Page 28 of The Familiar

The widow nodded. “That little girl speaks to angels. Her visions are remarkably accurate.”

“A pure heart,” said the confessor. “The embodiment of innocence.”

“We’ll see,” said the widow.

“What did her father buy for her?” asked Don Marius.

“Fripperies,” chortled the merchant. “Gifts for his dear one. His business often takes him to Germany and the Netherlands, so he has little need for my services.” He exchanged a look with the widow that Valentina didn’t understand. “Now, Luzia, let me see you. I’ve heard so much about your milagritos. I’m not so crass that I will ask for a demonstration, but perhaps when I transform you, this humble merchant will earn himself an invitation to dine with your benefactors.”

Marius stiffened and Valentina felt a sense of sadness. Her husband would never welcome such a man into their house, but what beautiful things might she acquire if he did?

Perucho stepped back and considered Luzia. “How is a scullion to impress a king? She is both performer and servant, so how to show her to best advantage?”

“She should dress as the other competitors in the torneo,” said Marius gruffly.

Again the merchant laughed. “That would be a disastrous mistake. The prince is of scant concern to us—”

“Prince?” Valentina squeaked. “Luzia will compete against a prince?”

But Perucho continued on. “The Holy Child will wear pale colors to compliment her hair and eyes. And Señorita Gracia de Valera … Well. She has her own tailor, an Italian, and though it pains me to admit it, a genius. But this …” He gestured to Luzia. “A challenge. She has a waist. That’s something. It’s too bad we can’t show the bosom. If only she weren’t so dark. Like a little nut.”

“I know how I should be dressed.”

They all stared at Luzia, and Valentina realized that she had nearly forgotten the woman could talk.

“Is that so?” said the widow.

“I cannot compete with beauty. I cannot be winsome like a child. So give me armor. Make it seem as if I have chosen to be humble.”

“Intriguing,” mused Perucho.

“You have my attention,” said the widow.

Luzia’s eyes were sullen as she held Catalina de Castro de Oro’s gaze and sank into another shockingly graceful curtsy. Valentina wasn’t sure if they had just formed a friendship or if she was watching soldiers prepare to face each other in the field. Either way, she would have three new gowns and perhaps a new cap if she budgeted carefully.

CHAPTER 15

Luzia learned how to comport herself at the banquet table, proper terms of address, how to sit in her new corset, and how to arrange the hoops and buttresses of her verdugado so that she could use a chamber pot without tipping over or soiling her shoes—though she was firmly instructed to wait for a maid to help her, unless the situation was dire. The shoes themselves were leather but the chapines urged on her had quickly been discarded. The wooden sleeves with their corked heels were meant to make her taller, but she didn’t have time to master walking in them. She had taken two swaying steps during her second fitting before Perucho had waved his hands and declared, “Not all experiments are a success.”

She wasn’t expected to know how to dance or play an instrument or to speak on geography or world affairs. She didn’t really need to speak at all. Smile and lift your glass when those around you do. Keep your eyes on your shoes or your plate. Safe replies to questions regarding politics or improper advances were the same: “I have lived a sheltered life, señor” or “I hardly know what to think.” It wasn’t so different from being a scullion.

A girl with orange hair appeared in the kitchen one morning, her full market basket already settled on the table, her arms wet to the elbow as she washed chickpeas for Águeda. Luzia hovered at the foot of the stairs, unsure of what to do until Águeda said, “Does the señorita need something?”

Luzia opened her mouth, shut it. “No,” she managed.

Águeda released something between a grunt and a laugh and blew the hair off her sweaty face. “Just think, Juana, if you learn some tricks and wash your neck you may become a fine lady too.”

Her tone didn’t quite have the vicious snap of her wooden spoon. She was nervous now, unsure of what Luzia might be or become. Luzia wasn’t certain either.

But she was more worried about Juana gaping at her over the barley and almonds.

Águeda had warned her the rumors had spread and here was proof of it. Luzia had been trapped in Casa Ordoño, focusing on her lessons, trying to think of new ways to use the words from Hualit’s letters. What would happen if I walked to the market now? she wondered. Would heads turn to follow her, a tide of whispers forming in her wake? The thought gave her an embarrassing shiver of pleasure.

Even so, Luzia felt possessive of her dirt floor, her candle kept tucked away in the larder, and had to resist the urge to hiss at poor Juana. Slowly she made her way up the stairs. She’d lost her place, but what was there to grieve? Why this fresh rush of fear? Maybe because none of it had seemed real before this moment. The new bedroom, the clothes, the lessons. She hadn’t quite believed in any of it. She’d thought she was rehearsing a play that would never open.

Santángel was waiting outside her room for their lesson. He was so tall she risked a stiff neck if she wanted to observe the angles of his face properly, and he looked different this morning. Still pale and lean, but less like he might expire at any moment.

“You’re distracted,” he said as he followed her inside, the door left open as it always was.