Page 102 of The Familiar

“I only know none of them are here.”

Santángel had promised her he couldn’t die. But what if he was wrong? He had lied to her, maybe intended to betray her, but when trouble had come, he’d placed himself between Luzia and the king’s soldiers. What if his gifts were mere delusion and she had left him to bleed to death in that clearing without help or defense?

No, Don Víctor wouldn’t give up his prize so easily. He may have intended to replace Santángel with her, but now she was tainted by the charge of heresy or witchcraft or some other crime.

“What of Donadei?” she asked.

Teoda’s laugh was brittle, the sound strange from her child’s mouth. “I hear nothing of him. I only know he isn’t sitting in a cell. Wherever he is, he is free.”

“I don’t see how the Inquisition can pursue Pérez. Has he committed some crime against the Church?”

“They’re claiming he has encouraged heresy. The charge is flimsy, but our punishment by the Inquisition will give weight to the claims and remind everyone of the king’s strength.” She raised her voice. “He can’t very well put dear Lucrecia to death, can he?”

“Be silent, demon,” said a voice from another cell. “I’m trying to rest. Neva, will you please cease that wailing?”

Teoda rolled her eyes. “Don’t rest too well, you may have another dream!”

Then it was true. Lucrecia de León was here, the dreaming prophet, the girl who had predicted the defeat of the armada. “She won’t be sentenced alongside us?”

“She is with child,” Teoda said gleefully. “She fell in love with one of her scribes. It’s all very thrilling.”

“One of her scribes?” Santángel had claimed he couldn’t father children, but that could have been another lie.

“Diego de Vitores. A very nice young man, I’m told. They exchange letters, though that’s not supposed to be permitted either.”

At least that was one less thing for Luzia to feel miserable about.

“The king won’t put her to death,” said Teoda. “At least not for a while. She’s a good Catholic and everyone knows it.”

“And her predictions were accurate,” Luzia noted. “That must be inconvenient.”

Now Teoda’s merriment fell away. “They got her to confess to making up her dreams, but she recanted the next day.”

“Then why confess at all?” But Teoda’s grim look made the answer obvious. “Torture.”

Teoda nodded.

“They’ve questioned you too?” Luzia asked.

“No.” Teoda fiddled with her cuff. The dress was different from the one she’d worn the night of the second trial, and Luzia wondered how she’d gotten fresh clothes. “They brought me to the room where they do their work. They will make you guess at the charge you face.”

Heresy, witchcraft, fornication too, she supposed. Maybe Don Víctor would claim he’d been tricked with a false lineage provided by the linajista and she’d be charged with Judaizing too.

“You’ve been here since the second trial? Since the puppet show?”

“Yes. My brother is moneyed and connected, so he is already filing appeals. He knows the courts well. But it won’t matter. My nurse was taken for questioning too. She’s trying to deny she knew we are heretics. She thinks it will save her life. And it may. If she’s lucky she’ll be publicly flogged and banished.”

“How do you sound so unafraid?”

“I have God. I know who I am. I fear torture, but I don’t fear death. So I will confess to every heresy because it isn’t heresy at all, only truth. You see? They needn’t torture me at all.”

Luzia knew that wasn’t true. If they wanted to know the names of other Calvinists and heretics, Teoda would have to name them. But if the thought that she could escape torture made this horror easier, Luzia wasn’t going to snatch it away.

“You’ll have that same choice,” said the Holy Child. “They’ll ask if you’re in league with the devil.”

“I should have such powerful friends.”

Teoda’s laugh was high and light. “I knew I liked you.”