PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF J. KATHLEEN CHENEY
THE SEAT OF MAGIC
“[A] killer sequel . . . intriguing and fun, the mystery unfolds like a socially conscious tour through a cabinet of curiosities.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“[M]esmerizing.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Those who enjoy alternate history—Edwardian- or Victorian-era historical fiction with a touch of magic and mythology—will be delighted with this story.”
—Booklist
“This second entry in the Golden City series is even better than its predecessor: Readers will be completely enthralled with the characters and the organic development of their relationship . . . a sheer delight.”
—Romantic Times
THE GOLDEN CITY
“Cheney’s alternate Portugal, a society of delicate manners, gaslights, and under-the-sea artworks, provides a lush backdrop for an intricate mystery of murder, spies, selkies, and very dark magic. A most enjoyable debut.”
—Carol Berg, author of the Novels of the Collegia Magica
“[A] masterpiece of historical fantasy. . . . The fascinating mannerisms of the age and the extreme formality of two people growing fonder of each other add a charmingly fresh appeal that will cross over to romance fans as well as to period fantasy readers.”
—Library Journal
“[P]ulls readers in right off the bat. . . . Oriana’s ‘extra’ abilities are thoroughly intriguing and readers will love the crackling banter and working relationship between Oriana and Duilio.”
—Romantic Times
“An ambitious debut from Cheney: part fantasy, part romance, part police procedural, and part love letter to Lisbon in the early 1900s. . . . [The author] does a lovely job connecting magical, historical, and romantic elements.”
—Kirkus Reviews
BOOKS BY J. KATHLEEN CHENEY
The Golden City
The Seat of Magic
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
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Copyright © Jeannette Kathleen Cheney, 2015
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REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Cheney, J. Kathleen.
The shores of Spain: a novel of the Golden city/J. Kathleen Cheney.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-698-18306-3
I. Title.
PS3603.H4574S56 2015
813´.6—dc23 2015003240
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Praise
Also by J. KATHLEEN CHENEY
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
EPILOG
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For my family, for all their support.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I’d like to thank Kat Sherbo, my acquiring editor, who believed in this series from the beginning. I’d also like to thank the other editors who’ve worked on this—Danielle Stockley and Jessica Wade—and all the copy editors who’ve worked so hard on these books. The art department has done an amazing job with my covers, including the photographer, Juliana Kolesova, the designer, Katie Anderson, and the model who came back for three covers in this series. I truly appreciate all the hours and heart you’ve all put into this.
Secondly, I’d like to thank everyone who’s read multiple versions of these books, especially my husband, Matt Cheney, my agent, Lucienne Diver, and the multiple members of Codex who went through parts of these three books, most notably Beth Cato. Thanks, all!
And a hat tip goes out to the superb staff of the Old School Bagel Café on Covell, my second office, where much of this series was written. Thanks for the friendly smiles, the coffee, and those tasty honey-oat bagels.
Finally, I’d like to thank all the book reviewers and bloggers who’ve supported my work with kind words and encouraged me as I made my way along this rocky road. It’s impossible to get by in this world without friends.
CHAPTER 1
WEDNESDAY, 15 APRIL 1903; THE GOLDEN CITY
Marina Arenias curled up in one of the upholstered chairs in the front sitting room of the Ferreira home, the room in the house with the best light even now, past sunset. She had no idea how long it would be before Joaquim returned to escort her back to her flat on Virtudes Street. After dinner, he’d retreated with her father to the Ferreira library, where they would probably debate history and philosophy long into the night. She hoped he didn’t forget about her.
The letter she held came from her sister, Oriana, the new Portuguese ambassador to the Ilhas das Sereias. Oriana and her husband had been there for almost three months now, and Marina missed her sister sorely. She wished she could go to Oriana for advice at times . . . although she would probably just ignore whatever Oriana recommended.
Smiling ruefully at that thought, Marina popped open the wax seal and settled her rump more firmly in the comfortable chair.
Dearest Marina, the letter began.
She imagined it in Oriana’s voice, which made her feel young and meek. Oriana had always been the bold one, always jumpin
g to Marina’s defense. Marina had never had that sort of nerve.
Duilio and I will be leaving Quitos soon to visit Grandmother on Amado. I know you wish you could be here with us.
In some ways, Marina did wish she could be there. She’d spent her first twelve years in that house on the beach beyond the town of Porto Novo, and they’d been happy ones. Her mother, contrary to custom, had chosen to live with her mate’s family rather than the other way around. Her own family, the Paredes line, hadn’t approved of her choice of mate. Not only was Marina’s father educated, but he was also a practicing Christian, both qualities her mother’s traditional family deplored. It had been an unconventional relationship, yet her parents had seemed quite happy together.
Her mother died when Marina was eight, while away investigating something for the Ministry of Intelligence. The world had seemed bleak after that, but Marina had bounced back with the resilience of a child. She’d had her father and grandmother to console her, and Oriana looked out for her in their mother’s stead. Life went on. Marina hadn’t understood until years later what a toll the loss of their mother had taken on Oriana.
I will relay your affections to Grandmother, the letter continued, and will write once we’re there to tell you everything that’s changed. I’ll probably see some of your childhood friends while there, and will relay any messages they have for you.
Oriana didn’t mention her own childhood friends because she hadn’t had many. Not that she wasn’t friendly—she simply hadn’t had time for friends. After their mother’s death, Oriana had taken it on herself to make certain that Marina kept up with her schooling, even though Oriana had only been twelve. Because Marina was small and meek, other girls teased her, calling her webless and other names. Oriana had always come to her defense.
The true turning point in their lives had come when their mother’s eldest sister, Jovita Paredes, requested that the girls visit the main island of Quitos to get to know their mother’s family. Despite his misgivings, their father gave in, but once they were there, everything had gone wrong. Their father had been accused of sedition, jailed, and exiled without even a chance to speak with his daughters. Effectively orphaned, Marina and Oriana became wards of the state. They had to live with two of their aunts and their spoiled cousins, forbidden to return to their grandmother’s home on Amado.
Marina hated her life there. Her aunts found fault with everything she did. Worse, they forbade her to practice her religion; Christianity wasn’t allowed on Quitos. Oriana tried to protect her from her aunts’ venom and her cousins’ ridicule, but Oriana couldn’t always be there, particularly not after she took a job at a factory. She’d wanted to save money so that when Marina came of age they could move out of their aunts’ household, perhaps even back to Amado.
That was why Marina lived in Portugal now. By the time she was eighteen she’d grown so frustrated with her mother’s family that she decided to run away to find her exiled father. Marina had scraped together every last royal she had to cross to Amado on a ferry. She waited until Oriana was away, thinking her aunts wouldn’t hold Oriana at fault. Once on Amado she hadn’t contacted her grandmother for fear of getting her in trouble. Instead, Marina begged captains of the various human ships to take her to Portugal to find her father, offering to work for her passage. She hadn’t understood then what manner of trouble she could have found herself in. But God had been merciful, and an English captain felt moved by her obvious distress to let her work in his ship’s kitchen until the ship reached Portugal.
Marina sighed softly. The only daring thing I’ve ever done in my life.
It had all worked out for her. She liked Portugal. She fit in far better here than she ever had at home. Here she wasn’t expected to be a leader or politician or spy. She wasn’t sure what she did want to do with her life, but it wasn’t one of those professions—the careers considered acceptable for females from her family line. Here in Portugal she had choices.
Back on the islands she wouldn’t have been likely to attract a mate either. She didn’t have the money to support a male, nor did her lineage make a match advantageous for a male’s family. In Portugal, though, she’d found a male who very much suited her tastes—Joaquim Tavares. So no matter how much she’d missed her sister and grandmother, she was very happy to be in Portugal with her father.
She turned her eyes back to the letter. Oriana went on to tell an amusing story about visiting a street market in the capital city of Praia Norte with Duilio. Apparently the guards hadn’t noted the approach of an old woman who, curious about the human man in the marketplace, managed to snatch off his pareu, leaving Duilio wearing nothing more than a revolver strapped to his thigh.
Marina clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling aloud.
She shouldn’t laugh. It would have been mortifying to Duilio, especially since etiquette forbade him to demand his garment back. Instead he’d had to wait for Oriana to retrieve the pareu from the old woman. The embassy guards should have prevented the incident, but they’d made the mistake of assuming a woman was harmless because she was elderly.
A soft cough sounded at the sitting room’s doorway, alerting Marina to Lady Ferreira’s return. The lady had gone down to the kitchens to discuss something with the cook—likely a flimsy excuse to allow Marina privacy to read her letter.
“Lady, did Oriana write to you about the . . . um . . . incident in the market?”
Lady Ferreira laughed merrily as she approached. “Certainly. An amusing tale, but not one that needs to be spread about here in the Golden City.”
The lady settled gracefully in the matching chair on the other side of the window, the deep brown fabric of her gown glistening in the lamplight. To ward off the chill coming off the window glass, she adjusted her ivory shawl around her shoulders. Marina reminded herself firmly not to covet the thing. It looked to be of silk and cashmere—or perhaps wool—with intricate embroidery all along the edges. It had likely cost more than all of Marina’s current garments combined. Marina’s father, with his successful business in the city, was well-to-do. Her father’s wife, Lady Alma Pereira de Santos, had managed to turn her own limited funds into a comfortable fortune. The Ferreiras were, by comparison, shockingly wealthy.
“Is your father still talking with Joaquim?” Lady Ferreira asked once she was comfortable.
“Yes, although I’ve no clue what they’re talking about,” Marina said, a hint of vexation creeping into her voice.
Lady Ferreira chuckled. “Perhaps they’re discussing you.”
Marina shook her head. “I’m sure it’s politics.”
Lady Ferreira gazed at her for a moment, her warm brown eyes sympathetic. “Young men have their passions,” she said.
Marina felt childish and petulant now. “I know. The referendum is very important to him, and I do understand why.”
Joaquim had a revolutionary streak. He believed in the equality of all peoples regardless of kind, religion, or birth. He regularly conferred with Prince Raimundo—they’d become unlikely friends over the past six months. Despite the prince’s station, Marina was sure that Joaquim treated him no differently than he would a fellow police officer, a beggar chance-met on the street, or a pagan sereia whose child had been murdered. That was one of the things she loved about him.
The upcoming referendum would determine whether the princedoms of Northern Portugal and Southern Portugal would once again be one country. Not only would reunification mean one monarchy, one government, and one military; it would also trigger the drafting of a new constitution, a chance for the new country to redefine itself, perhaps into a more republican mode. That was the outcome Joaquim prayed for. Unfortunately, Marina wouldn’t be voting in that referendum. No woman in the Portugals would.
As important as it was, Marina wanted Joaquim to spend less time worrying over the future of the government and more time thinking about their future. “I wish
it was over so we could all move on with our lives.”
Lady Ferreira didn’t disagree with that. “Dear, Joaquim only acts when he is ready, you know. He was always the most stubborn of my boys.”
Marina blinked. Had she spoken her worries aloud? Too often they showed on her face, she knew. “But what about when I . . .”
She stopped herself. It was one of the truths of living in the human world, another thing that was different from her homeland. There, she would have been the one to court Joaquim. If she’d had her way, their courtship would have progressed much more quickly. Oriana had courted Duilio less than a week before taking him as her mate, while Joaquim had been courting Marina for six months now and had done nothing more forward than hold her hand. Engagements in Portugal sometimes lasted two or three years, she’d heard.
Lady Ferreira’s fingers touched her cheek. “Dear, give him time. Consider him a pearl of great value, one worth selling all you have to possess.”
What is wrong with wanting to possess the pearl now? Marina sighed. “I know, lady.”
Lady Ferreira waved one hand airily then. “He would be pleased that I even know that parable.”
Actually, Marina was a little surprised herself. Lady Ferreira’s adherence to the Church was nominal at best. Like Marina, the lady wasn’t human; she was a selkie. Unlike most of her kind, though, the lady had been raised among humans and must have been exposed to that parable in her childhood. She sometimes professed it a mystery how Joaquim had grown up so religious. Of all the boys from the Ferreira household, Joaquim was the only devout one.
Marina understood how different influences in life could affect one’s beliefs. Although her own grandmother and father were Christians, her older sister—Oriana—had chosen the religion of their mother. Since Oriana’s husband, Joaquim’s cousin Duilio, wasn’t terribly devout, he hadn’t minded taking a pagan to wife. Joaquim, on the other hand, wouldn’t have been able to accept that. Fortunately, Marina held to her father’s religion, despite pressure from her mother’s family to deny her chosen faith. She’d only learned later that the Christianity practiced on the islands was different than that of Portugal, shifted to better suit the culture of the sereia, with greater emphasis placed on the Virgin as the instrument of God and intercessor.
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