Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  Sir William turned and bowed in Lord Enderleigh’s direction as the earl and countess approached, arm in arm. “My lord, my lady, may I make known to you Don Martín de Ceballos y Beltrán, Count of Álava, mayordomo de semana, and representative of His Majesty King Ferdinand VII. My lord count, the Earl and Countess of Enderleigh.”

  “You are most welcome,” Don Martín said in heavily accented English. “Permit me to introduce Don Pedro Borrero, who will have the charge of your household while you reside with us.” He indicated a taller man whose light brown hair was longer than Amaya thought was strictly fashionable, but of course she had no idea what the Spanish thought appropriate. Deep lines made furrows from the sides of Don Pedro’s nose to the corners of his mouth, and from the corners of his mouth toward his chin, giving his face a drooping, melancholy appearance. He bowed, but did not smile. Amaya wondered if he was capable of doing so.

  “By ‘our household’ you mean, of course, our Spanish attendants,” Lord Enderleigh said.

  The count did not blink. “Of course. Not your own attendants, naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Lord Enderleigh rested his hand atop Elinor’s briefly. “We wish to rest after our journey. Please convey our regards to King Ferdinand, and express our desire to meet with him at his earliest convenience.”

  Don Martín stiffened slightly, a reaction Amaya supposed only someone watching him as closely as she was would notice. “I will express your wish to his Majesty,” he said, managing to sound both polite and affronted. Amaya guessed the Earl’s words were offensive in some way; perhaps he had implied that the King of Spain should bow to Lord Enderleigh’s wishes. Amaya was cheered by this even as she felt slightly guilty that she should wish to see England triumphant over what was, essentially, her native land. But she had English friends, England had been kind to her, and yet she was no English citizen and likely should not choose sides.

  The Earl nodded as regally as if he had been born to his estate, Elinor bobbed a curtsey, and the two turned to follow Don Pedro. Amaya walked behind them a few paces, watching the assembled Spaniards covertly. They did not stare openly at the Earl or Elinor until they were past—and then the gentlemen and a few of the soldiers turned their gazes on the Countess of Enderleigh’s awkward form. So they well knew who had come to the Palacio Real, and who the real threat was. Amaya was annoyed again, this time on Elinor’s behalf. Most of them looked as if they expected Elinor to burst into flame before them.

  Beyond the wide front door, the palace opened up into a vast marble room, tall and majestic and well-lit by lanterns that burned high on its walls, out of reach of any but a Scorcher. The stairs leading up divided to rise again to a landing from which led three red-curtained openings, each large enough to admit three people walking side by side. Having left the soldiers behind, Amaya felt free to gawk again as Don Pedro led their party through many halls, cavernous and echoing with the sound of many footsteps. She had seen nothing like this in her life.

  Almost every wall bore draperies or was covered with fine, brightly colored, intricately patterned fabrics; almost every ceiling was painted with scenes Amaya did not recognize, of men and women and creatures frozen in the act of dancing or making merry. Gold trimmed every conceivable surface, glinting warmly in the light of the lanterns. It was ornate enough to overwhelm her senses, and after a few minutes she had to look at Elinor’s back as they walked, ignoring the beautiful but overwhelming scene.

  They walked for some minutes before Don Pedro opened a door and said, his English not as accented as Don Martín’s, “We are pleased to provide this apartment for our English friends. It was the home of Queen Maria Amalia, and we hope it will suit.”

  “Thank you,” Lord Enderleigh said. “It is quite an honor.”

  Amaya eyed Don Pedro as she passed him. He continued to stand at the door as the diplomatic party entered, and did not seem to notice her regard. To her surprise, his attention was not on Elinor, but on Sir William. What it meant, she did not know, but Don Pedro’s relaxed stance and inattention to the Extraordinary Scorcher suggested he did not fear Elinor. Amaya decided he bore closer watching. Either he was a fool, or he was very wise, and in the latter case he might be more trustworthy than Don Martín.

  The “apartment” beyond turned out to be a series of halls lined with gold-rimmed doors, carpeted in plush, soft fabrics that gave slightly as Amaya trod them. A line of plainly-dressed men and women stood at attention along the wall, just inside the door. The woman at the head of the line, a plump lady with greying black hair and dark blue eyes, curtseyed deeply when Lord Enderleigh and Elinor approached. “I will to your comfort see,” she said. “Ask for what you wish.”

  “Oh,” Lord Enderleigh said. He sounded at a loss, not at all as confident as he had in speaking to Don Martín. “We—”

  “Thank you,” Elinor said smoothly. “Please show us to our rooms.”

  The woman turned and clapped her hands sharply, saying in Spanish, “Show respect to the lord and lady!”

  Immediately the servants bowed or curtseyed, and spread out along the hall. Amaya followed Elinor again, this time watching the various servants as they disappeared within the doors lining the hall. She was so intent on them she did not at first hear Elinor say her name. “Oh—yes?” she said when Elinor spoke again.

  “I asked if this room is suitable,” Elinor said.

  Amaya glanced inside the open door. The bedchamber was as ornate as the rest of the palace, the corners and edges of the ceiling gilded, the walls hung with red velvet draperies over patterned gold-and-red paper, the ceiling painted with some scene even her enhanced eyesight could not make out. It was not a room anyone could sleep in. But Amaya guessed it likely that every bedchamber in this place would look much the same, so she said, “It is very nice. Thank you.”

  Elinor shot her a look that said she did not believe Amaya was being completely honest, but said only, “Your maid will see to your things, if you would join me. I believe this lady wishes to show us our domain, and she will be more comfortable if she can speak her own language.”

  Amaya nodded. “I am Miss Salazar,” she told the plump servant woman in Spanish. “My lady wishes to know your name.”

  The woman brightened at hearing her own language. “Mrs. Zambrano,” she said. “But my lady need not lower herself to address me so. I am no one of importance.”

  “In England, it is how women of the household—the women who care for a household, I mean—are spoken to.” Amaya relayed the information to Elinor, who nodded. “You will show us this place?” Amaya continued.

  “It will be my pleasure,” Mrs. Zambrano said.

  Amaya paid more attention to Mrs. Zambrano than to the many overwhelming rooms she bustled them through. The housekeeper—though Amaya suspected that was a grander title than her Spanish masters would give her—seemed genuinely pleased to serve the English lord and lady, and Amaya felt confident she was no threat. She wished, though, that she understood more of the politenesses of civil society. Was it a subtle insult, for example, to assign Lord and Lady Enderleigh servants who could barely communicate in English?

  Amaya inwardly chastised herself. It was not her responsibility to care about such things. That was on Sir William’s head. Still, she could not help wondering, every time she saw an unfamiliar servant, whether or not he posed a threat.

  Chapter 6

  In which Amaya meets a king, and is unimpressed

  Amaya’s gown, chosen specifically as appropriate garb for meeting the King of Spain, was of heavy amber satin with a long train that felt as though it was weighted with stones. She preferred the necklace of faceted topaz gems that went with it; it reminded her of the golden wallqa she had worn, so briefly, as Uturunku, that even now resided deep within her jewelry case. European jewelry fascinated her in its difference from its Incan counterparts, particularly the gemstones cut to catch the light and sparkle. She ran a finger over the angular surface of the central topaz. Perhaps Edmund
might take her into the city to see what kinds of jewelry the Spanish produced.

  The lace mantilla over her head slipped, and she hitched it into place. It had not been part of her costume originally, but Mrs. Zambrano had hesitantly confided in Amaya that those veils were considered essential to ladies’ dress when meeting the King, and Amaya had asked the housekeeper to procure them for the Earl’s party. The mantilla was not uncomfortable, and it looked attractive, but it was one more thing to remember, however securely it was pinned.

  She examined the rest of the diplomatic party as they walked through the halls of the Palacio Real. She, Elinor, Lady Kynaston, and Mrs. Paget, Lady Kynaston’s secretary and a Discerner of no small talent, were the only women; the rest of Lord Enderleigh’s train were men of ages ranging from the old Seer Lord Winder, whose hands shook violently but whose step was firm and confident, to Peter Grimly, seventeen years old and absurdly beautiful as only an English Shaper would be. Amaya did not know any of them well except Edmund, whose place was just ahead of her so she had a good view of his fashionable coat. None of the men had dressed any differently for this meeting, though all wore their finest coats and formal knee breeches.

  Amaya had at first protested being included in the diplomatic party, arguing that she was there as Elinor’s attendant, not as a diplomat, but Elinor had said, “An Extraordinary Shaper gives consequence to anyone,” and Sir William had agreed, and that was that. Amaya had not liked the calculating expression Sir William wore, as if he were assessing his government’s diplomatic strength and saw Amaya as a piece of that. But she did not like to disappoint Elinor, who she suspected wanted a companion of her own sex. And, she admitted privately, she had never seen a European king before, and was curious.

  She looked past Elinor and Lord Enderleigh at a wide doorway set in a wall paneled in rich, dark wood. Very little of the room beyond was visible, but she had the impression of a great deal of red and gold. The men ahead of her slowed their pace, forcing her to slow as well and hope no one behind her would step on her awkward train. She smelled the unmistakable scent of dozens of warm bodies, not just the English but in the room beyond, and heard the rustling and murmuring of many people trying, not very hard, to be quiet.

  Then their party came to a complete stop just outside the doorway. With her enhanced hearing, she clearly heard Don Martín tell Lord Enderleigh, “His Majesty will arrive shortly.”

  “Will he?” Lord Enderleigh said politely. His voice had that undercurrent Amaya was now familiar with, the musical lilt that said the Earl was not pleased but chose to conceal his displeasure. Whether the king intended discourtesy or not, Amaya did not know; she only wished Lord Enderleigh would continue on into the red and gold room so she could see it clearly.

  At that moment, their little group surged into motion again, and Amaya followed Edmund into a room as rich and ornate as anything she had ever seen, the walls draped in red and hung with enormous mirrors reflecting the light from dozens of candles set in branches atop gilded tables. Directly opposite their entrance, a dais rose some three or four steps above the floor. Four golden lions, each with a paw balanced atop a ball, guarded the approach to the chair placed at the center of the dais. The gilded back of the chair reminded Amaya of the Sapa Inca’s golden throne, though his had not been padded in red velvet.

  Dozens of men dressed in red and black finery lined the walls as if they had chosen their clothing to match the room. They regarded the English delegation with vague curiosity, and then looked away, speaking amongst themselves in low voices of which Amaya could hear only that they spoke in Spanish.

  Amaya gazed at the lions in awe. They were the first art she had seen among the Europeans that showed any similarities to her lost homeland. The temptation to sink down before one and touch its shining golden mane was tremendous. She found she had taken a few steps forward, putting herself next to Edmund. “How lovely,” she said in Spanish.

  “It is certainly a splendid sight,” Edmund replied in a low voice. “It quite makes one feel in danger of being interred.”

  “In such golden richness?”

  Edmund shrugged. “Velvet of any color makes me prone to funereal imaginings. I realize that sounds absurd.”

  Amaya was about to reply when the low, murmuring hum of the room sharpened, and all the Spanish nobles stood at attention. From a red-curtained door to the left issued a stream of well-dressed men, all of them in black coats trimmed with gold, fine black shoes, and white or red knee breeches. They crossed the room to the dais, compelling the noblemen lining the walls to bow deeply. Sir William bowed as well, and the rest of the English delegation followed suit.

  Amaya curtseyed, but kept her head cocked just enough that she could maintain sight of the Spanish nobles. She could not tell which of them was the king until he sat on the chair and settled himself with his hands resting loosely on his knees. Then she felt disappointed. He did not look very kingly, with his round figure and large nose and fleshy face. She remembered the graceful power of the Sapa Inca and had to suppress a flash of homesickness. Such feelings were beneath her.

  King Ferdinand said, in Spanish, “Rise, and welcome to my court.”

  Amaya straightened and heard Edmund repeat the king’s words in English. Sir William stepped forward and said, also in Spanish, “We thank you for your welcome, your Majesty. Pray, permit me to introduce Lord Enderleigh and Lady Enderleigh, representatives of his Royal Majesty, George III of England, to your court.”

  Amaya let Edmund’s continued translation wash over her and paid close attention to King Ferdinand. He was not as old as she had imagined, no more than thirty, and by the way his gaze flicked in every direction Amaya guessed he was bored. Then his eyes came to rest on her, and his gaze sharpened. It was not a lascivious look, but one of keen interest, and it made Amaya feel uncomfortable.

  “You are all very welcome,” Ferdinand said, cutting across Sir William’s words. “I would know the names of the diplomatic party.”

  Sir William’s expression did not change. “Of course, your Majesty,” he said, and began introducing each man. Ferdinand continued to watch Amaya; Amaya, unwilling to look away and possibly show weakness, kept her chin raised and her gaze confident.

  When Sir William introduced her as “Miss Imelda Salazar, Extraordinary Shaper,” Ferdinand said, “That is not an English name. Are you Spanish, Miss Salazar?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Amaya saw Edmund tense, though he continued with his translation as if nothing were unusual about the king addressing one of the Earl’s attendants directly. “My father was Don Ernesto de Salazar y Ortiz,” she said, “of Toledo. I was born in Peru.”

  “Salazar.” Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed. “I am unfamiliar with the family. But you are a Spanish citizen.”

  Amaya shifted uncomfortably. “My father was Spanish, my mother English. They were killed by Spanish raiders, and the natives of Peru, of Tawantinsuyu, cared for me.”

  Ferdinand did not seem to have heard her. “Why are you with these English?”

  “I, well, England supported me when I fled Peru,” Amaya stammered, “and I choose to attend on Lady Enderleigh. She is my friend.”

  The king’s face darkened in a scowl. “You owe allegiance to your own country.”

  “Miss Salazar is—” Sir William began, glancing quickly between Ferdinand and Amaya.

  “I serve Lady Enderleigh, not England,” Amaya interrupted, “and I am free to make my own choices, your Majesty.”

  Ferdinand sat up straighter, and a flash of unease shot through Amaya that she had spoken so directly to him. She would never have dreamed address the Sapa Inca so irreverently, but this man had so little nobility about him it was easy to forget his rank. Ferdinand gestured, and one of his attendants joined him on the dais. He was younger and slimmer than the king, but otherwise resembled him closely. “Miss Salazar,” the man said in Spanish, “you are an Extraordinary Shaper, and thus owe service to your country. Or do you reject yo
ur heritage?”

  Amaya bit back her first hasty reply, which was to denounce any claim to Spanish heritage. This man annoyed her more than the king had. But she had enough remaining good sense to know her reaction for spite rather than her true desire. “I have many heritages,” she said. “I am Spanish by birth. I am Incan by upbringing. And I am English by family. I hope you do not intend me to choose between them.” She glared at the man, who stared back at her, unmoved.

  The room fell silent. Amaya watched Ferdinand’s face, and to her surprise noticed the subtle shifts and tics that said he was carrying on a conversation with someone in mental Speech, though he did not tilt his head back as an English Speaker might do. She had not realized the king was a Speaker, and wished Sir William or someone had mentioned it—although it was possible they had, and she had merely been in one of her inattentive moods. The man on the dais, too, looked to be Speaking to someone. It was far too coincidental that the two were carrying on separate conversations; they had to be communicating privately. Their rudeness increased Amaya’s dislike of the men.

  “Miss Salazar,” Ferdinand said, drawing her attention back to him. “We are pleased to welcome you to our court. We extend you the respect due an Extraordinary Shaper. But we hope you will carefully consider your position here. An Extraordinary Shaper may go far in Spain.”

  Amaya curtseyed politely, unsure of what to say. She did not believe she could thank him for his magnanimity without snarling. And yet she also did not understand why he had not forced the issue. Extraordinaries in England were given great privileges, true, but Spain might be different—probably was different. She had expected the king to command her to serve him, as he clearly believed he had the right. Why he had retreated, she did not know.