Page 69 of The Familiar

“Do not leave these rooms,” the guard said as he shoved her inside her chamber.

“For how long?”

“That is for Don Antonio to decide. Do not think to challenge him or you will enjoy the hospitality of a cell. Guards will be posted in the corridors.”

Luzia stood for a long moment staring at the door, wishing it had a lock, wishing she had more than scraps of power that had made their way to her in letters and songs. She wished she had a knife or any kind of weapon. There was the magic that had killed Víctor’s bodyguard, but she had no idea how to recreate it, and whose fault was that? There are limits to the impossible, Santángel had warned her. But why did there have to be?

“Concha?” she asked quietly, afraid to raise her voice. But she knew the girl wasn’t there. The room felt too empty, too silent.

Who had created those shadows? Who had controlled them? Could they slip through doors? Walk through walls? What if the devil really had come to La Casilla, not to be bested, but to brand them all as his creatures?

She was shivering now, her dress damp, her corset chafing beneath her arms. Her skirts were muddy and singed in places. She wanted to change, to be warm and dry, but she had no way out of her gown without another set of hands. Should she go looking for Valentina? For Hualit? What had happened to them? What had happened to the other competitors? A thousand questions, but the only one that mattered was What comes next?

She whispered to the coals in the brazier and they sparked to a glow. She could make fire leap. She could crack open a stone. Though she couldn’t multiply gold or rubies, she could make a mountain of beans or shoes or muskets.

But always she wanted more. She thought of Álvaro, lying split in two, and what it would have meant if she’d had one of the talismans Santángel had spoken of, if she could have swept herself out of that room and onto a ship or the top of a mountain or anywhere at all. A change of scene, a change of fortune. She had almost died that day and still she wanted more.

The door opened and she nearly screamed. It was Santángel.

She didn’t bother to ask how he’d gotten past the guards. That was one of his gifts.

“Where is the maid?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Could something have happened to her?”

“Many of the servants went outside to watch the play earlier. Some are sheltering in the stables and outbuildings, but many fled.”

Luzia rubbed her hands over the heat of the coals. “I can hardly blame her. If I could run I would.”

Santángel walked to the window, though she knew there was little to see on the darkened grounds. “The Holy Child and the Prince of Olives have returned to their quarters with their patrons and attendants. Gracia de Valera has asked to leave the torneo.”

A wise choice. A competition plagued by blood and demons was not the place for matchmaking.

“What did I see tonight?” she asked. “Who has such power? Fortún said we were meant to face Satan himself, but—”

Santángel shook his head. “It’s shadow magic. I’ve seen it before. Maybe it’s the work of the devil, but if so he had some mortal help.”

“Gracia was almost killed.”

“I suspect that was the intention. No doubt you would have been blamed.”

She knew he was right as soon as he spoke the words. Gracia had tried to ruin Luzia’s first performance. Gracia’s guard had tried to kill her or at least take her out of the competition. Luzia had every reason to want to harm her.

“I would have to be a fool to attack her so publicly,” she protested. “And in front of an inquisitor!”

“Remember, they believe you are a scullion.”

“A stupid peasant incapable of scheming.” Luzia’s laugh was bitter. “Of all the things to doom me.”

“Your doom isn’t certain yet. Whoever managed this magic had tremendous power, but lacked real skill or control. I highly doubt they had this outcome in mind.”

Luzia drew the chair from her dressing table closer to the fire and sat. Her legs could no longer support her. She was tired and cold and she’d never been more scared.

She kept her eyes on the coals and said, “When we were on your horse, I wanted you to keep riding. I wanted you to charge through the gates and onto the road. I didn’t want to come back.”

For a long moment she thought he would say nothing.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, as if he were confessing. “I thought the same thing,” he said. “I wondered how far we might go.”