Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  “I do not care about that or anything else. You are my love, Edmund, and I want you the way a woman desires a man. You cannot deny you feel the same.”

  “Of course not, but…” He retreated to the chair, sliding off the bed but retaining her hands in his. “What are the marriage customs of the Incas?”

  Amaya raised both eyebrows. “You would marry me?”

  “You sound surprised. I assure you, it is the deepest desire of my heart to have you wed to me, and not only because you are a desirable and beautiful heiress whose fortune will keep me in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed.”

  That made her laugh. “The Incas marry within ayllus, family groups, but that is to maintain their strength. You are not related to me, and I find my own relations not compelling possibilities as husbands.” She thought of Mateo and suppressed a shudder. “And a man and woman may marry for a short time, as a trial. Perhaps we might marry for a month or two only.”

  Edmund’s grip tightened. “That would not satisfy me,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “but of course if you insist, I would do everything in my power to prove to you during that time that I am the most devoted, most capable, most loving husband you are likely to marry now or at any other time.”

  Amaya smiled. Now she felt like she was floating, not falling. “Edmund,” she said, “I cannot imagine anyone I would rather marry than you, and if I believed it was only to last a month or two, my heart would break. Now, how is it done? I know Bess took a month in her preparations, but perhaps that is because her husband is a viscount. I would prefer not to wait a month. Tonight would be better.”

  He laughed again. “Not tonight, darling. There are preparations to make, and a license to acquire that we cannot get until we return to England. And Bess would make both our lives a misery were we to marry before she returns.”

  Amaya scowled. “I like the Inca way better.”

  “No doubt, but I promise you—” Edmund leaned over and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that roused all her sunqu to a fever pitch— “I promise the English way is worth waiting for.”

  Five days later, Amaya stood at the rail and watched the banks of the Thames slip past. She had forgotten how noisome the river was, that sweetish-sour odor the brisk breezes could not fully dissipate. Elinor had said something about the smell being worse in full summer. Amaya had already begun plotting ways to keep herself and Edmund out of London at that time.

  The idea that she was no longer just Amaya, but one of a partnership, had not grown stale in the past several days. Before falling in love, she had been aware of being answerable only to herself, of being a friend to Bess and her family, but still being solely Amaya. Even the discovery of two sets of relations had not made her feel more connected to the Nevilles and the Salazars. But this relationship to Edmund, seeing in him her other half, thrilled her in a way she had never before imagined.

  Now she let her eyes go unfocused and air-dreamed a future. London was hot and smelly, yes, but Edmund’s employment was there, and perhaps staying away permanently was not possible. But they might travel. Perhaps they could take a house in the country during the summer. Bess would return soon; Amaya wished to spend as much time with her friend as possible. Friend, and soon-to-be sister. That, too, thrilled her.

  This time, she heard Edmund’s step half a breath before he said, “River travel is not a passion of mine. I much prefer the open sea, if I must spend time aboard ship. I confess to being a creature of the city. I hope that does not disturb you.”

  “The smell disturbs me, but there is much to do in a city.” Amaya glanced at him; he had taken a position next to her, leaning casually on the rail, and was looking off across the city. “It is not so daunting an idea as it once was, that I might live in a European city.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Though naturally we will live wherever you prefer.” Edmund’s hand covered hers briefly, a swift gesture only she noticed. “The nature of my employment will have to change, though it would not be so unlikely for me to travel in the company of my wife. You might be surprised at how many gentlemen of leisure are in reality employed as confidential agents of the government.”

  “I suppose it is not so unlikely, given the English penchant for foreign travel and how so many English men seem connected with men of other nationalities. It is almost a Speaker’s reticulum.” Amaya surveyed the riverbanks and the many buildings that grew up like weeds along the shore. “How odd that none of the city’s turmoil is visible on the surface.”

  “It is not as if there is rioting in the streets, Amaya. Whatever has happened in the wake of the revelation of Extraordinary Shapers’ secret ability, the English are too civilized to permit it to turn into civil unrest.”

  “The Spanish are civilized, too, and they had riots.” Amaya found she had unwittingly extended a claw and carved a shallow groove in the rail approximately a handspan long. She clasped her hands in front of her. “It unnerves me to know that others will look at me differently now. I never imagined I would be feared for my talent.”

  “It will pass. People are afraid now, but their need for Extraordinary Shapers has not disappeared. In time, it will all be a commonplace.” Edmund stepped closer so his elbow pressed lightly against hers. His proximity warmed her heart and made her wish they were married already.

  She heard footsteps behind her, and Sir William called out, “Miss Salazar, might I have a word?”

  “Sir William, yes,” she said, turning. “It is that you have need?”

  “Not for myself, no,” Sir William said. His usually pleasant expression was somber, his ubiquitous smile vanished. He nodded briefly at Edmund, then said, “Lord Sacheverell Spoke to me not five minutes ago. He asked that I relay a message to you.”

  “I do not know who is this lord.”

  “He is a member of the House of Lords—of Parliament—with connections to the War Office. He requests that you meet with him this afternoon, after we dock.”

  “Meet with him?” Amaya glanced at Edmund, but he looked as confused as she felt. “Meet with him for why?”

  “He gave me to understand it was a private government matter, and that you are to come alone.” Sir William’s usual smile had vanished. “Miss Salazar, it is a most unusual request.”

  “Unusual is putting the matter lightly,” Edmund said. “I suspect this has something to do with the revelation of the secret Extraordinary Shaper ability.”

  “But I do not understand,” Amaya said. “You said, Sir William, that England is not in turmoil due to it.”

  “I said there were no riots,” Sir William said, “and that is true. But I have learned from my reticulum that some Extraordinary Shapers have been accused of committing murder with their talent, and distrust of them runs high. The government has almost certainly taken matters in hand, and Lord Sacheverell’s request likely has something to do with it.”

  Amaya looked at Edmund again, but addressed her words to Sir William. “Then you believe I should not go.”

  “I can hardly tell you to disregard a government request, particularly one that comes close to being a demand.” Sir William shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe you are in any danger, if that helps. I simply cannot say what demand they will make of you.”

  “I should go with you,” Edmund said.

  “But they say, go alone,” Amaya said.

  “As if you have ever cared for the dictates of persons in authority.” Edmund clasped her hand briefly. “If this Lord Sacheverell intends to command you, you may need someone whose grasp of English is better than your own.”

  “I see your point, but…” Amaya paused, trying to make sense of something she understood only instinctually. “It is possible Lord Sacheverell is afraid of me, or of Extraordinary Shapers, and I do not wish to make him more afraid by coming to him with more than just me. I promise I will not agree to anything until I have spoken about it with you.”

  “That is very wise, Miss Salazar,” Sir William said, regaining
some of his usual cheer. “I will arrange for a hackney to convey you to the meeting place.”

  “Yes, very wise, Miss Salazar,” Edmund repeated as Sir William bowed and walked away. “Is that because you are preparing for the time when you will promise to obey me?”

  “Is that a thing I must promise?” Amaya said, dropping back into Spanish. “It seems unlikely. And no, it is because you have a devious, twisty mind and will see dangers I do not.”

  “I choose to see that as a compliment,” Edmund said.

  Chapter 29

  In which Amaya is once more threatened, with predictable results

  Amaya had seen the Palace of Westminster many times and been impressed by its size. Now, having stayed at the Palacio Real, her perspective changed. This building housing the English Parliament had a few towers taller than the palace in Madrid, but mostly its walls were shorter and unadorned, with strange jagged tops that looked like rows of gap teeth. She did like the enormous window facing out over the river; it was the biggest she had ever seen, and she wondered how it was kept clean.

  Now, however, that window was invisible as Amaya’s hackney approached the palace from the west. From this side, the Palace of Westminster was mostly sheer windowed walls rising some three or four stories high. Other carriages moved in and out of the pillared entrance to the south, all of them black and anonymous as if visiting the palace were somehow unsavory business. She suppressed her nervousness and concentrated on her hands, folded neatly in her lap. These men were no danger to her. She had no need to be nervous.

  The hackney driver brought the carriage to a stop and opened the door to help her down. He showed no sign that he felt this journey was anything out of the ordinary. Of course, he did not know she was an Extraordinary Shaper, since she did not wear the black cap English Extraordinary Shapers did. He would likely not have been keen to offer her his hand if he knew.

  As per Sir William’s instructions, Amaya climbed three short flights of steps to enter the palace. The steps opened on a gallery filled with portraits of unsmiling men in somber clothes who all looked at Amaya as if she were an interloper. She ignored them. The portraits of the Salazar family had been far more welcoming, and not just because she was herself a Salazar. Here, she knew she did not belong. A tiny spark of resentment at being ordered about by Englishmen flared into life, and she suppressed that as well. She had chosen to obey the summons, and there was no point in resenting her own decision.

  Men dressed in formal clothes stared at her as she crossed the gallery. She ignored them as well, or at least pretended to; with her enhanced hearing, she listened to their conversations in case some of them were about her and she might need to do something about them. Most of them did whisper about her, but it was all idle speculation about her identity and her reasons for venturing into this bastion of male privilege. None of them came close to guessing the truth.

  She turned left at the end of the gallery and, remembering her instructions, looked for the second door on the left. That door stood ajar, and lamplight burnished a small triangle on the carpet before it, faint but still brighter than the dimly-lit hall. Amaya pushed the door open further and entered.

  The room, warm and close and stuffy, was a library, far bigger than either the Hanleys’ or Fernándo’s, with shelves reaching half a dozen rikras to the ceiling. All the shelves were filled with books that looked mostly unread, their spines shiny and untouched. Three tables surrounded by small chairs filled half the room, while the other half was dominated by a set of four sofas upholstered in brown leather, two of them flanking a cold fireplace. A ladder leaned against the far wall, tall enough to reach the highest shelves; it looked well-used, though not to the point that it was falling apart. Had it not been for the unused books, Amaya would have called it a working library, one which saw much use in the course of a day. Instead, the smell of dust and old paper told her everything she saw was for show.

  Two men sat at the farthest table and rose when she entered. One of them she knew; it was Mr. Fenton of the War Office, he who had attempted to bully and trick her into working for him. His round, rosy cheeks rounded more as he smiled at her, but Amaya was on her guard, and she saw his smile reached no further than his lips.

  The second man was taller than Mr. Fenton by a few inches, which made him almost Amaya’s height. He was large of stature, with a round stomach and heavy shoulders and fingers like thick sausages. He, unlike Mr. Fenton, did not smile, merely nodded to her in acknowledgement of her presence.

  Amaya stopped just inside the room and waited for the men to speak. She did not intend to give up any advantage. For a moment, the room was silent. Mr. Fenton glanced at his companion, then at Amaya, then back at his companion again. His silent companion, for his part, stared at Amaya. Amaya held still so she would not appear nervous.

  Finally, the large man said, “Miss Salazar. Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.” He indicated one of the sofas near the fireplace.

  “Thank you,” Amaya said. She took a seat and immediately wished she had not, because the sofa was too soft, its padding thick and yielding, and she sank into it so deeply it would take some effort to rise.

  Both men sat on the sofa opposite her. “My name is Lord Sacheverell,” the large man said. “You are acquainted with Mr. Fenton, I believe.”

  Amaya nodded. She still did not intend to speak until she had to.

  “Mr. Fenton is here as your liaison with the War Office, as I understand you are one of its agents.” Lord Sacheverell rested his hands loosely on his knees. Amaya kept her gaze fixed on him as the more dangerous of the two.

  “I am not of the War Office,” she said politely. “I assist Lady Enderleigh as a sign of my respect for this country, but I am not an English citizen yet.”

  Lord Sacheverell’s dark, well-shaped eyebrow arched in inquiry. “‘Yet’, Miss Salazar?”

  “I intend to marry an Englishman. He says this will make me English, though not by birth.”

  “And yet you have English family. The Nevilles.”

  Amaya nodded again.

  “In any case,” Lord Sacheverell continued, “Mr. Fenton is here as a courtesy to you. You have been out of the country, and therefore are not aware of the new regulations regarding Extraordinary Shapers.”

  The hair on the back of Amaya’s neck prickled a warning. “Regulations?”

  Lord Sacheverell’s hands closed slightly. “Given the revelation that Extraordinary Shapers have a dangerous, even fatal aspect to their talent, we have decided it is best to allay the people’s fears by implementing certain changes. All Extraordinary Shapers are required to wear identifying clothing, not just the traditional hat or cap, but a coat unique to them. We also have begun a registry of Extraordinary Shapers, consultable by any interested citizen, so that no one need fear accidentally encountering one.”

  “That is foolishness,” Amaya said without thinking. “Extraordinary Shapers are no more likely to kill than anyone else.”

  “Miss Salazar,” Mr. Fenton began, his tone of voice a warning.

  “Miss Salazar,” Lord Sacheverell said, overriding the little man, “you are in no position to speak to me in such a way. This government must deal with thousands of men and women capable of killing with a touch. That is not an ability that engenders trust in anyone. The populace is on the brink of terror, and all it will take is one death at the hands of an Extraordinary Shaper to push them over that brink.”

  “And yet they do not fear the thousands of Scorchers who live in London alone,” Amaya retorted. “Nor the Movers who might throw someone off a roof with their talent. And no one says that Bounders must be hampered so they do not enter houses secretly and kill their owners. This is a new thing, and the fear will pass.” She leaned forward slightly, inviting confidences. “You should not fear me.”

  “I am not afraid of you, Miss Salazar,” Lord Sacheverell said, scorn filling his voice enough that Amaya believed him. “I am afraid of another Frenzy. Can you guar
antee it will not happen? I believe not.”

  “Miss Salazar, please see sense,” Mr. Fenton said, casting a wary glance at Lord Sacheverell. “These are temporary measures only. You need not fear, oh, reprisals, or attacks.”

  As Amaya had not been thinking of those possibilities, his words did not reassure her. “Change happens quickly and it is hard to turn around,” she said. “I say it is foolishness. And I will not do it.”

  “I am not offering you a choice,” Lord Sacheverell said, his eyes growing hard and cold. “You will obey, or you will leave England.”

  Amaya blinked. “I do not understand.”

  “We cannot tolerate rogue Extraordinary Shapers who might do anything with their talent,” Lord Sacheverell said. “If you will not comply, you will be required to leave this country. Immediately.”

  “You cannot force me.”

  “We can. And unless you wish to give the lie to your assertions that you mean us no harm, you will go quietly.” Lord Sacheverell’s hands were fists now, as if he meant to start a fight regardless.

  Amaya looked at Mr. Fenton, whose rosy complexion had paled with fright. “You cannot permit this,” she said. Then something occurred to her. “It has been only ten days, and you do not—did not learn of this immediately. And yet you have a plan already.” She rose, her hands shaking with anger. “You knew before,” she said, feeling truth unfold inside her, blossoming into awareness. “You know what Extraordinary Shapers can do and you keep it hidden, and now you pretend you are surprised but you have a plan ready anyway. How dare you!”

  “Be seated, Miss Salazar, and do not make rash accusations.” Lord Sacheverell did not sound as angry as Amaya believed he should be.

  “It is not rash. It is true. Why do you do this thing? Why lie to everyone?”

  “Because this country depends on Extraordinary Shapers,” Lord Sacheverell said, coming to his feet in one explosive movement. “A quarter of our doctors have talent. They are capable of working miracles. We cannot have the people questioning whether their doctor’s touch will kill instead of heal!”