And with that ominous pronouncement, she swept out of the courtyard.
CHAPTER 17
Oriana watched the ambassador leave, escorted by a servant. Her grandmother sat again, a signal for them all to do so, so Oriana complied, her mind still reeling.
They had discussed whether the Canaries themselves might be behind the plot that killed the prince of Northern Portugal—and Oriana’s mother—but hadn’t believed the idea viable since the Canaries were all held in the Unnaturals Prison in Lleida. The Americans, however, didn’t believe they were. That the Canaries might be acting outside the prison and the navy—twisting the minds of powerful men to suit their purposes—was worrisome. Especially since she didn’t know what their purposes were.
The question of Leandra Rocha’s execution was equally troublesome. What did Leandra Rocha do to deserve execution? Or had there been an execution at all?
Perhaps the alleged execution was instead a cover for the Spanish extracting a Canary spy from the islands. Someone within the ministry was working with them—of that they were certain—so it would have been a simple matter to arrange. They could disseminate the story of an execution to hide Leandra’s disappearance.
And if that was the case, how did that relate to her own attempted execution?
The ship that had come after her had fled to a Spanish port after the leviathan damaged it. Had they believed her a Canary agent? Would they have taken her to Spain? Or slit her throat and dumped her overboard when they discovered that she wasn’t a Canary?
“I like her,” Grandmother Monteiro pronounced, apparently speaking of Ambassador Norton. “She has promise.”
Oriana smiled at that faint praise. “She’s given us a name for our thief and the information that the Spanish embassy was involved, although possibly against their national interests. It seems definite that this Leandra Rocha is a Canary, working on their behalf rather than Spain’s . . . or the ministry’s.”
“It would explain why she didn’t take the journal back to Quitos,” Joaquim offered. “The Canaries must want it for leverage in future interactions.” He rubbed one hand over his face.
He’d probably not had a full night’s sleep, Oriana realized. And they’d already had this discussion a dozen times over the last few days, trying to force together pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Oriana knew from past investigations that the pieces would all make sense when looked at from the other end, but for now their questions simply led to more questions.
“Who is the boy, do you think?” Duilio asked abruptly, peering over her shoulder at the photograph on the table. “Her son?”
“He could be,” Oriana said. “He would have been born after she left here. Given that he’s webless, he had a human father. That would be more likely in Spain than here.”
Duilio picked up the photograph and handed it to Joaquim. “He’s important. Find him. You have a sense of him. He’ll lead you to her.”
Oriana recognized how he’d used that word—important. His gift often warned him of people who would be pivotal in his life. Apparently the boy was one of them.
Her grandmother held out a hand and Oriana went to help her rise. “Now, I know the four of you have plans to make. And I, I’m afraid, must find a diplomatic way to accuse my friend Lady Guerra of lying.”
That should prove a delicate matter, not only because of their friendship, but because if Oriana recalled correctly, Lady Guerra’s mate had come from the powerful Palmeira family on Quitos. The Inês Palmeira who’d been questioning others about Leandra could very well be their neighbor’s daughter.
* * *
In light of the ambassador’s revelations, Duilio dragged Joaquim to the main sitting room inside, hoping to have a private discussion. He wanted to be sure that Joaquim grasped the danger he faced in Spain. The male guards had suffered through three difficult months, giving Duilio ample experience as he watched them fend off the constant barrage of sereia magic on Quitos.
“I’ve got a box of wax earplugs I can give you,” he began as Joaquim settled in a chair across from him. “They’re more effective than cotton or wool. If you’re going up against the Canaries, you may have to wear them all the time. I’d work out some hand signals with Marina as well.”
Joaquim’s brow furrowed. “When we crossed the blockade at the edge of sereia waters, it didn’t bother me. João went crazy and his wife ended up tying him to the railing, but I didn’t react. I could feel the magic, Duilio, but it just slipped past me.”
Duilio pressed his lips together. He had a very good idea of what had happened.
“I’ve felt a call before, Duilio,” Joaquim added after a second. “I reacted then.”
He huffed out a breath. “Remember how the ambassador talked about a sereia using their call more subtly? There’s a way for a sereia to guard a human male against other sereia. They call it wrapping a hand around his heart.”
Joaquim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think Marina did that to me?”
“I cannot think of any other reason you wouldn’t react to the blockade.” Joaquim didn’t like magic, Duilio knew. He had an egalitarian turn of mind, and disliked anything that bestowed an unfair advantage, whether it was money, nobility, or magic. That Marina had evidently used her magic on him had to bother him. “On the plus side,” Duilio said, “you don’t have to wear earplugs the whole time you’re in Spain. You should be grateful to her. She was protecting you.”
Joaquim frowned. “She didn’t ask.”
Duilio crossed his arms over his chest. “When you planned to leave the Golden City, did you give her the option of coming with you?”
“Of course not. I don’t know how dangerous this will be. I don’t want her hurt.”
“You didn’t ask, though, did you? You were trying to protect her, and gave her no choice. How is that different?”
Flushing, Joaquim turned his head to gaze at a tapestry on the sitting room wall.
“You’re married to her,” Duilio said. “Trust that she has your best interests at heart.”
“I do,” Joaquim said with an aggrieved sigh.
“But you’re still annoyed.”
“Has Oriana ever done that to you?”
“No,” Duilio admitted, “but I’m half selkie, so I’m partially immune to the call of other sereia. You don’t have that advantage.”
Joaquim just shook his head.
Duilio rose and went to a desk near the door and dug out a handful of hand-pressed stationery and his fountain pen. “Very well. You should sail to Lisboa rather than home,” he began. “That will save you a day. The Sud Expresso travels from Lisboa to Madrid overnight, but not every day. I can’t remember which days. You’d best book into a hotel in case you have to stay overnight in Lisboa. I recommend the Hotel Avenida Palace. It’s new and clean and stands next to the train station in Lisboa’s downtown.”
Dragged out of his sulk by the need for information, Joaquim sat up. “I don’t have funds with me for a fancy hotel.”
“You’re listed on my account at the Bank of Portugal. Since this trip is to help Oriana and me, we should pay for it. I suggest making a large withdrawal while you’re in Lisboa, although that would mean staying until Monday night.” It was unlikely they would reach Lisboa until Saturday, or Sunday at the latest.
“Why am I on your account?” Joaquim asked.
Duilio patted his shoulder. “You’re my legal heir. Also, I’d hoped you would move into the house on the Street of Flowers. You’ll need access to those funds to keep the servants paid and the house repaired. It’s shocking how much a place like that costs to maintain.”
Joaquim blinked at him. “Your legal heir?”
Joaquim had been for years now; Duilio had simply never informed him. But he knew Joaquim would take care of his mother should anything happen to him. “If Oriana and I live here most of t
he time, that house will stand empty when Mother remarries, which is a waste.”
Joaquim rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I’ll consider it.”
Duilio knew better than to press Joaquim further, so they moved on to the fascinating topic of train schedules.
CHAPTER 18
FRIDAY, 24 APRIL 1903; ILHAS DAS SEREIAS
Duilio clapped one hand to Joaquim’s shoulder. “Be careful.”
The morning had dawned clear and cool, so Duilio wore a light coat over his pareu. He hadn’t painted his eyes, though, which made him look more like the Duilio that Joaquim knew. Together they stood next to the rowboat while Marina was exchanging farewells with her sister and grandmother up on the deck.
“Will we see each other anytime soon?” Joaquim asked.
Duilio closed his eyes, but then shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you that this would be a simple matter, but I’m not sanguine about that.”
Joaquim stole another glance at Marina. “I know I’ll get home. I know she’ll arrive there with me. I’ve dreamed of us together in too many instances that haven’t come true yet.”
They were simple things, dreams of the two of them walking in the park, dreams of dinner at the table in the Ferreira house. If other dreams had come true, surely those must as well. He clutched that idea to his heart, and Duilio didn’t argue. That was reassuring. And Felis hadn’t said he wouldn’t return; she’d only said it would be a difficult journey. He laid one hand over the pocket of his jacket that held the playing card Marina had brought him. He had to believe her presence would make everything bearable.
Joaquim waited for Marina to join him in the dory, and then they were on their way, Duilio growing smaller on the beach with each stroke of the oars.
* * *
Lady Guerra was welcoming enough, but Oriana could immediately see the older woman was nervous at this second visit. Given the grim set of her jaw, she was prepared for a fight. She cupped her hands together as if afraid to sign anything, as if she might let something slip.
Oriana had become accustomed to other officials behaving in that manner back in the capital, but she didn’t like to think of a potential neighbor that way. And once she came to live here, the lady would be her neighbor. The Guerra family had owned a house here on Cartas Bay as long as the Monteiro family had.
The lady bade them settle in a sitting room rather than her courtyard, a welcome choice given the chill in the air that hinted rain would be coming later. Like in the Monteiro household, the furnishings of the sitting room were made of dark wood, carved in a martial spearhead design. The crest of the Guerra family hung on one white wall, a tapestry of bright colors against blue: two warriors, each clutching a spear in her webbed hands. It was a reminder of a long-past time when the fear of invasion meant that armed sereia watched every beach.
“Have you found the child who stole into your house?” the lady began as she sat, trying to steer the conversation where she wanted.
Grandmother Monteiro nodded. “We’re tracking him down even now,” she said. “Your information was very helpful to us.”
“One of the effects of increasing age,” the lady said. “I wake in the early hours and cannot sleep. I wouldn’t have seen the boy otherwise.”
The woman fell two decades short of her grandmother’s age. “Or the woman who joined him?” Oriana asked.
“No,” Lady Guerra said. “It was dawn when I saw her with him. They headed toward the harbor.”
“Did you actually see them yourself?” Oriana asked. “Or was it someone else within your household?”
The lady paused just a second too long. “Why would I say that I saw them if I did not?”
That was not an answer.
“Your daughter lives on Quitos, I think,” Grandmother Monteiro inserted. “Inês, is it not?”
A rhetorical question—her grandmother knew everything about all her neighbors. Oriana sat back in her chair and let her grandmother take control, mulling over her memories of Lady Guerra’s daughter.
Inês was close to Marina in age. The two had been friends growing up, living on the same beach as they did. Oriana recalled the younger woman as headstrong and clever, always leading Marina into one kind of trouble or another. But she’d always taken responsibility for her odd starts and had never betrayed Marina. It had been years since Oriana had seen Inês, not since her father’s exile ten years ago. The girl would be twenty-three or -four by now, grown up. But if she lived on Quitos, she wouldn’t have been on Amado when Costa disappeared, would she?
“I thought she went to live with her cousin’s family there,” Grandmother said. “Where does she work now?”
Lady Guerra shook her head. “I do not know. Since her cousin’s death, she hasn’t been the same.”
“I didn’t know,” Oriana said, trying to recall if she’d met that cousin. “What happened?”
Lady Guerra shifted uncomfortably. “It’s hard to get details here, but three years ago Safira was accused of treason. Inês refused to believe it. It has made her difficult, capricious. I often do not know what to think of what she does. She cannot seem to hold a position anywhere now, and . . .” She laid her hands over her face, bowing forward.
Oriana’s mouth had gone dry. She wanted to shake Lady Guerra until she told her everything. How did Duilio manage to talk all the way around an issue that concerned him without losing his temper? Trying to think the way he would, Oriana forced herself to sit still, focus on the matter at hand, and wait for her grandmother to deal with the woman.
Grandmother Monteiro crossed to Lady Guerra’s side and laid one hand on her shoulder. “Inês is young. The young make foolhardy decisions.”
Lady Guerra laid her hands in her lap and raised her eyes. “Yes, they do. I do not know what she’s involved herself in. Inês would not tell me. She feared for my safety. But that woman slept in our outer court that night, and the next morning I saw her leaving with the boy.”
“What about the young man? The Portuguese? Was he here as well?”
Lady Guerra exhaled deeply, eyes closing. “I did not know he was here, not until this morning. It is my own disgrace that I deceived you, but that part was done unknowing.”
Was here meant Costa was gone now. Oriana bit down her frustration.
“And where did they go?” Grandmother said patiently.
“I do not know,” Lady Guerra repeated. “I could not believe Inês had done such a thing, stealing a male from another household. It was bad enough that she told me I must lie about the woman who came here, but then to discover she’d stolen a male without his mother’s consent or yours. We argued, bitterly. In the end, she left, taking him with her.”
And Costa had sat meekly by as all this happened?
“Did you speak with him?” Oriana asked.
“Young Julio? Yes,” the lady said. “He said he had no choice, that he was to be sent back to Portugal soon, and Inês would not let him go.”
Lieutenant Costa was so firmly Lieutenant Costa in Oriana’s mind that it seemed bizarre to hear him referred to by his given name. Here on the islands males were customarily addressed so. Costa would have to become accustomed to that.
But if he’d been presented to Lady Guerra as Inês’ mate—which appeared to be the case—then that made his status as such legally binding. Inês now determined where he went and what he would do. Oriana tapped her nails on the arm of the chair she occupied, frustrated with both of them and their terrible timing in their flight.
“Lady Guerra,” she began, “Costa . . . uh, Julio . . . was in a position of responsibility within our embassy. By going with Inês, he has failed his family. He will be treated as a deserter. If we can find them, he might still be able to quit the position in an honorable fashion and preserve his mother’s good name.” She hoped they could arrange that. It would also help p
reserve the standing of the entire guard contingent. “Do you have any idea where they went? Perhaps to your mountain house?”
For a moment, Lady Guerra sat still, her chin firm. “If it would spare his mother, I would gladly tell you, but I do not know.”
“May we visit your mountain house to determine if they’re there?”
The lady rose and sent for one of her servants. “I will give you a key. And if you find them there, bring them back.”
That was the least of what Oriana planned to do to them. She waited until her grandmother and the lady exchanged information about the mountain house and then, after the servant brought the keys, parting pleasantries. Her teeth on edge, Oriana paused as they were leaving. She asked the question, even though she felt sure of the answer. “Tell me, what happened to Inês’ cousin Safira?”
Lady Guerra’s chin quivered. “She was executed, left to die on one of the Ilhas de Morte.”
CHAPTER 19
SATURDAY, 25 APRIL 1903; LISBOA
They dropped anchor off Cascais, and once Joaquim had everything loaded onto the dory, Marina climbed down. He and João began rowing toward the stretch of sandy shore.
Marina smiled at Joaquim when he caught her eye. She wasn’t wearing a hat, and the wind had teased one strand of hair loose from her bun, but her face glowed with pleasure, which he was glad to see.
The trip from the islands back to Portugal had been far easier than their outward voyage. The sun had been warmer, and Marina had spent most of her time talking with him. This time they’d talked about important things rather than simply passing the time. They had discussed his gift of finding, along with his minimal talent as a seer. She’d told him more about her childhood and her family. His worry that he didn’t know her had faded, replaced now with the strange realization that getting to know his wife would be an adventure.
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