The Seat of Magic

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Monteiro settled his hat on his head more firmly. “It would have been equally difficult if they were human. But the family would not have known your sympathies or those of Mr. Tavares, and so it would have taken much longer. You do smell, by the way.”

  Monteiro didn’t mean the normal perspiration that chasing all over the city would have engendered—he surely meant the musk. “Yes,” Duilio admitted, “most people mistake it for cologne. Your daughter did, as well, at first.”

  “I don’t know exactly what that legendary charm consists of,” Monteiro said, stepping to one side to let a pair of women garbed like factory workers pass them. “However, I suspect smell plays a part in it.”

  “I don’t know the answer myself,” Duilio admitted. “My half brother simply looks at women and they fall all over themselves.”

  “Have you tried to charm my daughter?”

  “I have never tried to charm anyone,” Duilio said. “Not by anything other than good manners and attentiveness.”

  Monteiro walked on for a moment. “Have you heard her call?”

  Duilio looked ahead, trying to count how many more blocks there were until they reached the right building. Two? Three? Please let it be two. “I have, sir, although I should tell you that due to my bloodlines, I am not as susceptible to her voice as other men.”

  “But that’s why you’re interested in her, is it not?”

  Of all the things he didn’t need to discuss with Monteiro, the chief one was his relationship with Oriana. “My interest in her predates that incident, sir.”

  “Ah,” Monteiro said.

  And because Duilio wanted to make certain the man didn’t make any further false assumptions about his daughter or her relationship with him, he said, “And she is not my lover, no matter what you may think.”

  Monteiro stopped on the cobbles and faced him. “Why tell me that?”

  Duilio refused to flinch under Monteiro’s anger. “Because in our first meeting in your office, you suggested to her that you believed that.”

  “And you don’t want anyone to associate the two of you?” Monteiro’s tone sounded bitter.

  Duilio forced a smile, hoping that would emphasize his good intentions. “That’s not my reasoning. I don’t want you to think poorly of her. I admire her more than I can say. I suspect she finds it painful that her own father does not share that admiration.”

  Monteiro’s jaw clenched. “You’re very good at rudeness cloaked in fine words.”

  “Simple truth. In normal circumstances,” Duilio said, “I would walk away from this discussion, but my mother asked me not to.”

  “A dutiful son as well,” Monteiro said with a shake of his head. “Oriana and I are both too hot tempered for our own good. We always say things we don’t mean.”

  And at that Duilio felt a real smile tugging at his lips. He had, on first acquaintance, thought Oriana Paredes cool and emotionless. It was only after he’d known her for a time that her true emotions had begun to show. They crossed Taipas Street, now within sight of the door to Marina’s building.

  “So what exactly are your intentions toward my daughter?” Monteiro snapped as if he’d been holding back that question all afternoon.

  Duilio opened the door of the building, which revealed a narrow stairwell. “Sir, whatever my intentions toward her, I suspect that if I discuss them with you, she will kill me.”

  Monteiro went on inside. “You know her well, then.”

  They were admitted to the younger sister’s rented rooms—a feminine and frilly place that would not suit Oriana at all. And after a round of pleasantries, Duilio extended an invitation for Monteiro and daughter to come visit the Ferreira household, perhaps for dinner some evening. It might set the man’s mind at ease and satisfy Marina’s all-too-blatant curiosity about Oriana’s situation there. But having seen Oriana’s face, he quickly excused himself to the younger woman, claiming they had to leave.

  “You look tired,” he said once they were on the street, Oriana’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

  “She wears me out.” Oriana wore a sheepish look when admitting that. “I’d forgotten how quickly. If you please, tell me what happened with the family.”

  So he spent the remainder of the walk back to the house going over his afternoon with Joaquim and her father, which she wryly noted might have been easier on her nerves.

  * * *

  They arrived back at the Ferreira house in time to change for dinner, so Oriana let Teresa dress her like a doll in a new rose-colored silk gown with a high-collared infill in white that would hide her throat. Teresa arranged her hair into a simple knot, produced a pair of silver earrings with opal drops, and then began to apply powder to Oriana’s bruised cheek.

  Marina would love this—being treated like a lady, dressed in fine human garments with pretty jewelry that sparkled. Marina would probably be content to live the rest of her life among humans here in the Golden City. She’d always been a retiring girl, never taking the lead in anything. The way women were sheltered in this country must suit her far better. How would her own life have been different if she’d listened to Marina’s childish urgings and run away with her to find their father after his exile? Would she have a little flat in the city, work at their father’s business, and think nothing was more important than finding a mate?

  That was unfair, Oriana thought ruefully.

  Marina had found the nerve to go alone and find passage on an unfamiliar ship to Northern Portugal. She’d managed to find Father, all on her own. No matter how immature Marina might seem, three years ago she’d had the courage to step off the safe path and make her own destiny. At the same time, Oriana had let herself be entangled further and further in her aunts’ web of responsibility and propriety and service. Of the two of them, Marina had more control over her own life. That makes me the fool, doesn’t it?

  “Will that do, Miss Paredes?” Teresa asked brightly as she placed the powder puff back in its tin.

  Oriana gazed at her reflection. Teresa had done a good job making her look like a human lady, whether or not that was what she wanted to be. “Yes. Thank you, Teresa.”

  The girl bobbed her head, collected the clothes Oriana had worn that afternoon, and let herself out of the bedroom.

  What exactly do I want? Oriana peered at her reflection, the bruise on her cheek hidden by powder. The split lip had almost healed. She took a deep breath.

  I want to find out whoever killed Felipa Reyna and stop them. I want to keep Marina safe from them forever. She had helped find Isabel’s killers; she could do this. Fortunately, Duilio didn’t believe in coddling females and protecting them from the truth. He wouldn’t cut her out of the investigation.

  I want to find out who sentenced me to death, she added. I want to be able to go home. She suspected that Maria Melo had been behind that, although she wasn’t sure why. She’d done everything the spy had asked of her, intentionally or not. So in truth, she wanted to know why she’d been sacrificed a second time.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I want Duilio Ferreira.

  When she’d been held on that boat, she’d decided she would return to the Golden City eventually to court him. But that had been a dream. Faced with the reality of being back in the city, in his house, all the impracticalities of that idea had come back to her. She was an imposter here in his world . . . and he would never fit in hers.

  A knock sounded at her bedroom door, Duilio come to escort her down to dinner. Gathering her nerve, she went to meet him at the door. When she opened it, his eyes surveyed her new outfit and he smiled. “I think that color suits you, Oriana.”

  She thanked him, feeling warmth spreading through her body under his regard. He walked next to her down the stairs, exchanging pleasantries as if they did this every day. Or as if they would do it every day. So she smiled at him and played along. His mo
ther was already waiting in the sitting room, and they all went in to dinner together.

  Over the meal he apprised his mother of their activities that day, leaving out the more gruesome parts regarding Felipa Reyna’s death, probably out of deference to the venue rather than fear of oversetting his mother. Eventually the lady got around to questioning Oriana about her sister, Marina’s unexpected acquaintance with Joaquim Tavares, and asked Duilio some rather pointed questions about the inspector’s behavior toward Marina. As she was Joaquim’s foster mother, Oriana didn’t find that curiosity surprising.

  After dinner, they retired to the sitting room, but Lady Ferreira quickly excused herself, leaving Oriana alone with Duilio again.

  “You look ready to run away,” Duilio said softly.

  She didn’t know where to start. She should warn him that she’d probably said too much. Marina would doubtless repeat things to Father, who might come to Duilio with expectations that Duilio had never meant to raise. “It’s been a difficult day.”

  Duilio came and sat in the spot his mother had abandoned. “It would be nice if everything were simple. Unfortunately, not much in my life seems to be.”

  She gazed down at her hands. “Marina asked me a lot of questions about you, which I may not have answered as clearly as I should have. She may give Father the wrong impression.”

  “What impression might that be?” Duilio said.

  Do I have to say it aloud? “You know what I mean.”

  “That I’m courting you?” Duilio asked. “He already has that impression. He asked me this afternoon what my intentions were.”

  Oriana looked up at him, horrified. “He what?”

  “And I told him that if I discussed my intentions with him, you would kill me,” Duilio said blithely. “Although it’s equally possible you might kill him instead.”

  Oriana felt cold seeping through her, rooting her to that spot on the sofa. What intentions did he have?

  He moved closer until he sat next to her on the sofa. His sympathetic eyes stayed on hers. “I admire him a great deal, Oriana. But it truly isn’t your father’s concern what our relationship is. We’re both adults.”

  Ah, she understood then. Duilio hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he wanted her, even if he’d backed away to give her more time. That was a relationship she could accept. She could be his lover, which was as close as she could get to taking him as her mate.

  For a moment he stared into her eyes. Then he was leaning toward her. His lips met hers, warm and firm. Oriana didn’t want him to pull away, so she slid one hand around his neck. She felt him smile against her lips.

  Ah gods, I like this. No, I love being in his arms. Surely this would be worth all the pain farther down the line.

  He pulled away too soon, far enough to lean his forehead against hers. “You have become very precious to me.”

  Oriana took a shaky breath, catching his scent in her gills. His warmth was all about her. He expected her to say something, but nothing would come out of her mouth. Frustrated, she let him go and sat back. She didn’t know what face to let him see now. Surely everything she felt showed on her features anyway, a helpless and terrifying thought.

  Duilio wiped a tear from her cheek. “This is frightening for you, isn’t it?”

  Oh, such deadly accuracy. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. Oriana nodded mutely after a second, unable to put words to her fears—her fear that he wouldn’t understand what she offered him, or even worse, that he would spurn it. No, he wouldn’t do that. She was certain he wanted her.

  “It’s like diving off a cliff,” he said. “Not so bad once you’re in the air, but that moment when you jump is truly terrifying.”

  Now he’s resorting to nonsensical analogies. “What?”

  He took her hands again. “When you dive, you’re going on faith that there won’t be rocks under the water, that there will be enough depth for you to swim away. And that moment before you jump, you’re weighing the possibilities and you’re afraid because there’s a chance you’re about to do something supremely stupid. But once you’ve jumped, you enjoy the fall because the decision is already made.”

  Oriana laughed wetly. “So the hard part is the decision, not the leap itself?”

  “Of course. Once you know where you’re going, you just go.”

  She licked her lips. Talking was so easy for him, whereas she had never possessed a silver tongue. He waited for her to speak, but she could only stare at him helplessly.

  Duilio stroked back a loosened lock of her hair, his expression serious. “I would like for you to marry me.”

  What? Oriana sat back, suddenly unable to catch her breath. He wasn’t supposed to ask her that. He wasn’t supposed to . . .

  She managed to inhale. “What?” she squeaked.

  He grasped her hands firmly as if afraid she would run away. “I would like for you to marry me,” he repeated. “I don’t know if marriage is the same among your people as ours, but I do want to marry you.”

  “You can’t,” she blurted out.

  His expression stayed calm. “Why not?”

  She dragged her hands free of his. This wasn’t what she’d planned. Not at all. She was supposed to court him, not the other way around. “It’s illegal, for one.”

  “That didn’t stop my mother and my father.”

  Oriana sat as far away from him as she could. “It wasn’t illegal when they married. And your mother can pass for human.” She held up her hands, fingers wide to display their webbing. “I can’t.”

  “You lived in the city for two years before you came here,” he pointed out.

  “Do you want me to spend the rest of my life hiding what I am? Do you want me to be like Marina?”

  “No,” he said. “There are other cities. Cities where it’s not illegal for us to marry. London, Edinburgh, Paris. We could go to one of them. And the prince won’t live forever.”

  He’s definitely been giving this some thought. Even so, they were all human cities. She shook her head. “You would be shunned if you were involved with me. A gentleman doesn’t marry his mother’s companion.”

  “I don’t care about society’s opinion,” he said.

  It was a foolish argument anyway, given the example of her father and his wife. Lady Pereira de Santos, the daughter of a duke, had married a commoner. Duilio, the son of a mere cavaleiro, had far shorter a distance to fall. Her hands started to tremble. She pressed the heels of them against her eyes, trying to quell the urge to sob. She had cried more in this past week than she had in years. It seemed the only response she had left in her any longer, and she hated that.

  Duilio’s arms came around her. He folded her close to him, her head tucked against his shoulder. “I have no words for what this is between us,” he said softly. “I am amazed you so perfectly match my heart’s desires, but you do.”

  Amazed was the word that came to her mind as well. Whatever lay between her and Duilio, it made no sense. If this was love, it was a terribly confusing and uncomfortable place to be.

  “I am willing,” she mumbled against his coat, “if you want me.” She couldn’t look at him when she said that. She had never thought she would say that. Never.

  He stayed silent for a long time, though, and she finally forced herself to look up at him. His expression hinted something akin to frustration. “Oriana,” he said, “I want more than being your lover. I want you as my wife. I don’t want . . .”

  Why can’t he see he’s making this more difficult? She jumped up and stamped her foot on the floor. “Why does it have to be your way?”

  He rose, a rare mulish expression coming over his face. For a second she thought he was going to yell at her in return. His lips were pressed together, holding something in. And when she decided he wasn’t going to say it, she swept past him and out of the sitting room, trying to
keep her head high and the tears from her eyes.

  * * *

  Duilio stayed in the sitting room long after Oriana had fled back to her own room, trying to place exactly what had gone wrong. He’d never before asked a woman to marry him. Of course, after careful consideration, he realized he’d failed to do so this time. He’d informed her that he wanted to marry her, rather than actually asking.

  In turn, after throwing up a handful of ridiculous objections, she had asked why it had to be his way, which made him wonder what her way was. She had, he was moderately certain, offered to become his lover. That had taken him by surprise. As much as he’d like to share her bed, he wanted to be clear that he didn’t see this as a passing relationship. And he didn’t believe she wanted that either, did she?

  But she yelled at me.

  That was a good sign, he decided. This was important enough for her to yell at him. Taking that thought as comfort, Duilio headed upstairs to his own annoyingly empty bed.

  CHAPTER 20

  SUNDAY, 26 OCTOBER 1902

  Oriana endured a nearly sleepless night. When the clock in the hallway chimed three, she filled the tub and lay down in the water. The coolness of it lulled her, allaying her frustration enough to let her drop off to sleep to the sound of the constant dribble from the tap. But when she woke, her reflection looked worn and worried anyway.

  She didn’t know how to answer him.

  In actuality, she didn’t recall his actually asking. He’d spoken of marriage as if it were the only possible course ahead of them.

  But it meant giving up who she was. If she were to become Mrs. Ferreira, she would have to pretend to be human all the time. And even though she’d done that for the last two years, forever was a different matter. She had lived this long without Duilio Ferreira in her life, surely she could manage without him. She could.