Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  “If it is no talent, we just—we among my people—say nothing,” Amaya explained in English. “There are few born with talent, so it is most common that there is nothing. There is no point in saying this.”

  “Even so, when I consider that you carried this secret all this time, I am astonished.”

  They ascended the stairs of the Palace of Westminster and passed down the gallery of disapproving faces. The portraits did not seem to care for Edmund any more than they did for her. Perhaps it was not her sex or national origin that offended them, but something more subtle. Amaya observed them more closely, but still saw nothing appealing about them.

  “It was not a secret,” she protested loudly, drawing the gazes of the well-dressed men standing nearby. “You English are always saying things are secret when really it is that you resent having not been informed of something perfectly normal.”

  “All right, not secret,” Edmund said, amused. “Lesser-known, perhaps? I imagine ‘concealed’ has the same connotations.”

  “Yes. Just because Europeans do not see Shaping as the Incas do does not mean we have concealed from you.”

  “Very true.” Edmund squeezed Amaya’s hand gently. “But the men we are here to see will not understand that distinction. You will have to be direct with them.”

  “I do not believe I am ever less than direct with anyone.”

  “This is also true, and I am fond of you nonetheless.”

  Amaya shot him a sharp glance he returned with his blandest expression before smiling so affectionately it made her heart speed up.

  They passed the library where Amaya had spoken to Lord Sacheverell and kept going, deeper and deeper into the palace until Amaya was not certain she could find her way back. There were no windows, just dark-paneled, narrow corridors, some hung with more glowering portraits. The further they went, the fewer men they saw, until they were completely alone—and yet Amaya could hear the murmured voices of a large number of people quite near. She closed her hand more tightly on Edmund’s sleeve. She was not afraid, but she never enjoyed being at a disadvantage, and the place she was about to enter would put her at the greatest disadvantage she had ever experienced.

  They approached a door flanked by two guards, both dressed in a uniform Amaya had never seen before, who brought their weapons to the ready. Edmund stopped a short distance away, enough to make them feel less threatened, Amaya hoped. “Miss Imelda Salazar to address the House of Lords,” he said.

  The guards relaxed fractionally, but did not stand aside. Presently, a man dressed in formal knee breeches opened the door and bowed. “Please remain standing out of respect,” he said. “Speak when you are addressed. This is a most unusual situation, and one for which there is little precedent. No one not of this august body is normally permitted on the floor.” He spoke quietly but with force, as if he were communicating the most urgent message imaginable.

  Edmund nodded. Amaya regarded the man steadily and was reassured to see him blush. It made her feel as if she had some control over the situation. The man stood aside, and Edmund and Amaya entered the room.

  Amaya’s eyes automatically adjusted to the brightness that was a stark contrast to the narrow halls. Arched windows let in the summer sunlight, high enough above that no direct light fell on anyone in the vast chamber and bright enough that the several golden chandeliers did not need to be lit. Rows of benches lined three sides of the room, centered on a couple of large tables. The benches seemed surprisingly informal for the room, which for all its emptiness had ornate paintings covering its walls. An unoccupied chair beneath a canopy faced Amaya, and despite its relative simplicity, Amaya could not help seeing it as anything but a throne.

  Dozens of men clothed in red robes with wide white collars occupied the benches. Most of them were speaking quietly to one another, the source of the murmur, but a few noticed Amaya and Edmund and prodded their neighbors, discreetly pointing. Amaya’s discomfort increased. “What is it we do now?” she whispered.

  The man who had let them in had crossed to the first table and was whispering to someone who sat there. Amaya realized it was Lord Sacheverell. Her heart sank. The antagonistic lord was not likely to care about her proposition, and might make things difficult. She held her head high and surveyed the rest of the room. She had no control over Lord Sacheverell; she only had control of herself.

  “Miss Salazar, approach,” Lord Sacheverell said in a voice that cut across the other conversations and silenced them. Amaya walked forward between the benches until she stood beside Lord Sacheverell. “The War Office has asked that you be permitted to address us. I would like it stated for the record, Lord Mouldron, that I was opposed to granting audience to someone so patently inappropriate—a foreigner, a commoner, and a woman.”

  Another man seated at the table stood. “Your objection is noted. Miss Salazar, I hope you are not wasting our time. We have paused in other important deliberations to hear you today.”

  Amaya wished she had not agreed to this. The men’s smug, self-righteous, dismissive comments set her teeth on edge. She wondered if they would dare be this rude to Elinor, in the middle of this highly flammable room. She reminded herself that she was there for the sake of others and not just herself and refrained from shouting.

  “I thank you, my lords, for hearing me,” she said, as politely as she could manage. “I am here because you wish to make Extraordinary Shapers guilty of crimes they do not yet commit, and this is wrong.”

  “That accusation—” Lord Sacheverell shouted.

  “You do not have the floor, Lord Sacheverell,” the other man, Lord Mouldron, said. “Please do not make unfounded criticisms, Miss Salazar.”

  “I apologize, I do not mean a criticism.” That was a lie, but irrelevant. “What I mean to say is that you have decided Extraordinary Shapers are dangerous and you wish to protect people from their fears. I say this is wrong. You are English. You do not punish people before they are criminals. Extraordinary Shapers should be no different.”

  She paused, but no one else tried to interrupt with objections. Lord Sacheverell looked to be biding his time, though. “But it is as I say, that you are worried about fears and what ordinary people will do out of fear. I do not believe these fears will last. And there is a thing you can tell those people that will make them forget their fear.”

  She paused again. This had been Edmund’s suggestion. Finally, Lord Mouldron, who seemed to be in charge of deciding who should speak, said, “And what thing is that, Miss Salazar?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I know how to tell what talent a child will manifest.”

  She had not believed Edmund’s assertion that this would be dramatic, so she was startled when the room erupted into shouting and people standing and barraging her with questions. She said nothing, merely waited for the furor to die down and Lord Mouldron to say, “Miss Salazar, if this is a ruse to convince us not to act in the best interests of the country—”

  “No, it is a truth to convince you to see sense.” Amaya met his gaze fearlessly. “It is not perfect, because it must be done in the days immediately after birth, but it is completely accurate and easily taught to others. Other Extraordinary Shapers.” She leaned on this last phrase and saw the lord flinch.

  “Please, all of you, my lords, this is not a trade,” she continued. “You have forgot what it is that Extraordinary Shapers do. We save lives. We do not wish to kill unless we are evil, and an evil person will find a way to kill even if it is not with a touch. Please do not fear us. And do not teach others to fear.”

  The room was silent. Finally, Lord Mouldron said, “Miss Salazar, you are excused. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  That did not seem very promising. Amaya did not move. “My lord, what is your decision?”

  Lord Mouldron did not flinch this time. “You are not entitled to be present for our deliberations. But we will consider your words carefully. You may now withdraw.”

  Amaya felt Edmund at her elbow and
realized this was likely the best she could expect. She curtseyed, and she and Edmund left the room.

  They walked back through the halls to the exit in silence. Outside, birds sang, and the passing of hundreds of carriages made the streets hum, and the breeze carried with it the myriad smells of London. It made the over-warm chamber of the House of Lords seem like a room in a dream.

  Edmund hailed a hackney, and they rode in silence for a few moments, until finally Edmund said in Spanish, “It was well said. I believe they will change their minds.”

  “I hope so. It is terrible to live in fear.” Amaya played with her bonnet strings and sighed. “But what comes next is worse, for me, anyway.”

  “Dr. Macrae is a good woman, and will not eat you.”

  “No, but I dislike admitting to having been wrong as much as anyone, and if she gloats—but she will not gloat, I know.” She sighed again. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  “I believe I have said that I prefer your company to that of anyone else, regardless of the activity.” Edmund took her hand and squeezed it gently. “And soon enough, I will have your company all the days of my life.”

  The hackney let them off at a tall brick building Amaya found distasteful, and not just out of guilt at what it represented. She did not care for its flat façade, its unadorned roof and its many small windows. It looked angry, like an elderly woman whose feet pain her and who has let that pain sour her disposition. It was all an illusion, of course, and the building was no more terrible than any other institution of learning, but Amaya wondered now if some of her resistance to Dr. Macrae had been a reaction to knowing she would have to frequent this horrid building.

  Dr. Macrae waited for them in a small, neat office off the front door. It smelled of varnish, and rather strongly so, but Dr. Macrae gave no sign that it disturbed her. She was a tall woman, beautiful and well-formed as only a Shaper could be, with ruddy hair in smooth bands over her temples and a dark gown. She sat with her hands resting atop her desk, a vast ebony structure carved with fanciful leaves and flowers, and regarded Amaya calmly.

  Beside her sat a young woman—by English standards, little more than a girl, but she would be a woman amongst the Incas—who would not look at Amaya with more than shy glances. She was dressed in the same kind of dark gown Dr. Macrae wore, with a white long-sleeved apron over it. Curious, Amaya regarded her closely. She could imagine no reason for Dr. Macrae to bring someone with her for this interview.

  Dr. Macrae stood as they entered and offered her hand to Amaya. “Miss Salazar, it is good to see you,” she said. “Please introduce your companion.”

  “This is Mr. Edmund Hanley,” Amaya said. “He is to be my husband.”

  Dr. Macrae’s eyes widened. “Congratulations, then! I did not realize. Please, be seated. It is good to see you.”

  Amaya took a seat. “You know why I am here,” she said. “I have changed my mind. I wish to study medicine.”

  She closed one hand hard on the armrest, waiting for Dr. Macrae to say something exultant. But the doctor only raised an eyebrow and said, “May I ask what accounts for this change?”

  Amaya ignored her embarrassment and said, “I was foolish, and my lack of knowledge nearly killed someone I love. I still do not wish to be a doctor—I mean that it is not the job I desire. But I wish to have the knowledge of a doctor. I wish not to be afraid that I will hurt with my talent from my ignorance. I apologize for having been wrong.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Macrae said. “We will be proud to teach you, Miss Salazar. And—” She indicated the young woman sitting beside her. “I wish to introduce to you Miss Maria Neville. She is also an Extraordinary Shaper, and your cousin. She, too, is new to Norwood College, and I felt you might wish to have her companionship as you both learn.”

  Amaya gaped. “My cousin,” she said. “Mrs. Neville, she says I have cousins.”

  “There are several of us,” Miss Neville said quietly, still not looking at Amaya. “You will be welcome.”

  A family. Amaya looked at Edmund, who was smiling. “You will teach me,” she said to Dr. Macrae. “And there is an important thing I will need to teach you.”

  Chapter 31

  In which Amaya’s happy ending is what she makes of it

  The small chapel was stuffy, and too-warm from the many candles lighting its interior, but Amaya found it beautiful. It reminded her of her lost home, how its ancient stone fitted closely together, its narrow windows giving only glimpses of the outside world. High above, shadows clustered, not dispelled by the candlelight. She could almost imagine herself watched over by lost friends, and that comforted her, even though those friends would be as confused by this ceremony as she was.

  She did her best to pay attention, but the priest’s monotonous voice put strange emphases on certain words, and the subject matter was still alien to her despite her recent instruction in the Christian faith. There had been a day when she despaired of ever understanding this new religion, and had considered whether she dared swear oath to Edmund in his faith when she was not certain what it meant to her. Despondent, she had gone to Bess for counsel. “God is generous with our inadequacies,” Bess had said, “and He understands our hearts. That is what matters, in the end.”

  “I will,” she heard Edmund say, his clear voice ringing out over the priest’s sonorous drone. She looked at him, and was caught breathless at the way he looked back at her, his eyes alight, his voice more certain even than when he had been in the grip of Jennet’s Coercion. Her heart thumped painfully with excitement and joy, and she smiled, only half-hearing the rest of the priest’s words.

  “…in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  The unexpected silence as the priest stopped speaking startled Amaya out of her reverie. She ran back over his words in memory. Yes, Edmund had said she was expected to promise to obey him, though he did not have to swear to obey her in return. She met his eyes, raising an eyebrow, and was amused to see his smile falter. He did not know her as well as all that if he believed she would cavil at such a small promise. “I will,” she said, and Edmund’s look of utter relief made her wish to laugh. She trusted him, and that made obedience irrelevant.

  No, it was the next part that made Amaya uncomfortable, this giving her away as if she were a trophy or a possession. No one, not even the sagacious Bess, had been able to explain it in a way that satisfied Amaya, and in the end, Amaya had told the elderly priest there would be no one giving her away, and he was to omit that phrase. She had expected him to put up a fight at her objection, but he had merely smiled in a way that said he understood.

  She clasped Edmund’s hand as he spoke his vows, then took it a second time to repeat her own as the priest instructed. With his hand in hers, she could not help but be aware of his condition, of how his heart beat smoothly and in rhythm with hers, how his every sunqu was tuned to a perfect alertness. At home, had they been married the Inca way, their marriage would have been solemnized along with hundreds of others all married in the same year, in a glorious sharing of that ritual. This was beautiful in a different way, and every bit as glorious.

  She accepted the wedding ring as Edmund slipped it over her finger, then knelt as the priest droned out more words of which she heard only a few scattered phrases: “…may ever remain in perfect love and peace together…let no man put asunder…in holy wedlock…man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  This part was something she did understand, though it was nothing she had ever learned among her own people, this joining together of two as one, and although her understanding of the Christian God was still imperfect, she felt it spoke well of Him that He honored that joining in one of His most holy rituals.

  She listened more or less patiently to the remainder of the priest’s words, telling herself h
e was a good man even if his speech was boring, and rose at his dismissal, anxious to have Edmund all to herself finally.

  “Thank you,” she heard Edmund say to the priest, and she smiled absently at the man. To her surprise, the priest took her hand and made her look at him.

  “My dear,” he said, returning her smile, “your path has been an unusual one, and I would like to assure you that God knows the desires of your heart and honors them.”

  “He does?” Amaya felt unexpectedly irritated, as if the priest had said something presumptuous. Probably she should not feel so, as he did, after all, have the right to speak for his God, but Amaya did not as yet feel at home in this new faith, and the idea of God speaking to her, even indirectly, made her uncomfortable. The Sapa Inca would never have addressed her so informally.

  The priest nodded, as placidly as if he did not perceive her irritation. “I am a Seer as well as a priest,” he said, “and it is part of my calling to See what I may on behalf of those I marry. God does not bless us with Sight of the distant future, so I cannot tell you what your life holds past the next few days. But I have Seen you in a far land, surrounded by those to whom you owe loyalty of blood, and it is my judgment that you will not be happy until that Dream comes to pass.”

  Amaya’s face was hot with confusion and anger. She controlled a hasty response and said, “Thank you, Father, I will remember.”

  The priest’s smile deepened. “You do not like my interference. Very well. Your choices are your own, regardless of what I See. Go with God, my dear.” He released her and turned away.

  “He Saw you in Spain,” Edmund murmured.

  “I do not know why I resent his interference, but I do. Oh, Edmund, let us not speak of this now. This day is a happy one, and I would rather not dwell on unpleasant possibilities.”

  Edmund squeezed her hand, but said nothing more, and they turned to receive their friends’ happy wishes on their marriage.