Page 49 of The Familiar

The Prince of Olives rose, his face still sad, his smile small, and bowed first to the audience and then more deeply to Pérez.

“Well,” Hualit said, as Donadei descended the stairs to be greeted by his patroness, who wore matching green and gold. “I think the whole room just fell a bit in love with Fortún Donadei.”

“But only one woman has paid for his love in return,” replied Don Víctor.

Let them love him, Luzia told herself. It is the miracles that matter.

CHAPTER 25

Luzia had hoped she might be free to rest and find some privacy after the performances, but the guests were escorted to another glorious room, this one nearly as large as the ballroom and set with long tables blazing with candles.

The feast that followed was less like a meal than a performance of one, course after course in an endless parade punctuated by small dishes of water scented with lavender with which to rinse their hands. Partridge simmered in milk; peacock dressed with bacon and minced almonds; quail stuffed with cinnamon and cloves, and a mousse of its own livers; boar sauced with bitter oranges, and toasted bread soaked in broth; pie after pie full of vinegary vegetables and chunks of beef stewed with pomegranate and honey, their golden crusts washed with saffron. Between each course, the musicians played, sometimes accompanied by jugglers, or dancers in costumes of scarlet and gold, and short scenes were performed on a wooden stage that was wheeled from one end of the room to the next.

Luzia made certain to eat plentifully from any dish with pork, but picked at the rest. She wished for wine but drank water flavored with fennel. She sat wedged between Don Víctor and Hualit, dutifully silent in her convent gown, listening to conversation about plays she’d never heard of and people she didn’t know. If Santángel was present, she hadn’t seen him, but she supposed there was no reason for servants to dine in such company, not unless they were competitors in the torneo like herself and the Prince of Olives.

Fortún Donadei had been seated beside his patroness, and though he was doing his best to smile and look at ease, Luzia could see he wasn’t eating much either.

At last there were plates of ices and sweet cakes with stewed fruit and the ladies were permitted to retire. Footmen led the Ordoños and then Hualit and Luzia to the rooms they’d been assigned.

“We will be in the same wing,” said Hualit, “away from Don Víctor and his household, as is proper. The Ordoños are just down the hall. Teoda Halcón is young enough that she is housed with her own family in rooms not far from your own, and the Beauty and her ladies are close by, so be cautious.”

Luzia thought she was tired, but when the footman opened the door to her room, fresh elation flooded through her. She had never seen a bed set with linen so white, the coverlet embroidered with the Pérez labyrinth, and heaped with tawny furs. Coals blazed in a silver brazier and thick curtains had been drawn against the rain. Next to the bed, velvet slippers had been set out, and a dressing table was laden with all of the creams and powders Hualit and Valentina had assembled for her, alongside a set of heavy silver brushes and combs.

A maid was waiting and curtsied when they entered. “Don Víctor pays Concha’s wages and pays her well,” Hualit explained, “so you needn’t fear sabotage when she is near. She’ll keep your secrets.”

“From everyone but Don Víctor.”

“Precisely,” Hualit said. “Come, let’s get you undressed.”

She and the maid worked quickly to remove Luzia’s bodice and skirts and corset and stockings. When Concha started pulling up her linen smock, Luzia faltered.

“She’ll take it to be laundered,” Hualit reassured her. “You have others now.”

Luzia felt that jab of pleasure and resentment as the smock was removed and a shift of thin white linen was pulled over her head.

The shoes were traded for slippers and a fur-lined dressing gown of persimmon velvet from Perucho’s shop.

“You see how it is now,” Hualit said gently, removing the shells from Luzia’s hair and setting them on the dressing table. “You cannot go back. There is only the path before you. Whether it leads to a palace—”

“Or onto a pyre,” Luzia finished. “At least I’ll be well dressed when I’m dragged to my cell in Toledo.”

“There is that,” Hualit said with a smile, and dropped a kiss on Luzia’s head before she departed.

When she was gone the maid used tongs to remove the hot brick she’d set between the covers to warm the bed. It was shaped like the round medallion that had hung above the stage and it was patterned with the same labyrinth.

“Is there nothing he has not put his seal to?” Luzia wondered.

“There’s a sign above his bed,” Concha said with a breathy giggle. “A scroll held up by angels of solid silver. I’m told it reads, ‘Antonio Pérez sleeps here.’”

“In case he forgets?”

Concha laughed, then startled when someone scratched at the door.

Luzia assumed Hualit had returned, but Santángel stood in the doorway.

“Go,” he commanded the little maid, and with something like a squeak, Concha vanished.

“You cannot be here,” Luzia whispered furiously. “Not alone. Not with me.”