"You must call him out," Cris whispered, his nostrils flaring. "The damn straight arrow stomped on your honor."
Pedro stared at his brother’s eyes, the green fire a strange substitute for his usual optimism. Wrath had been Pedro’s close companion for a long time, and before, a duel would have been the right choice—the only choice. But he was stunned by the tremendous shift Gabriel’s confession had produced in his life, to consider a moment beyond the next second, the next heartbeat.
The doctor arrived. While the man examined his godfather, Pedro paced to the window. Outside the tower, Lisbon awakened. The Tagus River caught fire, and sunshine sparkled over the whitewashed residences. Anne was right. Dawn from Saint George's Castle was a feast of light.
Gabriel's revelation swirled in his mind like the tide filling the recesses of a cave. Pedro waited for anger to arise, the need for vengeance. It never came. Instead, tiredness weighted his bones, a numbness to the whole drama playing out around him. He also felt regret for the years lost. With his clear conscience, Cris wouldn't understand, but Pedro was grateful Gabriel had dared to speak. Pedro had spread more than his share of lies, and God knew they were hard to admit. Because Gabriel had faced his shadows, Pedro had a place to come back to—Anne.
"Your Excellency?" Adjusting his spectacles, the doctor fixed him with a professional glance. "I believe the defense minister will recover. He only needs rest."
The doctor left, and through the open door, Pedro watched Gabriel receiving the same news and then slumping to the floor, his face hidden between bent knees.
Pedro had failed to see before, but now it glared at him—the truth. What had it been like to grow up feeling inferior? He had suffered Titano's lessons, but in his twisted mentality, the duke had given him full attention. And Pedro had grown up with Fontes.
The afternoons spent studying with his uncle, the hunting, the dressage, played in his head, but this time depressingly, as Pedro saw it through his cousin's eyes. It must have been unbearable to never feel good enough.
"My own son." Fonte's voice sounded like a requiem. Pedro approached the bed. His uncle's eyes moistened, and he grabbed Pedro's hand. "I'll never forgive him."
Uncle locked himself in a tower of stones. The same rocks Pedro carried inside his chest.
"A bright person told me the past drags us down, making us sink. I ignored the advice then, but now I can see its wisdom. Letting the past occupy the present is easy, but it makes us bitter. True courage, though, is to forget. To forgive."
Fontes sighed. "He had no right. God, when I think of the suffering... I believed I knew him."
"No one knows him." Pedro pressed his uncle's hand. "Not even himself. He tried to be somebody else, for your sake."
"No." Fontes looked away, but deep lines marred his forehead.
"Gabriel acted wrongly, but it took him a lot of courage to admit the truth."
"You have the right to process him for libel. I won't object."
"The past no longer concerns me."
"What will you do?"
The question resonated with the promise of a thousand beginnings. Pedro had several plans, and all involved a girl with Atlantic eyes.
"I'll speak with Gabriel, and together, we will bring to justice the real criminal."
Pedro rode to the Ajuda Palace with Cris and Gabriel. While they waited for the king in the dispatch room, Santiago limped through the door. Pedro had trouble recognizing his former comrade in a dandified frock coat and cheap cologne. He slumped into an armchair and promptly fell asleep. According to Gabriel, he had passed the night reconnoitering the Siren.
Pedro ignored Santiago’s snores and the strife between Cris and Gabriel and paced the threadbare carpet.
Where was Dom Luis?
The king's dispatch room was exactly like Pedro remembered. The dark wood paneling was stifling like a frigate's interior, trapping dust and tobacco like old political enemies. Pedro and Fernando had often hidden behind the blue partition to smoke cigarettes and drinkaguardente.
Cris glared at Gabriel. "I can't believe you lied all this time. You should be warming the cell in Pedro's place."
Gabriel slumped back in the chair, beaten. "Don't you think I regret it? Life has not been an endless party for me, I assure you."
"What are you implying, you traitorous —"
"Stop," Pedro commanded, staring down at both men. "The past has no room here. Brother, if I forgot it, so will you. Gabriel, I need you focused. We can reverse all the harm done by Ulrich if we deliver him to justice."
Gabriel nodded, sobering.
Pedro drummed his fingertips on the rosewood cabinet. The sooner they planned their actions, the faster he could return to Anne. If he left now, when he arrived at the villa, she would be asleep. His lips tugged up, and warmth flooded his chest as he imagined all the delicious ways he could wake her. "What is taking Dom Luis so long?"
