Page 54 of The Familiar

Hualit flinched but kept her poise. “I said nothing of the kind.”

“Then the mistake is mine. It would be a foolish thing to suggest, after all. Say only that if this guard was the kind of coward who sets traps for young women rather than sullying his own hands with blood, he met the end he should. Say it will be whispered that to act against Luzia Calderón Cotado is to court death itself. Say this tragedy may be for us a happy accident.”

“Most felicitous indeed.”

“You may go now, señora.”

“I am not a servant to be dismissed.”

“But you will not want Don Víctor to wait.”

Luzia watched Hualit consider her options: stand her ground and risk angering her patron or capitulate and bruise her own pride.

“Remember what I said, querida,” she whispered, and with a curtsy of consummate grace, she marched past Santángel.

Santángel stalked toward her—no, Luzia corrected herself, he was not stalking, he was a man who was walking toward her with purpose. Her aunt’s warnings had put her on edge.

Her tongue resorted to nonsense. “Did you kill my guards too?” she asked.

“Yes, I stuffed them beneath your bed. Concha is in for a crowded night.”

“I’m mostly sure you’re joking.” She made her nervous hands still. “You’re dressed for hunting.”

“I will ride out with them. I won’t hunt. I know what it is to be shot from the sky.”

At least he’d had a chance to use his wings. Perhaps she should leave off talk of death and bloodshed, but he’d told her she could ask him any question she liked. “Did you kill that man? Gracia de Valera’s guard?”

“He forfeited his life when he tried to take yours.”

She wasn’t sure what she had wanted his answer to be, but she knew she shouldn’t be pleased by those words. She was worse than Concha with her giggles and gasps.

“Because I belong to Víctor de Paredes,” she said.

Santángel hesitated. “I suppose that’s a way of looking at it.” He joined her by the window, one eye on the corridor, one on the gardens below. “Pérez has ordered the hopefuls to the eastern terrace, where you are to have your portraits sketched.”

“For what purpose?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Perhaps the artist will capture the moment when Gracia tries to stab me.”

“At least then we would have proof,” he replied. “Go and meet the other competitors.”

“And do what with them?”

“Learn from them. Determine their strengths and weaknesses.”

Luzia fidgeted with the beads at her waist. “They’ll be doing the same.”

“Yes, but you have an advantage. We servants are used to watching our betters and to making ourselves invisible while we do. See what you can discover about them and the second trial.”

“When will it begin?”

“Tomorrow night. I’ve been able to learn little else, but we’ll run through your collection of miracles.”

“Why not begin the trial sooner? Why not today?”

“Are you so eager to compete?”