Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  At the limits of her audial range, she heard conversation, murmuring male and female voices. That was the most she could make out. She strained briefly to try to understand the words, but gave up after only a moment or two. She would have to leave the room to join the conversation.

  Memory drifted in like scraps of cloth blowing in a gentle breeze, gradually coming together to reveal the picture painted on them. She had killed Valencia. Jennet had Coerced the mob and sent them away. Edmund had—

  Amaya squeezed her eyes shut as sharp pain lanced through her chest. Edmund had been shot defending Jennet. For the first time, Amaya wished she had killed the woman when she had the chance. Edmund, putting himself in harm’s way for someone he hated, because he could do no less and still remain himself. She cringed at a particularly vivid memory of Edmund lying in that stinking alley, his bloody chest marked by a dozen small wounds. So small to do so much damage. And she could not Shape him whole. Her lack of knowledge had killed the man she loved.

  She remembered, now, that she had pushed herself past her limit, and her body had shut down to Shape itself back to health. She must have…yes, she had let go of Edmund’s hand when that happened, which explained why she had not died with him. Linking her body with a dying man’s ought to have been fatal. She felt a pang of guilt, not just for being still alive, but for her selfish gratitude that she had not died, after all.

  She tried to lift her hand to wipe away the tears trickling down the sides of her face. It trembled, but did not move. Another memory, a more distant one, drifted in. The last time this had happened, she had been weak for a time as her sunqu reoriented themselves. She still felt no pain, and no numbness, just a heaviness when she exerted herself, as if her limbs weighed too much for her to raise. She tried once more, and this time her arm below the elbow lifted, not much, but enough to hearten her.

  She spent some time moving the muscles of her right arm until she had it under her control, then worked on the left one. That was easier, as her sunqu had begun to reassert their dominance, and her muscles began to remember what they were for. The effort allowed her to push her grief to somewhere distant where it could not touch her. Arms lifting, elbows bending, knees flexing and extending her legs and feet. She suppressed Release’s urge to sweat from exertion.

  Finally, she sat up, feeling like a weary old woman with sticks for bones, and propped herself on her palms. Her breathing was too rapid as Heart made demands on the rest of her, but that would pass. Her legs quivered when she swung them around off the edge of the bed, and her bare feet tingled when they brushed the floor boards (sanded smooth and lacquered, Sense told her). When she tried to stand, her body rebelled, so she sat quietly on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap and waited for Strength and Sense to work together again.

  She wore a soft cotton nightgown she thought might be her own, because it smelled like her, but if she had been bereft of consciousness for many days—and based on her previous experience, it likely had been many days—it would naturally have gained her scent. It was too dark for her to make out the room’s details, and her eyes refused to sharpen with Shaping. It didn’t matter. She was in the hands of friends, or they would not have bothered removing her ruined clothes to make her comfortable. Though she had not been in a position to care, their thoughtfulness cheered her.

  The weight of the wallqa was a comforting pressure on her breastbone. She fingered it through the cloth of the nightgown and once more relaxed at the touch of the smooth surface stippled with hammer marks. If that had been gone, she truly would have felt naked regardless of what she wore.

  She tried again to stand, and this time her body obeyed, though she tottered and swayed with every halting step. A line of light showed where the door was, and she aimed for that, her hands held out in front of her to guide her and prevent her running into a wall or tripping over a chair.

  The door opened when Amaya was still some distance away, and Elinor entered. She let out a shriek that made Amaya jerk in surprise. “Oh, you are well,” Elinor exclaimed, and hurried forward to put her arms around Amaya. “I apologize, I was simply so startled. In your nightgown and with your hair disordered, you seemed at first glance to be a spirit.”

  “I understand,” Amaya said. She returned Elinor’s embrace awkwardly, as she was not accustomed to showing affection by hugging. Reflexively she assessed Elinor’s condition and found her well. The child moved within her, little shifts of arms and legs Elinor likely could not perceive, but that told Amaya it, too, was unharmed.

  “You must sit—or perhaps not; I do not know what you need,” Elinor said. “Doctor Quintana said it happens when a Shaper exhausts herself, but he said you were likely to die of it.” She scowled in irritation. “He was not very optimistic, and I am not sure I approve of him.”

  “I do not die,” Amaya protested. “But—” She fell silent, not wanting to speak of Edmund’s death or of how she very nearly had died with him. Her heart ached with memory, and she told herself fiercely not to weep. “Who is Dr. Quintana?” she asked, and hoped Elinor would not hear the hoarse misery in her voice.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. “I heard voices,” Lord Enderleigh said from the doorway. He looked at Elinor, and his eyes narrowed. Elinor returned his gaze coolly. “I should not impose,” Lord Enderleigh said. “I must tell the others you are awake, Miss Salazar.” He backed away from the doorway, and the door gradually swung shut without a hand touching it.

  “We are staying at an inn here in Burgos,” Elinor said, gently ushering Amaya to a chair visible in the diminishing light from the doorway. With a sizzle, the lamp beside the bed flared into life. Amaya blinked. In the lamplight, Elinor looked tired, with pronounced shadows beneath her eyes and the corners of her mouth dragged down. Amaya considered protesting that Elinor looked more in need of a chair than she was, but Elinor did not appear in the mood for argument.

  “Why are we in Burgos?” she asked instead.

  Elinor took a seat on the edge of Amaya’s bed. “That is a rather long story, and I am not certain you are well enough—”

  “I am not ill, Elinor. My body has recovered. It is not that I am an invalid. Please do not protect me.” Amaya clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling from her exertions so they would not give her the lie. She hoped Elinor would not bring up Edmund’s death, either, but she steadied herself against the possibility. Elinor knew of Amaya’s love for him, and perhaps that would prevent her wounding Amaya further. Eventually, Amaya would have to face her loss, and she was distantly aware that she was being a coward, but she did not care. Pretending would not bring Edmund back, but it eased the terrible ache in her heart for the moment.

  Elinor looked skeptical, but said, “Very well, if you are sure. Amaya, so much has happened, and some of it we do not know the truth of. Tell me, did you attack King Ferdinand?”

  “I did not!” Outraged, Amaya tried to rise, found her legs once more unresponsive, and pretended she had merely intended to sit forward. “I have said what happened. He says we, Edmund—” Pain gripped her heart, but she forged onward. “Edmund and I, he says we lie to him about Mr. Valencia’s intentions and he says we are Coerced to kill him. I stop him threatening us and we…” Again she remembered that Edmund was dead, and swallowed tears. “We run—ran to you, and that is when we all escaped the palace. I did not hurt him.”

  Elinor’s gaze on Amaya was placid, but the set of her jaw told Amaya Elinor was upset about something. “You attacked him,” she said, “with your talent.”

  All at once Amaya saw the truth. Her heart gave a painful lurch. “It is not what you believe.”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” Elinor’s hands were folded in her lap. “It is why I am here and not another. Though from what I have heard, I might not be able to burn you to death before you killed me.”

  “I would not—Elinor, you do not know—”

  “Then tell me.” Elinor gestured with a hand, and the lamp burned mo
re brightly. “Tell me why you kept this horrid secret. Tell me why I should trust you when I know you can kill with a touch.”

  Amaya gripped her hands together so tightly they felt numb. “You can kill with a thought,” she said. “Why should I not fear you?”

  Elinor opened her mouth, then closed it again. “My ability is no secret. You must have a sinister motive not to reveal yours.”

  “It is not sinister! Edmund—” She swallowed again around the hard lump in her throat. “I believed everyone knew. It is not a secret—that is, it is a known thing, that if one can Shape the heart whole, one can also Shape it to destruction. It is obvious, and that is why I do not say what I can do, because my character speaks for itself. I do not kill except to protect. As you do. Elinor, you must understand!”

  Elinor’s head bowed. “I do,” she said. “Forgive my cruelty, but I needed to know what you would say. You must understand how the situation appears. The king of Spain did not know what an Extraordinary Shaper is capable of, and he or someone near to him drew the conclusion that your ability is not unique to Amaya Salazar, but is possessed by all Extraordinary Shapers.” She smiled bitterly. “And because he is, of course, a benign and wise ruler, he immediately spread the news abroad that Extraordinary Shapers are to be feared. Since he is a Speaker, that was likely very far abroad.”

  “He—I see, it is a manner of speech to call King Ferdinand wise and then to tell of a not-wise thing he has done.” Amaya shuddered. “Is this why we are in Burgos? We leave Spain?”

  “Yes, we are on the way to Santander to take ship for London.”

  Amaya looked more closely at Elinor. “You still do not sound happy.”

  “Because none of us know how far that news will spread. We might return to London to discover a warrant has been issued for your arrest, or that Extraordinary Shapers have been banned, or even that many of them have fallen to the mob.” Elinor sighed. “If we had a Bounder—but no. Sir William’s reticulum in England has heard nothing of any such news, but I believe it is only a matter of time.”

  “Then what will you do with me?”

  “With you? Nothing. You are no more dangerous than you were six days ago when we knew nothing of this secret. And if the members of our party do not fear me, I see no reason why they should fear you.” Elinor rose. “What do you need? Food? It is after ten o’clock, but I am sure we can find something for you to eat. You were in that unconscious state for nearly a week, not eating or moving, barely breathing. I was so afraid for you.”

  “I will be hungry soon,” Amaya said, “but well before morning, so it is good I eat now.”

  “I will have something sent.” Elinor hesitated, then extended her hand. “I did not fear you, not ever,” she said.

  Amaya clasped Elinor’s cool, small hand. “You know what it is like to be feared for what you might do,” she said. “I do not fear you either.”

  “Then we can endure the worst,” Elinor said.

  When Elinor was gone, Amaya sat staring at the flame, watching it flicker like a tiny living thing. It still angered her that every European she encountered believed this one aspect of an Extraordinary Shaper’s talent outweighed all the other marvelous things such a person could do. It angered her more that the European Extraordinary Shapers had apparently kept it a secret, likely out of fear rather than from a desire to assassinate others. If they had not been so determined to shroud it in mystery, they would not now be facing another Frenzy.

  She considered her bed. Resting was likely a good idea, given that her body was still not fully recovered, but she did not like to eat in bed, and she wanted food more than she wanted rest.

  She looked around for her trunk, then remembered it had been left behind in the Palacio Real along with most of her wardrobe. No wonder she had needed to borrow a nightgown. She checked the clothespress anyway; empty. She hoped someone was in a position to loan her day clothes, as she could hardly travel clad only in a nightgown.

  The door opened when she was halfway to the chair. “Amaya?” the visitor said.

  It was Edmund.

  Chapter 28

  In which cultures and customs are compared, and an agreement reached

  Shock like an icicle through the heart and then complete numbness swept over her. She realized she was kneeling on the floor with one hand thrust out before her, preventing her from hitting the wood planks face first. Hands gripped her shoulders, and Edmund’s voice came to her ears, speaking words she could not understand. They sounded exactly as if they were coming from some distant realm of the dead, where Edmund surely was.

  She squeezed her eyes tight shut and made herself breathe, forced Need to draw sustenance from the air and Heart to work less erratically. Now she understood why Elinor had reacted to the sight of her as she had, that gasp and retreat not of fear, but of total surprise.

  Edmund’s mumbling, alien speech became intelligible between one syllable and the next: “—not well, you must return to your bed. Can you walk?”

  She shook her head, not in response to his question, but in lingering surprise. “Edmund,” she managed, “Edmund, how is it you are alive? I felt—” She could not now remember what she had felt, but he had been dying, she was certain of that.

  “Back to bed,” Edmund said, and he lifted her as easily as if she had been a kitten and deposited her on the bed neatly and without fuss. Reflexively she pulled the blanket over herself, but did not lie back. She gazed at him, searching for signs of hidden injury. He was dressed well, if informally, with no coat or neckcloth and the neck of his shirt open, and did not move as if he hurt anywhere, though lines of worry touched his forehead and the corners of his eyes.

  Confronted with his presence, with the solid reality of him, she could say only, “You died.”

  Edmund shook his head. “I made a very near thing of it, though. Dr. Quintana’s Healing was the greatest pain I have ever felt. And I was conscious for all of it, though not in any coherent way. He said afterward if he had permitted me to sleep, I would likely never have woken. It is as well we left him in Madrid, for my sense of gratitude was at war with my dislike of him.”

  Amaya clenched the blanket in both hands. “Edmund,” she said, frustrated and confused and angry all at once, “who is Dr. Quintana?”

  Edmund dragged the chair to where he could sit beside her bed. “He is a disreputable, drunken physician with the bedside manner of a dyspeptic bear. He also happens to be an Extraordinary Shaper. And I recant every terrible thing I ever said about Jennet, because had she not known of the man, I likely would be dead.”

  “Jennet? She ran away.”

  “Ran to fetch Dr. Quintana, or so I gather. I was not exactly lucid at the time. I believed you dead because you had collapsed atop me and I could not feel your heartbeat nor breath.” He pried her hand free of the fabric and held it tightly in his. “It felt like an eternity, lying there with your dead body over me and feeling the life ebb from mine with every passing moment. And then Dr. Quintana was there, and it was a different kind of eternity. So much pain—though I welcomed it at the time, as sign that I might survive.”

  “But how could Jennet have known of him?”

  “That, I did not ask. There was no time. I believe Jennet watched Dr. Quintana’s work, and stayed long enough to tell me she had repaid her debt to me. Then she left, this time for good. I doubt we will see her again.” Edmund sighed. “I don’t understand her. She did not, as far as I can tell, Coerce Dr. Quintana into following her, as his temperament would have been far more pleasant. The doctor would not say anything about her—became downright surly if I pressed him. So it is a mystery whose depths we shall never plumb.”

  The humor in his final words eased Amaya’s heart. “It is a miracle, as Bess sometimes says about things. And she tells me miracles should not be questioned, for fear God will think one ungrateful.”

  Edmund’s smile faded. “We have indeed been blessed with a surfeit of them. When Dr. Quintana told me you were me
rely comatose from too much Shaping, I felt light enough to Fly like Lord Enderleigh. Amaya, you should not have exerted yourself so on my behalf. I could not have borne the weight of your death.”

  Amaya leaned forward. “Come closer,” she whispered, making Edmund lean in to hear her more clearly. She put her free hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. His lips tasted of mutton and wine from supper, and they moved softly against hers. “It is what we do for each other,” she said, “we who love each other, because I could not have let you die without doing everything in my power to stop it.”

  Edmund’s dark eyes were intent on hers. Then he kissed her again, fiercely, taking her in his arms and holding her so tightly she squeaked. She had believed she knew how kissing felt, but this marvelous passion, this knowledge that they had both come so close to death, made her feel as if she were endlessly falling, held up only by his embrace.

  She shifted back, making room for him on the narrow bed, and he joined her there, half-kneeling awkwardly beside her. She had never been this aware of her body, had never realized how blissfully aware her Sense could be, every nerve alight with the need to touch and be touched. Tugging at the hem of his shirt, she slipped her hand beneath the fabric to touch the smooth skin of his body, not to assess his condition but to feel his muscular strength contrasting with the satiny texture of his skin.

  He had his hands on her hips, drawing her closer, his fingers straying lower, and she moaned, a tiny sound that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room. “Lie with me,” she murmured. “We need this.”

  Edmund moved from kissing her lips to kissing her cheek. “We should not,” he said. “In fact, I should leave. No one knows I am here save perhaps Lady Enderleigh, but your reputation—”

  “My reputation can go to the devil.”

  Edmund laughed. “That is not at all appropriate language for a young lady, as I’m sure you know.”