Page 86 of The Familiar

“What proof can I provide but whispers passed from one milagrero to another? Catalina Muñoz was wise enough to avoid Don Víctor and Santángel. The daughter of Maslama al-Majriti vanished from history entirely.” He glanced once at Doña Beatriz, still in conversation with Valentina. “I’ve been told there is a secret chapter from Juan Diánoco where he writes not just of the milagros worked by a farmer named Isidro, but of the devil who appeared to tempt him at his plow. A demon with white hair and silver eyes.”

“I see,” said Luzia. What else could she say? What was she meant to believe? The sky seemed too close, too heavy, a smothering hand.

“I’m only suggesting there are questions you’d be wise to ask.”

“Or you’re trying to weaken my resolve and fracture my bond with a powerful ally.”

“God wants this for both of us, Luzia. I feel that.”

“Do you have visions now too?”

“I don’t need a vision to see what we might build together.”

“I will think on what you’ve said.” Her voice was steady despite the frantic thud of her heart.

He lowered his voice. “Perhaps I should be ashamed I seduced Doña Beatriz, but I’m not. Despite all her wealth and power, love has made her mine to command. I think you understand me.”

Luzia couldn’t stop the blood that rushed to her cheeks. Had she and Santángel been so indiscreet?

“I understand you very well,” she replied sharply. “You know you can win.” She shouldn’t say it. Santángel would tell her it was bad strategy to speak so baldly. “You’re popular with Pérez’s friends and your gift is as great as mine.”

“Together we might be greater still.” He reached for her hand and Luzia flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered furiously. “Your mistress will see. So will mine.”

He drew back, ashamed. “I don’t … I don’t know the ways of this place. I never have. I only know I don’t want to bear the weight of the king’s expectations by myself. What happened to Teoda could happen to any of us.”

“She’s a heretic,” Luzia said because she must.

“Search far enough, dig deep enough, and the Inquisition can find an excuse. I don’t want to live in fear.”

Luzia considered the sketch on its easel. Was it so easy to rewrite a moment? To change a story she thought she knew? A child erased with the swipe of a thumb. A scullion transformed into a holy warrior. Two rivals made allies.

“I don’t want to do this alone, Luzia. I don’t think I can.”

“But we are alone,” she said as she turned away from him. “Always.”

A warning to the Prince of Olives. A reminder to herself.

CHAPTER 39

Luzia stayed in her room the rest of the day, watching the light change, wishing for something to read, hoping Santángel would come to her, afraid of the answers she might demand if he did. Sacrifice. She had learned to shape words in her head, to hear the meaning of her refranes and then find a new use for them. But what could she make of the word sacrifice? She didn’t trust Fortún Donadei, but that didn’t mean she should ignore his warnings.

She thought of the Pleiades, the constellation that meant so much to Antonio Pérez. Her mother had told her old stories about the stars, about two angels who had been so besotted with mortal women they’d given up their secrets to them; of Orion the Hunter chasing Atlas’s daughters across the sky, and the scorpion that had pursued him in turn. Pleiades, she’d said to Luzia. Khima.

How can one constellation have two names? Luzia had wondered.

It has many more than that, her mother replied. Nothing is ever just one thing.

Luzia’s father loved the stories too, but he had never learned to read and took no interest in books or astronomy. Why name the stars? he’d said with a laugh, and lifted Luzia onto his shoulders. Just let them be bright.

From the moment Santángel had told her the story of the prince and the curse and Tello’s betrayal, she had known he was issuing his own kind of warning. Maybe she hadn’t understood the particulars of how their fates were entangled, or what she might be asked to give up in such a bargain, but she’d recognized the danger. Yet she couldn’t make the figures tally. She was no immortal whose gifts could be passed from one generation to the next. And if Santángel valued freedom most, then how could he bargain it away and break the curse?

It wasn’t too late to return to Madrid, to find Hualit’s house, to run. She imagined herself walking through the gardens and on to the stable, asking for a horse she could barely ride. It was risky to travel the roads alone, but she wouldn’t have far to go. She could even ask a groom to ride with her, offer him some of the beads from her rosary. Luzia wasn’t sure how her aunt planned to get her to Valencia without Víctor finding out, but Hualit had never lacked for resourcefulness. She would find a way. Luzia would see the ocean, board a ship, slip away from Spain, from the tribunal, from the king. She would be safe.

“I would rather be powerful,” she whispered to no one at all.

When Valentina arrived to help Luzia undress, she asked, “Did you bring me to the gardens to speak to Fortún Donadei?”