But Amaya could not forget the priest’s words, however she tried to lose herself in gaiety and celebration. She had left Spain behind, and England was now her home, but memories of Fernándo and Graciela and Leocadio and even the defiant Mateo persisted in intruding on her day. Guilt became resentment, resentment became anger, and by the end of the celebratory gathering hosted by the Hanleys, she was caught up in such turmoil it was all she could do to speak pleasantly to those she loved.
She accepted Edmund’s arm and found herself in a hired carriage before realizing she had no idea where they were going. “Edmund, what is this?” she asked, falling back into Spanish in her turmoil and weariness.
“We are setting off on our wedding trip,” Edmund said. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, though he did not attempt to kiss her.
“We did not plan a wedding trip.”
“You did not. I, on the other hand, have exercised my multitudinous powers of secrecy and intrigue to make preparations you are not aware of. Feel free to thank me at any time.”
Irritation flared again. “Suppose I do not desire a wedding trip?”
Edmund smiled and brought her hand to his lips, grazing her knuckles with a kiss. “You promised to obey me, so in this case, your desires are irrelevant.”
“Edmund!”
He laughed. “I apologize, darling. You are in quite a temper, and I should not tease you. In truth, this is not a pleasure trip, or not entirely; I do anticipate with great pleasure seeing the sights of Toledo and its many artistic treasures.”
A chill passed over Amaya. “Edmund,” she said again, less vehemently. “I do not wish to return to Spain.”
“Amaya, you have every right to decide for yourself what family you will embrace.” Edmund’s expression was as serious as she had ever seen him. “But you will not be happy if you simply pretend you have no family at all.”
“I am not Don Fernándo’s heir, no matter what he says. It should be another.”
“Don Fernándo’s wishes are not what matters now. This is about who you are, and who you choose to be. Our stay was cut unnaturally short, and I would not have Mr. Valencia’s cause prevent you from making that choice on your own terms.”
Amaya sighed and closed her eyes. “I wish you were not so wise.”
“I know. It is the most tremendous burden.” Edmund’s sigh was more dramatic than hers. “But you cannot tell me your mood has not improved now that I have made this decision for both of us.”
She did feel better, though she did not like to admit this. “Perhaps it is just the knowledge that we no longer need fear censure at being alone in one another’s company,” she said with a demure smile.
“That is a much better answer,” Edmund said, and kissed her.
The road to the Salazar estate was hot and dry, as unlike their first journey as possible. The air smelled of dust and sunshine, baking the earth as thoroughly as an oven. Amaya considered the possibility of her running beside the carriage, feeling the hard, dry dirt against her bare feet, but not in any serious manner. She wore a fine muslin gown that would be ruined by such exertions.
Edmund had his head tipped back as if he were asleep, but she could tell by the regularity of his breathing that he was simply resting. She paused in her surveying of the landscape to watch him, her heart warming with pleasure at how handsome he was, how firm the line of his jaw, how his eyes were softened by thick black lashes that were the only feminine thing about him. A moment’s desire washed over her, and she smiled at the knowledge that she might indulge in her desire for him whenever she chose.
“You are staring at me again,” Edmund said without opening his eyes. “Dare I hope it is a mark of your deep and abiding love for me?”
“You may,” Amaya said. “Oh, Edmund, suppose this is a mistake?”
“You know it is not,” Edmund said, sitting up and looking at her. “At worst, you bid a true farewell to your relations, and we return to Toledo.”
“Don Fernándo will hate me if he learns I killed Mr. Valencia. He loved him like a son.”
“Then we will not tell him. I confess I am curious to see how much of Don Fernándo’s affection for El Encendedor was the result of Coercion. He may be grateful rather than angry.”
“You are hopelessly optimistic, Edmund.”
“Not hopelessly. Hopefully.” Edmund took Amaya’s hand. “Darling, you have nothing to fear.”
The carriage bumped over the small stone bridge crossing the Tagus River, and in no time it jounced and jolted its passengers up the short road to the Salazar estate. Edmund handed Amaya out of the carriage, and the two made their way to the house. The door’s upper half stood open, and Graciela waited there as if she and not Leocadio was a Seer, to know of Amaya’s coming.
At sight of her aunt’s somber expression, a jolt of fear shot through Amaya. It was a thing out of a novel for her to have arrived just as Fernándo died, and she knew it was unlikely, but her imagination persisted in playing out a host of dramatic scenarios.
“Miss Salazar,” Graciela said. “I feel I owe you an apology.”
Startled at the unexpected salutation, Amaya blurted out, “An apology, to me?”
“To you and to Mr. Hanley,” Graciela said. She did not look ashamed despite her words, merely regarded Amaya with a directness that increased Amaya’s discomfort. “You were Coerced, and I did not inform you of the truth of your emotional state.”
“Because you are a Discerner, and immune to Coercion as well as aware of its presence in others,” Amaya said, remembering Don Balthasar’s words. “But it would have done no good.”
“Even so, I regret so much that I permitted such a thing to happen.” Graciela still did not look away. “I hope you both can forgive me.”
“Amaya is right. We would not have believed you,” Edmund said. “Pray, do not hold yourself accountable for what is another’s evil.”
Amaya impulsively laid a hand on her aunt’s arm. “We all of us have regrets,” she said, “and it is better to make the future right than to live in the middle of those regrets. If you wish, I will forgive you, but I would rather you forgave yourself.”
As she spoke, her words echoed strangely in her mind, and she found herself wishing she could repeat them to Jennet. If anyone had regrets, it was the strange young Coercer, and Amaya wondered briefly where Jennet had gone—and hoped with an unreserved sense of peace that wherever in the world Jennet was, she might find absolution.
Graciela nodded once, as soberly as a queen. “Thank you,” she said. “My father is happy to make you welcome. Please, enter, both of you.”
“Thank you,” Amaya said, deciding not to reveal that she was now Mrs. Edmund Hanley, or Mrs. Salazar Hanley, or Mrs. Hanley y Salazar. So many possible names, so many possible meanings.
Graciela led them through the house, which felt darker and less welcoming than before. That was certainly Amaya’s imagination. Fernándo’s drawing room was hot from the blazing fire he sat next to, the air even warmer than outdoors. Fernándo himself, however, sat bundled in a heavy shawl as close to the fire as he could manage without catching on fire. His eyes gleamed in the firelight.
Amaya curtseyed politely. “Thank you for welcoming me,” she said, though he had done nothing welcoming. “I am glad to return.”
Fernándo jerked his chin at Graciela. “Bring refreshments,” he said. Graciela departed without a word. “Take a seat,” he told Amaya. “You and your companion.”
Amaya sat next to Edmund on the sofa opposite Fernándo. No one spoke until Graciela returned with a tray and glasses of water. She set them within easy reach of Amaya, then handed a glass to Fernándo and retreated to stand by the door, watchful and obedient.
Fernándo’s hand shook as he grasped his glass, and a few drops of water spilled over his chin as he drank. Amaya chose not to draw attention to this, even with an exclamation of sympathy. It surprised her to realize she shared Fernándo’s fierce independence and hat
red of being thought weak. She did not know how she felt about having anything in common with her cantankerous grandfather.
Finally, Fernándo said, “What do you know of Spanish politics these last few weeks?”
“I know Mr. Valencia is dead,” Amaya said without a trace of self-consciousness. “I know there have been riots over the revelation that an Extraordinary Shaper’s talent may be used to kill, and I have heard that King Ferdinand has taken the opportunity arising from these unrelated events to take a hard line against any who would challenge his regime.”
Fernándo shifted in his chair and drew his shawl closer about his body. “And thus the dream dies,” he mused, almost to himself. “Is that why you have returned?”
That did not make any sense. “I have returned because I am a Salazar, and I did not like the abrupt manner of my leaving before,” Amaya said. “If you mean, do I intend to take up Mr. Valencia’s mantle, I fear not. Revolution is not to my taste.”
“However much you might have fought in its name.” Fernándo fixed her with his sharp gaze. “I should chastise you for breaking your vows, but Alejandro is dead, and I find myself not so eager for blood as I once was.” To Amaya’s surprise, tears rolled down Fernándo’s cheeks that he did not wipe away. “I had hopes—ah, but it does not matter now, the death of this old man’s dreams as well as Alejandro’s.”
“I regret—” Amaya began, not sure why she was apologizing, but Fernándo cut her off with a wave of his shaking hand.
“You will stay,” he said, sounding tired rather than obstinate. “You are a Salazar. Ernesto’s child. You will stay.”
Amaya glanced at Edmund, who looked impassive. “I am a Salazar. And not. Mr. Hanley and I are married.”
Again, Fernándo surprised her; she had expected her announcement to cause him to fly into a rage, but he merely smiled. “I see. You know that ladies of Spain do not take their husband’s names? You are correct, you are still a Salazar.”
“And…” Amaya swallowed an unexpected nervous lump in her throat. “I have made promises to England. To teach their Extraordinary Shapers, and to be taught in turn. I cannot stay.”
Fernándo’s smile disappeared. “Take my hand,” he said, thrusting it at her.
“You do not fear my touch?” Amaya said.
“I am old, but I am not a fool,” Fernándo replied. “Talent is what one chooses to make of it. It is not destiny. Come, take my hand.”
Amaya clasped his hand and reflexively assessed his health. Her jaw fell slack in astonishment. “Don Fernándo,” she said, then could not think of anything else to say.
“You see I am dying,” Fernándo said as matter-of-factly as if he were commenting on her gown. “Of course we are all dying, all of us, every day, but for me the time draws rapidly near. I must see my inheritance settled soon. You will not return to England. I command it. Your duty lies here.”
For a moment, Amaya considered lying to the old man. He was correct, his death was only days away, and she might stay here until then and leave immediately after. She did not like him, she did not know if she respected him, and she owed him no consideration simply because they were related. But looking into Fernándo’s eyes, she felt a twinge of sympathy for his pain at having loved and lost her father. She understood now what drove him, and in the face of that knowledge, she could not lie to him.
“I am not Ernesto,” she said, as kindly as she could. “I know you regret the harsh words that came between you. But you cannot make up for past sins by giving me his patrimony. And I am not your salvation.”
Fernándo licked his cracked, dry lips. “And what would you have me do?” he exclaimed. “Give everything to that wastrel Mateo? You are a warrior, Imelda Salazar. You will fight to keep this place whole. I will not go to my grave knowing my entire life meant nothing in the end.”
“Aunt Graciela is a warrior,” Amaya said impulsively. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Graciela twitch at mention of her name. “She loves this place. She has given her life to serve it—you know that, you cannot be ignorant of what that means.”
Fernándo waved a dismissive hand. “Graciela knows her duty.”
“It is more than that. She might have left at any time—she is of the endowed, just like you, and as entitled to status and wealth as any of those. Why do you think she stayed? She loves this place as you do, and she will not see it destroyed.” Amaya could not tell where her words came from, but she felt deep within herself that she was right.
Fernándo said nothing, but he turned to look at Graciela, who returned his gaze impassively. Finally, Fernándo said, “You resent me, do you not, daughter? Because of the Ocampo matter. I did it for your sake. Juan Ocampo was a layabout and a drifter who would have made you miserable.”
Graciela shrugged. “You were right,” she said.
Fernándo jerked in surprise. Amaya had never seen him so nonplussed.
“I was angry, yes, because I thought I loved Juan,” Graciela continued in her soft voice. “But he married Magdalena Sobrano instead, and I have seen him make her life a misery. You were right. And I do not resent you. You are what you are, and there is no point wishing otherwise.”
Fernándo licked his lips again. “You are more like your mother than I realized,” he said. He turned back to Amaya. “And you say she should be my heir?”
“I say she is your heir, and you did not know it,” Amaya countered. “But I am still a Salazar. My children will bear the Salazar name. I believe Papi and Mama would be proud to know I returned.”
“Ah, Ernesto,” Fernándo said. He blinked back more tears. “You will stay until I pass?” he asked, and for the first time he did not sound argumentative or demanding, just lonely.
“We will remain here until that day,” Amaya said.
“Thank you.” Fernándo made as if to rise, and Edmund helped him stand. “You are a worthy husband for a Salazar?” he demanded of Edmund, his voice strong again.
Edmund smiled wryly. “I hope so, as Amaya insisted on choosing me.”
“Well said. We will eat soon, if that is acceptable?” Fernándo said to Graciela.
“You know it is,” Graciela replied. “Miss—Imelda. Amaya?”
“Imelda was my grandmother’s name, and I am proud to own it,” Amaya said.
“Then, Imelda, I will show you to your rooms, and we will dine shortly.” Graciela’s back straightened, and although her voice was as soft as ever, she spoke with a confidence that pleased Amaya deeply.
Supper was over. Such a different affair from that first terrible, awkward meal with Fernándo; the mood was cheerful, and Edmund made everyone laugh with his droll jokes and ready wit. Amaya spoke less frequently, preferring to observe as was her habit. She watched Graciela speak respectfully but firmly to her father; watched Leocadio’s smile blossom as he realized what a change had passed between them; watched Fernándo’s eyes as he saw his daughter anew for the first time in years. It was not so bad a thing, she decided, to be a Salazar, and regretted only that Papi and Mama could not be here as well.
Though, how would her life have been different had Ernesto de Salazar y Ortiz not sailed for the Americas? If he had stayed in Spain, reconciled with his father? Or made a life in England with the Nevilles? She tried to picture herself a society miss, or an Extraordinary Shaper in service to King Ferdinand, and failed utterly. Whatever the differences, she could not have said her life would be better, and in her heart, she felt it would have been much worse.
After supper, Edmund proposed a walk in the garden. Remembering how dismal the place was, Amaya almost refused, but she could tell he wished to be alone with her for a time. So they walked through the overgrown maze to the neglected heart of the garden. Someone had disposed of the weeds Amaya had shredded, but the gazebo still lay bare to the skies, a pitiful sight.
“I am certain Aunt Graciela will have this place restored once Don Fernándo is gone,” she said. “It eats at her, I know.”
“I agree. And
I believe it will be a better tribute to both her parents once it is beautiful again.” Edmund swept dust off a bench and sat, tugging at Amaya’s hand to make her join him. “Are you glad, darling?”
“That I returned?” Amaya traced the line of the wood grain where she sat. “I am. And yes, you were very wise, and I thank you.”
“You are welcome.” Edmund gripped her hand more tightly. “I have spoken with my superior, who was remarkably understanding about my indiscretions while Coerced. He rejected my offer to resign, claiming that those to whom I revealed my identity are either dead or in no position to compromise me.”
“That is what I suggested. Your superior is very wise.”
“He is, indeed. He assures me my clandestine role within the government need not change now that I am married. We will travel as directed, and pretend to be nothing more than two ordinary people in love. And you will study medicine, and teach other Extraordinary Shapers your trick—”
“It is considerably more complex than a trick, Edmund. I assure you it is quite difficult to learn the knack, especially for Europeans who are unaccustomed to seeing the body in terms of sunqu.”
“I apologize for my casual dismissal of your skill,” Edmund said with a smile. “But will that be enough?”
“Enough?” Amaya asked, puzzled at his sudden seriousness.
“I know this is not the life you anticipated for yourself a year ago when you were still an Inca jaguar warrior. I worry that it will be too tame by comparison.” He turned to face her, taking her hand in both of his. “Should I tell Mr. Rutledge we should be sent to the farthest reaches of the British Empire, to fight in bloody conflicts against England’s enemies? We are still at war in India and Nepal, after all. And no one knows where Napoleon is; perhaps we might hunt him down and bring him to justice, preventing another war?”
His tone was light, but his dark eyes were serious, so Amaya did not laugh. “I have had my fill of death,” she said, remembering with another flash of shame the final moments of Don Balthasar. “It is true, I do not wish to pretend I am something other than I am. But I am finding there is more to me than killing, and it would be just as wrong to pretend those things are not true simply because I have set the jaguar warrior aside. And there is so much to this world that I have not yet discovered. So if you fear I will become bored, Edmund, you need not worry for me.”
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