Page 60 of The Familiar

“That’s not our concern. What else?”

“Teoda had no kind words for the empire. She spoke of blood and plunder.”

Santángel leaned against the wall by the window. “Tell me what she said. As clearly as you can remember.”

When Luzia had finished he thought on her words. “So she doesn’t just hear voices. She’s sensitive to objects as well. Maybe the angel is all invention, a means of tying her power to the Church.”

“Fortún didn’t like it.”

“No doubt he’ll repeat every word. That’s dangerous. She’s been very careful about flattering the king in her predictions. For gold and silver to flow from the New World, blood must too. That’s the way of conquest. But Spain’s empire is a weak one.”

“Now you’re the one criticizing the king?” Luzia whispered, perhaps afraid that Concha might be listening through the door. But the girl had gone off to gossip with the other maids.

“All empires are the same empire to the poor and the conquered. But not all empires are the same. The Dutch and the English will build markets for their goods, colonies for their taxes, new routes of trade. They will bleed the world for an age. Spain builds nothing, just spends its stolen wealth on wars that have no end. If the walls of La Casilla are wet with blood, then so are the king’s monastery and all of the churches in Madrid, and the houses of every noble. Víctor would drown in it.”

“And if I don’t want to help Philip or anyone else bleed the world?”

Santángel had no response to that. No matter what power or position Luzia gained, she would never be on sure ground. Even queens must fear their kings, and Víctor de Paredes would control her as he had controlled Santángel. For an eternity.

As if she could read his thoughts, she met his eyes in the mirror. “Fortún Donadei said you are not what you seem.”

“What do I seem?”

“Do you want your vanity stroked?”

“I’m a man, so the answer is always yes.”

“Are you?”

The question startled him. “A man? Do you doubt it?”

Her cheeks pinked and her gaze shifted away. “Not the particulars. But you are not as other men.”

“No,” he admitted.

“You are El Alacrán. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat.”

“I do eat. Quite a lot recently.”

“You didn’t eat.”

“Life had no savor.”

Luzia turned on the bench and threw up her hands, her frustration clear. “What do you mean when you say these things? You’re thriving here. I can see that. So, did Don Víctor keep you in a dungeon?”

He didn’t mean to be evasive, but he’d long since lost the habit of honesty. “Not often.”

“Then is the cook so much better at La Casilla?”

“Víctor sets a fine table. Are we really going to discuss my appetite?”

“If you would only give me a real answer, there would be no need.”

“Does this mean Fortún Donadei succeeded in making you fear me?”

“All of Madrid fears you.”

“Not all of Madrid,” he corrected with some amusement. “All of Spain.”