The Seat of Magic

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  That thought was incredibly bleak.

  And foolish.

  Oriana looked in the mirror again and smiled at her pallid reflection. I am going to court him, and we will work out all the details along the way. We will.

  Having made up her mind, she suddenly felt less weary. She felt like anything was possible.

  A tap came on the bathroom door. “Miss Paredes, I’ve left your coffee tray. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”

  “No, Teresa. Thank you.” She recalled one of Isabel’s tricks and yanked open the door. The maid hadn’t escaped the bedroom, so Oriana called after her. “Teresa, do we have any cucumbers?”

  The girl beamed at her and curtsied. “I’ll go see, miss. I’ll be right back.”

  An hour later she was fortified with strong coffee and a headache powder, dressed appropriately, and had slightly less puffy eyes. She would have to apologize to Duilio for losing her temper with him; she wouldn’t even mind doing so now. When she reached the breakfast room, the Ferreiras were already sitting down, the mother with her coffee and her newspaper, and Duilio attacking his usual large breakfast.

  He looked up when he saw her enter and smiled. It wasn’t forced, which made Oriana smile back at him.

  “You’re looking tired, Oriana,” Lady Ferreira said. “Did you not sleep well?”

  Oriana settled for equivocation. “Well enough, Lady.”

  “Perhaps you might take a nap after you eat? I’m not going to Mass and I have no plans this morning, save for some correspondence.”

  “Actually, Mother,” Duilio said, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow Miss Paredes for a few minutes after breakfast.” He smiled at Oriana again, as if to reassure her.

  “Duilinho,” his mother said tartly, “that depends entirely on her. Ask her.”

  Oriana found him gazing at her expectantly. “Certainly, sir.”

  His mother sighed. “Oh, please stop that, both of you. You know each other’s names. There’s no need for formality in front of me.”

  Duilio’s eyes danced. His lips were pressed together as if he fought to keep from bursting out laughing. “Oriana, will you talk with me after breakfast?”

  “Yes, of course, Duilio.”

  “Much better,” his mother said. “Duilinho, let her eat before you spirit her off.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Oriana busied herself filling her plate, picking more than she normally would have—more like one of Duilio’s excessive breakfasts. She would need a nap after this. When she came to sit at the table, Duilio kept a straight face, but she suspected he felt as chastised as she did.

  Lady Ferreira took mercy on her and changed the topic to the newest taxes on boatbuilding, one of the family’s investments, which occupied them throughout breakfast. And after giving her ample time to eat, Duilio escorted Oriana to the sitting room. He held open the door for her, and then closed it behind them.

  Oriana waited until he turned back to her. “I need to apologize.”

  He gestured toward the sofa, indicating that she should sit. “For what?”

  Oriana settled on the end. “For losing my temper.”

  “You wouldn’t have done so if it wasn’t important to you.” He sat down next to her.

  She wasn’t going to deny that. “You had the best of intentions.”

  “I did. But I have no idea what your way is. Will you tell me what is done among your people when a man wishes to court a woman?”

  She gazed down at her hands, shaking her head. Of course he would assume that. “They don’t.”

  His brow furrowed. “Are all unions arranged, then?”

  Oriana laughed. “No. Well, some are, but not a large percentage. It’s the opposite, though. Usually the man is courted by the woman.”

  He took one of her hands in his own, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Truly? The men don’t do the courting?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you ever courted a man before?” he asked.

  He’s enjoying this. Not her discomfiture, but wheedling out things she’d never told anyone. “I’ve never seriously entertained the idea,” she said. “I was told my bloodlines weren’t good enough to attract a mate. My aunts always said I was born to serve instead.”

  His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “If you were to court me, you might prove your aunts wrong.”

  Oriana shook her head, more in bemusement than denial.

  “What exactly passes for courtship among your people?” he asked then. “If you were to court me, what would you do?”

  “Well,” she said, “I could give you gifts.”

  “Gifts? What sort of gifts?” His sly smile showed he knew he was winning.

  “All I have is what you and your mother have given me, Duilio.”

  “Is the man being courted allowed to make suggestions?”

  “He can always suggest,” she said cautiously.

  “I would like to learn your people’s hand language.”

  She recalled some of the things he’d seen her father—and her—sign. “It’s not a language, Duilio. Just a few words and phrases for talking underwater. Not at all polite.”

  “I should be able to learn, shouldn’t I? I’ve studied Spanish and French, and English, too.”

  She wondered if he’d studied those tongues—none of which she had beyond a few words—in his law studies, in his foreign travels, or if he’d just been keen to learn. “Then may I offer to teach you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is this to be considered a courtship gift?”

  She showed him the sign for yes, the closing of a fist. “This is yes.”

  He imitated the gesture thoughtfully. “Does it matter which hand?”

  “No.” She showed him that one as well, and he imitated it.

  “A good start,” he said. “What happens after the giving of gifts? In your people’s courtship, I mean.”

  “Well, the man decides which among the females courting him he wants.”

  “And if there aren’t any other females courting him? Do they still go through the same process?”

  “Of course they do.” A laugh bubbled up out of Oriana’s throat at his crestfallen expression. “Besides, isn’t Miss Carvalho courting you?”

  “That doesn’t count,” he protested.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she has absolutely no chance of winning me.”

  Oriana wet her lips with her tongue. “Well, we are not fond of terribly long courtships as your people are.”

  He grinned, and then his smile dimmed. “I am not joking, Oriana. I am willing to do this your way, whatever you ask of me, however long it takes.”

  “I just need time,” she whispered. “To figure out . . . how this will work.”

  He slid the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I can wait. I only wanted to know that . . . we’re heading in the same direction, more or less.”

  Taking a mate was, in her eyes, the same as marriage, even if the steps to getting to that end might seem different. But Duilio was giving her control over that path, something she suspected most human men wouldn’t. It was a relief to have control over something. Surely we can make this work somehow. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, and her heart swelled. “Very well,” he said. “Joaquim is coming over after Mass. We intend to sit in here until we figure out what we know so far. We could use your thoughts.”

  “A good idea,” she said, and then had to cover her mouth to hide a yawn.

  “Why don’t you go back to your room?” Duilio said. “You do look like a nap would do you good. And I mean no insult by that.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” she admitted. She managed to tear herself away from that sofa, but stopped at the door of the library and looked back at him. “Send T
eresa for me if I oversleep.”

  * * *

  Duilio watched her head up the stairs, observing the familiar sway of her hips. He probably had a foolish grin on his face. Whatever form this courtship of hers took, he would do everything possible to make sure she decided to keep him. It would be awkward if this didn’t eventually lead to a wedding. Society had its rules, and he couldn’t introduce her as his mate here. But even if she didn’t agree to marry him, he would work around the difficulties that presented.

  Rather pleased with himself, he headed toward the library, only to intercept Cardenas laying an envelope on his desk.

  “It’s good I found you, Mr. Duilio,” the butler began. “Our boatman is down in the kitchen, wishing for a word with you. And your man found this in yesterday’s jacket.” He held out the envelope.

  About half of the staff would be at Mass this morning, so that left Cardenas doing a footman’s work again. Duilio took the envelope, the one Monteiro had handed to him the day before, the note that warned the man not to talk. “Thank you, Cardenas. I’ll go see to João directly.”

  The butler headed up toward the front door while Duilio turned down the side hall to the stairs that led to the kitchen. As promised, he found João sitting at the servants’ table, his cap in his hands. The boatman rose when he saw Duilio entering the empty kitchen.

  “What brings you up to the house, João? Is Miss Aga well?”

  João flushed at the mention of his inamorata’s name. “She’s well, sir. I came about the pelt, sir. You asked me to keep an ear to the wind.”

  “Did someone find it?”

  João sat when Duilio indicated he should do so. “Well, sir, I was talking to old Augostinho, who runs one of the Ramires boats.”

  The Ramires family owned several fishing boats moored close to Duilio’s own. “What did he have to say?” Duilio asked as he sat across from the young man.

  “He did find a pelt on his boat, but he’d left it alone.”

  Fishermen tended to be superstitious. If a selkie’s pelt showed up on their boat, they probably wouldn’t touch it. “But then . . .”

  “He thought it was a bad omen, sir. It started to smell, like it was rotting.”

  “The girl whose it was is dead, João, so it would.”

  The young man’s lips pursed. “Oh. Was it someone Aga knew?”

  Duilio shook his head, feeling guilty. They’d gone to warn Oriana’s family about this killer, but he hadn’t thought of Aga, who was a selkie as well and Erdano’s half sister. “It was a young girl named Gita, but the queen said she washed up on their beach after that last big storm, so Aga wouldn’t know her, I think.”

  “Good.” João puffed out his cheeks. “It’s strange though, Mr. Ferreira. Old Augostinho told me when he pulled the pelt out of its hiding spot to drop it in the ocean, there was a square of it that wasn’t rotting. As big as his hand. He said that spot looked fresh and whole, like a pelt usually does.”

  Duilio shook his head. How could only a part of the pelt still be . . . alive, for lack of a better term? “I don’t understand, but thank you for telling me. Since one selkie has already been killed, it may not be safe for Aga to go into the city alone. I would keep her close for the time being.”

  “I will.” Frowning, João turned his cap in his hands. “There’s something else, sir. About Aga.”

  Duilio had half risen, but sat again. “Yes.”

  “I’m wanting her to marry me, sir,” João said in a rush, “but she doesn’t want to. I mean . . . she doesn’t understand why we need to be married. Like she didn’t understand about not taking her clothes off at first, sir.”

  Most selkies had no qualms about nudity and were mystified by the social conventions of the Portuguese that forbade it. João had managed to explain that to her. Prejudice against bastardy was a more complex issue, and it was likely that Aga would fall pregnant eventually. “Let me talk to my mother. If anyone can explain the situation to Aga, my mother can. I’ll send a note to you with her answer. Would that help?”

  “I’d truly appreciate it, sir.” João nodded quickly and rose. “Good day, Mr. Ferreira.”

  Duilio let the young man out. Perhaps Mother can talk Oriana into it while she’s at it.

  CHAPTER 21

  Inspector Tavares arrived promptly at two, making Oriana suspect he shared Duilio’s love of punctuality. She felt far more alert than she had that morning; the nap had been a good decision. As she waited in the library, she heard them approaching.

  “I have some new information,” the inspector was saying.

  “So do I,” Duilio told him. “Although I have no idea what mine means.”

  What did he learn while I was napping?

  Joaquim Tavares came into the library, an old leather case in each hand. He stopped to nod to her. “Miss Paredes.”

  “Mr. Tavares.” Wearing a suit in a deep mauve shade that accentuated the unusual color of her hair, now neatly tucked up in a bun, she might look human save for the fact that she’d left off the silk mitts he’d always seen her wear before.

  He shot a glance in the direction of her bare hands, then looked away. He handed one of the leather cases he held to Duilio. “Father sent this over this morning.”

  Duilio laid the case on his desk unopened, making Oriana want to sneak a peek. But he retrieved several sheets of foolscap from the map chest in the corner and carried them over to the table in the center of the library while Mr. Tavares carefully lifted one of the giant clamshells off the table and carried it to the corner of the room. Duilio helped him move the last two, and then wiped off the table before they began to lay out the paper. Mr. Tavares drew a sheaf of papers out of the second case and then held out a chair. “Miss Paredes?”

  Oriana settled into the chair. “Do you mind my being here?”

  Inspector Tavares hesitated only an instant. “I suspect you will bring a fresh perspective to the discussion, Miss Paredes.”

  “It would be easier then, if you called me Oriana.”

  “Then perhaps you might call me Joaquim,” he said, “as we are almost family.”

  Family? She decided not to pursue that last statement.

  Duilio had retrieved a pencil, a pen and ink, and a ruler from his desk. He began using the straightedge to draw lines across the page first, and then vertical ones. “We’re going to lay out everything we know by date. Hopefully some pattern will start to emerge.”

  “For the murders,” she guessed. They’d created a timeline for the murders that Maraval had committed, but she’d only seen it once completed.

  “And everything else we think may be pertinent.” Duilio finished making his lines, and began numbering across the top of the page, one number in each column. “So we start on the sixth. What happened then?”

  The first number he’d written was six, Oriana saw. “Maraval was taken into custody.”

  “And you left.” Duilio picked up the pen and ink and began writing in that column. “Let me put some notes in here.”

  His notes included his first meetings with her father, the infante, the ambassador, and when he’d brought her back. It seemed odd that he was including so much information about her in his list but when she commented, he said they were merely being thorough.

  “The otter girl,” Joaquim said when Duilio stopped writing, “was named Erdeg, and she was taken on Thursday the sixteenth from the brothel where she lived.”

  Duilio looked up at him, amazement on his face. “How did you find that out?”

  “Some brothels cater to more exotic tastes,” Joaquim said delicately, “so I discreetly asked around if there were any otter girls available for a wealthy patron. One of the brothels confessed theirs was missing.”

  Oriana hadn’t thought of that possibility—but now that she considered it, there might be one or two sereia girls working in such places a
s well. Even so, otters stayed in tight-knit family groups, so it surprised her that an otter had agreed to leave her family. Then again, perhaps she hadn’t. “I’m surprised they were willing to speak to the police.”

  “He’s one of the few who will investigate crimes against their workers,” Duilio told her. “It’s easier to ignore crimes against women who don’t hold influence.”

  Joaquim’s jaw worked, his head shaking.

  “So this girl Erdeg was probably killed the next day,” Duilio said, making a note in the appropriate column.

  “And her body dumped in an alley that night,” Joaquim agreed. “She was brought into the morgue the next morning, Saturday the eighteenth.”

  “And that is the same day Gita was grabbed from the alleyway behind the . . . ah, Erdano’s favored tavern.” Duilio continued to write, his face flushing.

  “Which tavern is that?” Oriana asked.

  Duilio looked at Joaquim, his mouth open, and then turned back to her. “The Lusty Siren,” he confessed.

  Oriana groaned. Her people had a questionable reputation among humans. Some of it came from the fact that most sereia couldn’t blush and were therefore perceived as shameless. At the moment, a blush would be useful.

  “You asked,” Duilio reminded her.

  Well, I did. “I was going to suggest that we make a map and mark the places where the bodies were found.”

  “And where they were last seen,” Joaquim added with a nod. “We’ll do that after this. Gita died Monday,” Joaquim said. “Her body was dumped either Monday or Tuesday night, found Wednesday morning.”

  “Why do you suppose they waited till Monday?” Duilio asked absently.

  “Because they didn’t want to kill her on a Sunday?” Oriana suggested.

  Duilio appeared to consider that. “A murderer observing the Lord’s Day?”

  “Wait till we’re done,” Joaquim insisted.

  “Fine. Here’s the strange bit,” Duilio said, looking up from the paper. “Her pelt started to rot, but not all of it.”

  “Go back,” Joaquim said. “You found her pelt? You never told me that.”