Liberating Fight Read online

  Ferdinand removed a heavy gold ring from his finger and extended it to the man on the dais, who took it with a low bow. He came down the steps and held out the ring to Amaya. “A gesture of respect,” he said. “And a reminder of the country to whom you owe allegiance by birth.”

  That had not been subtle at all. Amaya closed her hand over the ring, which was warm and smelled oily and sweaty, and curtseyed again, not to the man, but to the king. “I thank you for your generosity,” she said. She wished she could return to her original position, but backing away was impossible thanks to her gown’s train, and she did not wish to turn her back on the king.

  Ferdinand leaned back in an almost relaxed position. “Spain is pleased to welcome England to her shores,” he said. “You will attend upon us again, and we will discuss the future.”

  “We thank you, your Majesty,” Sir William said before Edmund could finish translating. Amaya, from her new position near the front, saw Lord Enderleigh’s hand close into a fist when Edmund reached “attend upon us.”

  “Yes, your Majesty, we appreciate your welcome,” the Earl said, overriding Sir William. “It is a fine reminder of Spain’s desire for good relations with England. Lady Enderleigh and I look forward to experiencing more of your famous Spanish hospitality.”

  Sir William flashed Lord Enderleigh a swift horrified glance, and translated Lord Enderleigh’s words into Spanish. Ferdinand’s rather florid face paled slightly. The man on the dais said in English, in a placating tone, “Of course, my lord, of course. In a few days, you will be presented to the Cortes, and we will discuss further.”

  Lord Enderleigh smiled at him. “We have not been introduced, sir,” he said.

  The man’s smile hardened for the space of half a breath, then once more became friendly. “Don Carlos de Borbón, Count of Molina,” he said.

  That meant nothing to Amaya, but the Earl’s hand relaxed. “Then I look forward to meeting with the Cortes,” he said, “and thank you for your welcome, my lord.”

  He bowed. The Count of Molina bowed. Then everyone but the king was bowing politely, which seemed to be the signal for the English procession to leave. Amaya curtseyed again and gathered up her train to turn around. She still did not like turning her back on the king, but now it was because she felt certain he was to some extent an enemy. She did not believe he would attack her directly, but a king had no end of resources, and if he wanted her injured, or dead, there might be little she could do to defend herself.

  Amaya held herself upright and walked at a measured pace next to Edmund. She could not react in any way that might look like fear. True, she did not think Ferdinand would strike immediately, not if he wanted the use of her talent. But if she continued to refuse him, she might be in danger.

  “It should have occurred to us that the king would react that way,” Edmund murmured in Spanish. “The Spanish attitude toward talent is very different from ours.”

  “I do not know what that attitude is,” Amaya replied in the same low voice.

  Edmund directed an amused look her way. “Amaya, you really must pay attention when Sir William speaks. You do at least know that Spanish Seers are venerated as holy, and are required to take holy orders, yes?”

  Amaya scowled. “I know that, yes, Edmund, I am not entirely ignorant.”

  “Then you may also know that in Spain, talent is considered a gift of God, and those possessing it are of a higher order than the average man. They are known as ‘the endowed.’”

  Amaya had not known this, but she did not wish to admit to ignorance and have Edmund laugh at her again. He had used the word dotados, a word she had rarely heard before, and one she associated with religious faith. “Do the endowed have noble rank as well?”

  Edmund nodded. “They are considered a class apart, lower than those born to the nobility but higher than the gentry. And unlike in England, it is irrelevant what talent they have or how strong or weak it is. Simply having talent is enough.”

  “That is not the implication I understood from the king. He sounded as if he intended me to serve directly.” Amaya rolled the heavy gold ring between her palms. She would not for the world have put it on her finger.

  “Extraordinaries are different. They are expected to use their talents to serve the country or the king. I am amazed King Ferdinand did not order you to leave our party immediately to wait upon him. He must be more afraid of England than I believed.” Edmund took Amaya’s arm and drew her closer. “He is certainly afraid of something, did you notice?”

  Amaya had not noticed this, but one of the many inconsistencies she had observed in Edmund’s character was his uncanny ability to read people’s faces and bodies, so at odds with his apparent lack of awareness of anything that did not directly involve him. “But England does not intend Spain harm.”

  “The king does not know that. And I am not certain it is England the king fears. He—” Edmund shook his head. “I should not speculate. And it is irrelevant. We are unlikely to have much contact with him, so it will not matter what he fears.”

  They neared the apartment door, and Edmund released his hold on Amaya. “Your gown is lovely,” he said. “The color suits you.”

  The compliment warmed Amaya, as did the admiring light in Edmund’s eyes. “Thank you. I am glad I do not have to wear only white as your young Englishwomen do. White does not suit me.” Amaya had met any number of young, unmarried, non-Extraordinary women, and they were all without exception simpering, shy misses, which suggested to Amaya that they were either trained to behave that way, or that Amaya, as a stranger and an Extraordinary, inadvertently inspired in them such behavior. She could not believe their own natures were so universally insipid, and wished she might know them for who they truly were.

  “I cannot picture it,” Edmund said with a smile.

  Elinor waited within the apartment, her hand on Lord Enderleigh’s arm. “Amaya, we must talk,” she said. She sounded so serious it startled Amaya. “Please, join us. And you as well, Mr. Hanley.”

  Puzzled, Amaya followed Elinor to the room the Countess had claimed as her private drawing room. Sir William and Lady Kynaston waited within, standing beside the tall, narrow window that overlooked the stone plaza in front of the palace. A fire sprang up in the fireplace as they entered, but Elinor paid it no attention. She lowered herself into a chair and arranged her skirts neatly but absently around her. Lord Enderleigh walked to the fireplace and stood looking down at the flames. Amaya had never seen him show any fear of fire, a fear that would in her opinion have been reasonable. But the Earl was not a fearful man, and he regarded the fire as if it were a curiosity he had never seen before.

  “Do sit, Mr. Hanley. Amaya—” Elinor indicated the seat next to herself. The door swung shut unassisted, and Amaya heard the key turn in the lock. That frightened her more than Elinor’s serious tone had.

  “Is that necessary, Miles?” Elinor said, gesturing at the door.

  “I have no idea how suspicious the king is, or whether he would stoop to setting servants as spies,” Lord Enderleigh said, “and if Miss Salazar is in danger, I prefer to mitigate the risk.”

  “I? In danger?” Amaya said.

  She looked from Lord Enderleigh to Sir William, who looked grave. He shrugged. “King Ferdinand was prepared to pluck you from our midst, and something changed his mind. I do not believe it was a sudden lack of interest in your talent. Nor do I believe he is so fearful of England’s might as to assume our country would go to war, figuratively or literally, over you. No, the king has some other plan, and I would like to know what it is.”

  “But you are not safe here, Amaya,” Elinor said. “Our diplomatic party is not strong enough to defend against an assault by Spanish soldiers, and I cannot be everywhere at once. If the king found a way to kidnap you, there is little we could do.”

  Amaya laughed. “That is dramatic, yes? Kidnap is the thing of novels. He will not kidnap me.”

  “I am not certain of that,” Sir William said.
“An Extraordinary Shaper is a powerful talent, and one any country would be eager to control.”

  Amaya thought of Mr. Fenton and Lord Baxter, and had to admit he was correct. “Then what am I to do?”

  “It might be best,” Elinor said, “if you were to take a trip. To Toledo.”

  Amaya gaped. “You mean, to see if I have family.”

  “I do mean. It will take you out of the king’s sight and provide you with a reunion.” Elinor glanced at Edmund. “Mr. Hanley, would you be willing to accompany Amaya?”

  “Of course,” Edmund said. “I assume you mean us to depart secretly?”

  “Of course,” Elinor echoed with a smile. “You and Amaya will go south for a week, and take yourselves out of the king’s sight.”

  “And Mrs. Paget will accompany you,” Lady Kynaston said. “You are an Extraordinary, but you are also a young woman, and you should not travel alone with a man. Mrs. Paget is familiar with Spain and will provide you with companionship.”

  Amaya managed not to grimace. She did not like Mrs. Paget very much, as she was always conscious of her behavior being all wrong for an Englishwoman of gentle birth, and Mrs. Paget, while polite and respectful, sometimes had the wooden look of someone suppressing a mocking smile. But Amaya also agreed she could not travel in company with a man to whom she was not related without a companion. “It is a good plan, except that it takes me from you,” she said to Elinor, “and suppose there are problems? And surely Lady Kynaston needs her secretary.”

  “I am perfectly well, and it is still many weeks before my confinement,” Elinor said, clasping Amaya’s hand gently.

  “And you will only be gone a few days. No more than ten,” Lady Kynaston added. “I assure you I am capable of handling my own correspondence for that length of time.”

  Amaya remembered the way King Ferdinand had looked at her, and the expression on the Count of Molina’s face. Stay here, within the king’s reach, or travel to where her Spanish family might welcome her warmly. “No more than ten,” she repeated. “When can we leave?”

  Chapter 7

  In which Amaya’s relatives are not what she expected

  A sudden afternoon summer shower brought them to Toledo, three days later. From the carriage, Amaya watched the rain fall, saw how it made the dry and dusty Spanish landscape green and vibrant, and could not help but compare it to Peru. In the forests south of the Incas’ largest city, where she had lived her entire adult life, the rains fell heavily and regularly, and she and Yupanqui and Quri had frequently hunted there. But she had always been grateful to return to the drier uplands. This storm reminded her of one such hunt, when Kichka had joined them—

  She closed her eyes briefly. Remembering Kichka hurt, a dull ache like overextended muscles, but in her chest. She thrust the memory aside and focused on Edmund, who sat on the seat opposite her. “You are certain of this Salazar family, that it is my father’s?” she said, in English, though Mrs. Paget, who sat on her right, spoke Spanish nearly as well as Edmund.

  “Certain enough,” Edmund said. “There was only one Salazar living near Toledo known to my informant, and he is of noble birth, if in reduced circumstances. He is a Scorcher, and therefore of the dotados, which rouses my curiosity. I did not receive a reply to my letter, but they know we intend a visit. We will introduce ourselves, and if he is not your relative, he will likely know who is.”

  Amaya nodded. “I hope he is the one. I do not like traveling all over this strange city, searching for another Salazar.”

  “It will not be so terrible,” Mrs. Paget said. She sat stiffly, as if trying to prevent being jounced by the carriage through will alone. “Toledo is a beautiful city, and worth seeing even if you do not have relations there.”

  Amaya nodded. In the past three days, Mrs. Paget had proved to be a more amiable traveling companion than Amaya had expected, more friendly and less formal than she had been on the journey to Madrid. Amaya had learned she was a widow, and a childhood friend of Lady Kynaston, who had offered her the position as her secretary upon the death of Mrs. Paget’s husband. While she still occasionally appeared to suppress her amusement at Amaya’s mistakes, Amaya could now see the humor herself, and felt less mocked.

  “I confess to a certain excitement over the prospect of meeting your Spanish relations,” Edmund said, stretching his arms to make the joints pop.

  “Excitement, how?” Amaya twined the strings of her reticule around her fingers, weaving a drunken spider’s web and shaking it out, over and over. “I know nothing of them.”

  “My apologies, but it is the kind of excitement—or perhaps I mean anticipation—that arises from knowing there has been contention in the past. Naturally, I do not wish to see you unhappy, and I cannot help imagining a prodigal’s welcome for you.” Edmund tugged on his coat to make it lie flat again.

  Amaya did not know the word “prodigal,” and said, “You mean they will be angry?”

  “They might, but I meant it is possible they will welcome you with great rejoicing, as you are all that is left of their lost son.” Edmund eyed her restless fingers, but did not comment. She was grateful for that. She was not nervous, precisely, but her fingers seemed not to know that.

  The rain, which had been pattering on the carriage roof like a fall of gravel, slowed and quieted until only a few random drops spattered the carriage. The sky remained grey and thickly clouded, as if it were undecided about its next action, so when the road curved, giving Amaya her first sight of Toledo, the city seemed ominous, a city under a curse. It rose upon its hill, rank upon rank of stone buildings all the way to the crest of the hill, where spires rose above tall, grey buildings that reminded Amaya of the stony edifices of London. Likely the grey color was a result of the storm, and in sunlight the city was brighter, but Amaya could not help feeling despondent. It seemed a sinister omen for the day.

  The carriage clattered over a stone bridge crossing the river that meandered past Toledo, then followed the road as it carried them away from the city. “We do not stop?” Amaya asked.

  “This Don Fernándo Salazar lives outside the city, on an estate,” Edmund said. “Don Fernándo de Salazar y Ibáñez. Aside from his talent, that is the extent of what I know.”

  “An estate,” Mrs. Paget said. “That sounds promising.” Her thin features, barely lined though she was nearly fifty years of age, brightened.

  Amaya turned her attention to the passing landscape. The rain had left it green and fresh-smelling, with low hills extending as far as her enhanced vision could see. Even the scruffy bushes that clung to the slopes with admirable tenacity were brighter than their usual grey-green. Low, spreading trees grew at intervals beside the road, and Amaya caught glimpses of white or pale blue birds nestled within their foliage, waiting out the storm. Beyond the hills, the land flattened out into fields of growing crops, and at the edge of her vision, she saw the spire of a church and a cluster of buildings marking a town. She had expected, from what she had seen of Madrid, that all the countryside around Toledo would be tame and cultivated, and this near-wildness comforted her, made her feel more at ease.

  Presently, the carriage turned off the main road onto a deeply rutted path, almost as bad as the road leading to Madrid. But almost immediately, well before Amaya could become uncomfortable at all the bouncing, the carriage came to a stop, and Edmund alighted and gave Amaya his hand, then assisted Mrs. Paget down.

  Amaya regarded the house at which they had arrived. She had expected something grand and tall, like the English estates she had visited, but this house was low to the ground, only one story tall with a long L-shaped wing extending from the main house. The walls were made of flat, long stones held together by thick, cream-colored mortar so that in some places the wall seemed more mortar than stones. Amaya, accustomed to the Inca way of fitting stones together so well they did not need mortar, was fascinated by the patchwork look of the walls—the ones that were visible. Much of the house was covered by spreading vines thick with na
rrow leaves as long as her longest finger. The many curved tiles of the roof, by contrast, were clear of encroaching greenery and reminded Amaya of the Thames on a stormy day, filled with small, choppy waves.

  The vines did not cover the door or windows, the latter of which, to Amaya’s surprise, were filled with glass panes. She had imagined, when she learned the Salazars were in reduced circumstances, that poverty would leave its mark. But this place, for all its rural appearance, looked quite luxurious. Amaya stopped her body from producing nervous sweat on her palms and turned to Edmund. “I…”

  Edmund came forward, extending his arm. “There is nothing to worry about. At worst, they turn us away, and we explore Toledo. But I do not believe you need fear that.”

  Amaya drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She took Edmund’s arm, and the three of them crossed the little yard to the three steps leading up to the door, which was of heavy oak studded with iron. It was cut in half, Amaya observed, top and bottom made to open independently so one might open part of the door and be polite without inviting a potentially unwanted guest inside.

  Edmund rapped on the door. No one answered. “I sent word that our intended visit would be today,” Edmund said in a low voice in English, as if he were imparting a secret. “I hope they did not decide to flee when they knew you were coming.”

  “You are not funny,” Amaya whispered, not taking her eyes off the door. She felt superstitiously as if looking elsewhere would make the Salazar family disappear, leaving this house empty. It was a foolish, mad thought, but she could no longer toy with the strings of her reticule, and her nerves were looking for some other outlet for their anxieties. Mrs. Paget, on her other side, looked perfectly placid with her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Well, it was not her lost family they were about to encounter.

  She heard footsteps, and shortly the upper half of the door swung inward, revealing a short woman, her black hair swept back tightly from her face into a knot at the back of her head. Her face was lined, careworn as if she had seen, not a great tragedy, but a host of smaller horrors that had worn down on her over the years. She looked at Edmund first, then at Mrs. Paget, then fixed large, dark brown eyes on Amaya. “Yes?” she said. Her voice was inquiring, but the set of her lips and the direct certainty in her eyes told Amaya she knew who they were.