Chapter Twelve
“Patricio, are you listening to me?”
Patricio flinched away from the window, tensing as he tore his gaze away from the sea, barely visible to the left from this window of the castle. He cursed himself as he met Emiliana’s gaze, knowing that his guilt was written across his face, and in every line of his body. Marcela was gone. If he had a lick of sense, he would put her out of his mind and start repairing the damage he’d done to the tentative peace between himself and the petite brunette sitting on the love seat in front of him. He forced what he hoped was a contrite smile onto his face.
She didn’t look pleased. Her hands were so still in her lap they could have been carved from marble, and her back was ramrod straight. Her brown eyes glistened as she watched him and he stifled a groan. Please don’t start crying again.
“Lady Emiliana, please forgive my rudeness. I’m afraid I’m just a little distracted after today’s events.”
“Why won’t you call me Emiliana?”
Patricio frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t pretend it’s only good manners,” Emiliana continued. “I’ve asked you on countless occasions to use my first name only, I’ve told you again and again that it is perfectly natural for courting couples to drop the formal use of titles when they’re alone together. And yet you continue to refer to me in the same manner you would if I was a complete stranger.” Her voice wavered. “Do you like me at all, Patricio?”
Oh, gods, no, she’s going to start sobbing any moment. Patricio shifted helplessly, trying to think of some way to calm Emiliana without placing himself in a compromising position. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings,” he started. “I suppose I’m more comfortable with formalities.”
“You had no trouble calling Marcela by her first name.”
Unease crept up Patricio’s spine. Emiliana kept her gaze in her lap, but there was a strain in her voice that hadn’t been there earlier. Yesterday Patricio might have written it off as high emotions, but now that he’d had a glimpse past the bubbly, innocent society maiden and seen the calculating noblewoman beneath, Patricio suspected that she was actually growing angry. That was not good.
“Marcela has a more daunting title than me—a princess, not merely a lady,” Emiliana continued, still looking down at her lap. “And yet she was ‘Marcela’ to you. You let her stay in your palace, you strolled with her through the village, you carried her in your arms.”
Her words brought a rush of memories, and without meaning to, Patricio turned and looked out the window. A sharp cry jerked his attention back to Emiliana and he found her with her face buried in a handkerchief, crying.
“Am I so awful that you’ll drive a wedge between our families to avoid marrying me?” she sobbed.
Zeus, strike me down now. “Lady Emiliana,” Patricio started awkwardly. He stepped closer to the loveseat. A strange bittersweet scent tickled his nose and he looked around for a moment, wondering where it was coming from. It was the same scent he’d caught earlier in the village. Emiliana sniffed and Patricio turned back to her. His brain felt a little fuzzy and he had to blink to concentrate. “Emiliana, please don’t cry. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, and you could have your pick of any man in this kingdom. I would make a horrible husband, you must believe that.”
Emiliana shook her head, still hiding her eyes in her handkerchief. Patricio closed his eyes and sighed. This was it. He’d pretended for as long as he could, but right or wrong, he couldn’t pretend anymore. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to marry Emiliana, it was that meeting Marcela, spending time with her, had forced him to realize that he might actually want to marry someone else. A very specific someone else.
Marcela’s laughter echoed in his ears, reminding him of the utter joy on her face when he’d flown her out over the waves. He thought of the way she’d danced in the village, the grace and beauty that had flowed from every move, every step. Pain tightened his chest. He’d let her leave. His chances with her may be over, but the damage was done. He opened his eyes and caught Emiliana peeking at him over her handkerchief. She blinked, sending a fresh wave of tears down her cheeks. The perfect picture of heartbreak.
“Patricio,” she said weakly, cutting him off. “I’m going to go powder my nose. I’ve made such a fool of myself, I’m so sorry. I’m sure after I return, I’ll be better company and we can talk.”
Frustration tightened the skin around his eyes as she rose from the couch in a rustle of white lace and blue silk. Now that he’d decided to come clean with Emiliana, he wanted to do it as soon as possible, get it over with. The king might be distressed, but he would get over it. Patricio rubbed a hand over his face. The curse would see to that.
When Emiliana finally vanished from the room, Patricio strode back to the window. From his vantage point, he could see the front gates and the winding road that led to the palace doors. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life looking out at the water hoping for some sign of the mermaid.
If she feels the same way, she might be near the shore outside your window.
The traitorous little voice in his head distracted him, had him itching to leap out the window and fly down to the shore. Perhaps…
“Your Highness?”
Patricio turned at the sound of a man’s voice behind him. A servant stood at the door, waiting. Patricio gestured with his hand. “Speak, please.”
“There are two ladies here to see you, Your Highness,” the man announced, straightening his spine as he did so.
“Two ladies?”
“Yes. One of them I believe is the young lady whose company we had the pleasure of—”
“One of them is a mermaid?” Patricio’s eyebrows shot up.
The butler paused, frowning. “No, Your Highness. They are both quite, er, human.” Shaking his head, the butler attempted to regain his composure. “She is with an older woman from the village, a Senora Benita.”
Patricio’s mind whirled as he strode toward the door. This didn’t make sense. Marcela was back in the sea, she was a mermaid again. Emiliana had told him how overjoyed Marcela had been to return home, how she’d vanished beneath the waves with barely a goodbye.
He brushed past the servant, then paused. He faced the man, taking care not to hit him with his wings. “Thank you.”
The butler’s lips parted slightly and for a moment he gaped at Patricio. Then he recovered himself. “You’re welcome, Your Majesty, of course.”
Patricio nodded, a tightness he hadn’t realized was there loosening in his chest. He had the random odd thought that he wished Marcela had been there to see that moment, then immediately rolled his eyes. What did it say about him that not being rude to a servant was something so noteworthy that he wanted to use it to impress a woman?
His feathers ruffled as he hurried down the corridor, making his way to the front door. Marcela was here, and she was human. How could that be possible? Had Emiliana’s potion worn off, had the magic not been strong enough to keep Marcela in her true form? His heart seized as he pictured Marcela deep in the sea, suddenly becoming human again. She could have drown.
Or had Marcela changed back on purpose? Had she found some way to return to her human form, perhaps after changing her mind? Maybe…
He burst into the grand foyer of the palace, freezing when he saw Marcela.
She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered her. Instead of the fine gown she’d left in, she was wearing a peasant blouse and flowing red cotton skirt. The simple material hugged her curves, and the nerves in his hands danced with the memory of what that body had felt like in his arms. She turned to him as the older woman at her side continued conversing with the guard. Patricio tilted his head as the woman pressed what looked like a dinner roll into the guard’s hand. The guard looked baffled, but the woman just closed his hand around the bread and reached into her picnic basket again. He shook his head and turned to the object of his desire.
“Marce
la?” he breathed.
Marcela stepped toward him and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to take her hands, draw her close to him. The scent of the sea, salty and wild, tickled his nose and he leaned down, inhaling deeply.
“Well, my dear, it appears you’re in good hands.”
Patricio and Marcela both turned to the older woman who was smiling in an all too knowing way. Her brown eyes shone as she eyed Patricio.
“You’ll take good care of her, won’t you, Your Highness?”
“Benita,” Marcela chuckled. “I will be fine. I promise. Thank you for all of your help.”
“Not at all. You come to me any time you have need, Marcela, you’re always welcome.”
She left and Patricio drew Marcela farther into the castle, heading for one of the sitting rooms off the main entrance. He blinked at her, hardly believing she was really there.
“Marcela… I thought you returned to the sea?”
Like a candle flame extinguished by a harsh breath, the light left Marcela’s face. Her smile fell away, dragged down by the corners of her mouth. The bright green of her eyes darkened to an ominous jade clouded by grey.
“Oh, I returned to the sea all right,” Marcela bit out. “Emiliana tricked me. The potion was a fake. She left me to drown.”
“Patricio, she is lying!”
Emiliana’s voice screeched through the room like an angry hawk and Patricio tore his gaze toward the doorway. Emiliana stood there pale and trembling, pointing an accusing finger at Marcela.
“I am not lying,” Marcela snarled. “I screamed to you for help and you turned your back on me. You left me to die.”
“Oh, Patricio, tell me you don’t believe these horrible things she’s saying about me,” Emiliana cried. “I was only trying to help. I thought the potion worked.”
“She’s lying.” Marcela stepped toward Emiliana, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “She thinks I’m a threat to her plans to marry you and she wanted me out of the way. She’s a witch, she used some sort of glamour on me.”
Witch? Patricio gaped at Emiliana as if she would suddenly age and wither before his eyes into the old crone who lived in the woods. He opened his mouth, but Emiliana cut him off.
“Patricio! Is that true? Is she a threat to our marriage?” Emiliana ripped a fresh handkerchief out of her sleeve and pressed it to her face. “Are you going to betray me for this…this sirena?” She bit her lip, eyes glittering with tears.
Patricio fought the childish urge to put his hands over his ears to give himself a quiet second to think. Emiliana had always been emotional, but this was over the top even for her. He’d never seen the woman so worked up—or cry so many times in such a short while. It made her seem younger, more…vulnerable. He put a hand to his head, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. The same acerbic scent he’d been encountering all day was tickling his nose again.
“I tried to help her, Patricio.” Emiliana swiped at her tears with her handkerchief, blue eyes glittering over the silken cloth. Almost glowing.
“You can’t believe her?” Marcela’s voice, already strained from her emotional outburst, grew quieter, a soft rasp. “Say something.”
He did believe Emiliana. Dread curled in the pit of Patricio’s stomach, sending tendrils of nausea to wrap around his throat like a nest of serpents. “Marcela, if Lady Emiliana had tried to kill you, I…” I would have been tempted to drink from her. “I would know.”
“You don’t believe me.” Marcela took a step back, shaking her head. “No. You told me you could see sins, that you could read people’s souls. Isn’t that what you said about my brother? That you could see his sins, see the blackness of his soul? Isn’t that why you were so sure of his crimes that you killed him?”
Patricio raised a hand toward Marcela without meaning to and immediately dropped it. Desperation took hold of him and he turned to Emiliana, looking past her physical being, forcing his metaphysical vision to open and show him her soul. He inhaled deeply at the same time, searching for some hint of sin, some trickle of the sweet temptation that a sin as black as attempted murder should bring.
Her soul glowed at him from inside her, slightly greyer than it had been earlier. He peered harder as if that would make her soul darken to support Marcela’s accusation. It was definitely darker, more the color of smoke than the silvery sheen it had been earlier, but that sort of coloration was more often caused by minor sins such as selfishness, greed, or any other number of less admirable qualities that nevertheless did not mean a great deal on the grand scale of things. Emiliana was not a model subject, but she wasn’t a murderess.
He turned back to Marcela, despair pulling his wings down and forcing his shoulders to droop. A moment ago he’d been so happy to see her, so relieved that he was being given a second chance. Now…
Something must have shown on his face because Marcela jerked back as if he’d slapped her.
“There is no blackness on Emiliana’s soul.” The words caught in his throat, but he forced them out. He knew better than anyone that sometimes the truth hurt, but he wouldn’t lie to Marcela, not even to save her feelings. She deserved better than that. “Marcela, if you didn’t really want to go back to the sea—”
“You think I’m making it up as an excuse to come back to you?” Marcela gaped at him. Her eyes shone a little too bright and her hands trembled as she clutched at her skirt.
“Oh, Marcela, is that why you’ve accused me of such a horrible thing?” Emiliana cried out. “Are you trying to turn Patricio against me so that he’ll break his promise to me and marry you instead?” Promptly she burst into more tears, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, Marcela, how could you? After I tried to help you!”
The tension that had drawn his shoulders up when Emiliana’s piercing voice had thrust between him and Marcela stuttered as the scent of Emiliana’s tears tickled his nose. Patricio faced Marcela, his heart pounding. “Is that true? Marcela—”
“I cannot believe you!”
Rage shone from Marcela’s eyes, making them appear as silver as the tips of the waves crashing on the shore. They were lit from within, practically sparking as they bored into him. Her skin paled, not the beautiful cream color of a seashell, but the grayish pallor of moonlight on a storm-tossed sea. She was beautiful even in her fury, and he couldn’t deny that some small part of him wanted what Emiliana said to be true. Wanted to believe that Marcela wanted to be with him so much that she’d lie to get him. To stay with him.
“That curse must be the most powerful magic in the kingdom,” Marcela bit out. “To make me feel anything but disdain for a man as blind and foolish as you. To think that it’s your judgment alone that condemns people to death—that condemned my brother to death. You can’t see sin right in front of your face, but you swing your sword into the flesh of your victims with such certainty. Perhaps it’s not the vengeance that you crave, Your Highness. Perhaps you just enjoy killing.”
Patricio’s heart seized and all the air left his lungs at once. In a flash he was back on the ship, his body buffeted by the wind and rain as he brought his sword down across Gaspar’s neck, the magic blade slicing through skin, muscles, and bone, carving his sins into his flesh and drinking the blackness from his soul. The sweet, sickly flavor teased his taste buds with the memory and his blood heated with adrenaline even as a cold sweat broke out on his skin.
Marcela had been there, had seen what he’d done. Gods forgive him, she’d seen him do everything but howl his pleasure to the sky. Pleasure at killing her brother, reveling in the taste of his sin as he thrust the corpse from the ship. Now in the memory he could see Marcela’s face. She stared at him like he was something out of her worst nightmare, a monster salivating over the body of her loved one. For pleasure. He didn’t realize he was shaking his head until Marcela sneered at him.
“It turns you on remembering it doesn’t it? What did it really feel like to kill my brother, oh righteous one?” She snorted. “To
think I bought all of that drivel you threw at me, all that talk of duty and justice and doing what was right. You can’t see sin at all, can you? That’s only an excuse for your bloodlust.”
“How dare you speak to him like that!” Emiliana shrieked. “Patricio is not some sort of vampire! He is an angel, a spirit of justice. He makes this kingdom safe from the wretched likes of evil men like your brother.”
“You know as well as I do that if he could really see sin on people’s souls, you’d be a bloody stain on the floor right now.” Marcela fisted her hands in her skirt as if fighting not to wrap her fingers around her neck.
Emiliana’s hand flew to her throat. “Why do you tell such lies? It is your soul that should be black, not mine!”
Marcela ignored her, turning her full ire to Patricio again. “You lied to me. I was a fool to believe you.”
Divine Scales Page 16
