirit.”

  “But someone must know,” Amaya insisted. “I assure you this is not a part of my talent I was unaware of until I was instructed. It is an obvious extension of Shaping.”

  “I daresay you are correct,” Edmund said. “In fact, I wonder now if that is not what Sir Maxwell and the War Office functionaries feared you might do, and not your claws and physical strength—ow!” He raised his thumb to his lips.

  “What is the matter?”

  “Merely a splinter driven beneath the nail. It is nothing.”

  Amaya hesitated. Then she came toward him, her hand extended. “May I?”

  Edmund lowered his hand. They stared at each other, and Amaya was reminded of that narrow hall in the inn, where they had faced one another on the verge of another extraordinary moment. If he would not permit her to Shape his injury, it would be the end for them. Her heart ached at the thought that she might never touch Edmund again.

  Then Edmund held out his hand. “Please,” he said, his face once more empty of emotion. Amaya took his hand gently and plucked the splinter out, then Shaped the tiny blood vessel to seal itself, made skin grow over the spot.

  “It does not take a doctor for such a small wound,” she said.

  Edmund removed his hand from hers and wiped a trace of blood on his already filthy trousers. “Thank you.”

  Her throat seemed to have closed up, rendering her incapable of speech. She merely nodded.