She turned to Joaquim and yelled, “Why are you crossing our territorial boundary?”
Apparently she believed his ears were stuffed. Joaquim looked startled, as if unsure how to respond.
“We’re on our way to Amado,” Marina answered instead. She adopted the firm tone she used with her father’s clients, her business voice. “We’re to meet with the Portuguese ambassador there.”
The sailor cast an appraising eye over her, one eyebrow lifted. Marina knew what the woman must see—a smallish human woman, dressed in borrowed clothes. “Embassies are all on Quitos,” the woman protested.
Marina lifted her chin. “The Portuguese ambassador and her mate are currently on a retreat to Amado, to visit with the ambassador’s grandmother. My grandmother. Her house is on Cartas Bay, so we don’t even need to enter the harbor at Porto Novo.”
“Ah,” the sailor said, eyes sliding back toward Joaquim. He remained silent, but was clearly following the conversation. “Now I understand. That one’s yours.”
Marina crossed her arms over her chest, feeling Joaquim’s eyes on her. “Yes.”
The sailor grinned. “The gods favored you, little one. Human or not, he’ll make pretty daughters.”
Marina felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. Will the woman never stop talking? “Could we get back under way? We’d like to reach the bay before sunset.”
“Fine,” the sailor said briskly. “I’ve got some paperwork you’ll need to fill out, and then we’ll set sail again.”
Marina sighed inwardly. There’s always paperwork.
* * *
One of the sailors had boarded the ship to act as pilot. She’d leered at him and João both, but Joaquim held his tongue. Among Marina’s people he was expected to be quiet, wasn’t he? Marina dealt with the woman firmly—surprising him, he had to admit—and soon they were passing the harbor of a rocky island.
After an hour or so, the calling that had itched at the back of his mind ceased, and he realized they’d reached the far side of the magical blockade. Joaquim let loose a breath. He hadn’t realized how much it had nagged at him until that moment. João looked far worse, slumping against his ropes. After Aga conferred with Marina, she went and freed him. The young man seemed unnerved, but quickly got to his feet and took stock of their location. He came over to Joaquim’s side and apologized for his earlier actions, eyeing the pilot warily the whole while. But his attention was soon drawn away as they sailed past the breakwaters of a large port.
Joaquim stared. The nearest pier in the harbor was busy with bare-chested men with silvery legs bared by tucking up their wraps. They labored alongside the sailors unloading the English ships docked there. From a distance it seemed very chaotic, although in Joaquim’s experience, most cargo exchanges happened in an orderly fashion, no matter the outer appearance. But as they eased past the harbor, he realized he’d been fooled by one aspect: those weren’t bare-chested men out working the freight. They were women, or rather, sereia.
Duilio had told him the women on the islands often went scantily clad, but for some reason he’d expected they would alter that custom when working with human sailors. The sailor piloting the Deolinda wore a vest, after all. But apparently on the docks that didn’t apply.
Marina grew up dressed like that.
He hadn’t put his limited knowledge of the sereia’s customs together with her. She seemed so proper and modest that he couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. Surely when she’d been on that English ship, around English sailors, she’d dressed more like she did now.
Joaquim shot a quick glance at her as they sailed into a bay with a beach. She peered out toward the sands, one hand held up to shield her eyes from the sun. Months ago, he would never have believed her a sereia if she hadn’t told him. She seemed completely human, with human ideals and morals. What had that effort to fit in cost her? When she’d arrived in Portugal, she had her webbing cut away to protect her safety. He knew that her hands often ached with ghost pain from her missing webbing. And even now she wore his shirt with the neck buttoned to the top to keep anyone from seeing her gill slits.
Does she regret that? Why have we never talked about that?
“Over there,” she said, pointing toward the shore.
The mountains marched away from that bay in all directions, but Joaquim could see a few houses built there. Children played at one spot on the beach, and at the far edge of the bay, a single figure stood waiting. It was Duilio, dressed in native garb. Farther back on the sands, two Portuguese soldiers waited, his guards.
The pilot relinquished the wheel as the ship moved farther into the bay, and then they were busy with the anchor and sails, and he didn’t have time to worry any longer.
CHAPTER 13
ILHAS DAS SEREIAS
Duilio stood on the beach, his bare feet on the sand, as he watched the Deolinda striking sails. Another small boat had followed them into the bay, a patrol boat. A pilot boarded every incoming ship to guide them the final distance into Amado’s harbor. When Duilio lifted his looking glass, he saw a sereia woman in a tan pareu and vest climb down the Deolinda’s ladder and jump to the deck of the small boat. After a moment that boat began moving away.
Once the ship was anchored and all the sails furled, he saw the dory being lowered to the water. He turned back to the two guards who’d accompanied him to the beach. “Time to send for Lady Monteiro.”
Corporal Pinho headed back up toward the house, floundering in spots. His boots weren’t as well suited to the sand as Duilio’s bare feet.
Duilio turned his looking glass back to the ship and nearly laughed in surprise. Joaquim had already clambered down to the dory. For a second Duilio thought Aga was following him, but quickly realized it wasn’t the selkie girl climbing down that ladder. It was another girl dressed in men’s garb, her hair darker than Aga’s. Why did my gift not warn me of that?
Duilio returned to watching as Aga handed a single piece of luggage down to Joaquim. He set it on a thwart, settled at the oars, and began rowing the distance from the edge of the bay to shore.
“Is this your brother after all?” Grandmother Monteiro called from the house’s deck.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Duilio called back. “And he’s brought a surprise for you.”
* * *
Duilio stood on the beach waiting, arms folded over his tattooed chest. Now that he’d gotten close enough, Joaquim could see Duilio hadn’t had his hair cut in some time. And yes, he had cosmetics about his eyes. He looked perfectly comfortable, though, as if he’d worn this garb his entire life. That was Duilio’s chief talent, greater than his seer’s gift—he could make himself at home anywhere.
Joaquim tossed him the painter and clambered out of the boat into the water. Together they pulled the dory up onto the beach, and then Joaquim threw his arms about Duilio.
Duilio laughed and pounded him on the back. “God, it is good to see you.”
Joaquim drew away to look at him. “You too.”
Duilio’s eyes slid past him, fixing on the boat’s rather bedraggled occupant. “And you brought Marina?”
Feeling guilty, Joaquim went back to help her out of the boat. She’d waited for him to do so, although she could have managed by herself. Then again, he liked helping her. He lifted her into his arms and conveyed her to the sand without dumping her in the water. And when her shoes touched the beach, she smiled up at him brilliantly. Yes, that made it worthwhile.
She shifted to face Duilio, brushed her hands down her borrowed shirt, and licked her lips nervously before holding out a hand to him. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Ferreira.”
Duilio grinned and shook her hand firmly. “And you as well, Miss Arenias.” He turned to Joaquim, one hand lifted to shield his eyes. “Is João out on the yacht? I only see Aga.”
Joaquim swallowed. Did Marina expect him to paint his eyes like that? “Y
es, he reacted badly at the blockade, so Aga ordered him to stay below while the pilot was aboard.”
Duilio’s eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t ask the obvious question, the one that had been bothering Joaquim since they’d crossed the blockade. “Good decision,” Duilio said instead. “I won’t worry about the yacht being at anchor there, then. Let’s go up to the house.”
Joaquim grabbed his portmanteau out of the dory and, reaching one hand to grasp Marina’s, followed Duilio up the beach toward a sprawling house that faced the ocean. “Is that your grandmother’s house?”
Marina nodded. “Yes, I lived here when I was a girl, until I was twelve.”
With white plastered walls and red tiles on the rooftop, it looked little different than a house in one of the fishing villages on the Portuguese coast. Heavy wooden shutters stood open at the moment, allowing sea air into the house. The house was as huge as it had looked from the bay, and the distance between each of the houses on this beach spoke of land ownership as well. Marina must be from a wealthier family than he’d realized.
Duilio walked up the steps to a wooden deck. An old woman dressed in a black skirt and jacket with gold embroidery running down the plackets waited at the large center doorway. She held her arms wide. Marina’s hand slid out of Joaquim’s and she ran to throw her arms around her grandmother.
“You’re going to need to prostrate yourself to her in a moment,” Duilio whispered in Joaquim’s ear.
Prostrate? Marina pulled out of her grandmother’s arms and demonstrated just that, dropping to her knees and bowing her head to her grandmother’s feet. He could do that. Probably. The old woman reached down to touch the top of her head, and Marina pushed herself back up to her feet. Then she turned and looked for him. Duilio took the portmanteau from Joaquim and added, “You address her as ‘Honored Grandmother’ until she tells you otherwise.”
Forewarned, Joaquim walked to Marina’s side.
“And who is this, child?” the old woman asked.
Marina glanced at Joaquim, her brow furrowed, and he grasped her problem. How is she supposed to introduce me?
“Is this the young man you’re courting?” her grandmother prompted.
That she was courting? Joaquim had forgotten that aspect of Duilio’s courtship—among the sereia, the women did the courting, not the men.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Marina said quickly. “This is Joaquim Tavares.”
Joaquim realized that was his cue. He dropped to his knees and did his best to bow down gracefully. Duilio doubtless did this far better. He probably practiced. The woman’s hand touched the top of his head, so Joaquim rose awkwardly, cheeks flushed.
“Welcome to the house of Monteiro, child,” she said gravely.
“Thank you, Honored Grandmother.” He’d gotten that correct, it seemed, because she beamed at him.
“Do I understand correctly, that you’re Duilio’s younger brother?”
“Yes, Honored Grandmother.” It was still odd to say it aloud.
“Just call me Grandmother,” she suggested. “Now, let’s go inside and get you both settled.”
And with that, all the formalities were over. Joaquim followed the others through the main doorway and down a white hallway. He leaned over to ask Marina, “Why isn’t your sister here?”
“She’s not head of the household,” Marina whispered back. “She won’t greet visitors unless they’re her visitors.”
They went through the large doors into a courtyard with a fountain in the center. The floor was tiled with dark stone, probably quarried in the mountains rising above them. Two young women met them there, apparently servants. Both wore blue-pattered skirts and went as bare-chested as the women working the docks. Joaquim averted his eyes, noting that Duilio didn’t even flinch. He must be accustomed to this. The first servant gestured for Marina to follow her, but the other motioned for Joaquim to head down a different hallway. Fortunately, Duilio accompanied him.
The servant showed him a room that was clearly a bedroom, although there wasn’t a bed. Duilio followed him inside and closed the door, then crossed the room to open the shutters, letting in the sea air. “What was she thinking,” he said, “not calling you her mate?”
“It would be a lie,” Joaquim said, taken aback. “I’m not . . . sharing her bed.”
Duilio folded his arms over his bare chest and leaned back against the wall. He seemed a strangely savage visitor with his tattoo and jewelry and painted eyes. Joaquim had to remind himself that he was the one out of the ordinary in this place.
“What is she doing here with you, then?” Duilio asked.
Joaquim set his bag on a wooden bench that stood near the door. “She hid away on the ship. In the closet in the cabin. I didn’t find her until we were a full day out at sea. Are you even going to ask why I’m here?”
Duilio grinned. “Very well, why are you here, brother?”
“You wrote a letter,” he said, “asking me to come.”
“I never sent it,” Duilio pointed out.
Joaquim raked a hand through his hair. “I know that, but you’re going to show it to me.”
“I plan to.” Duilio gestured toward a cluster of shelves set along that wall. “The pillows and blankets you can arrange however you want, but you need to replace them on the wall in the morning. There’s a dressing area back there,” he added, pointing, “plus a bath. You can put your bag in there and clean up. You probably have time to nap before dinner. I’ll come to wake you, just to be certain.”
“Do I have to wear a skirt?” Joaquim asked, gesturing toward Duilio’s strange attire.
“Pareu,” Duilio corrected in an amused tone. “And no, I don’t think Grandmother will be upset if you wear trousers. I keep this up . . .” He made a gesture that swept from his painted eyes to his gold ankle bangles. “. . . to bolster Oriana’s standing here. You don’t have to.”
“Thank God,” Joaquim said gustily. “What do I do about Marina?”
Duilio shrugged eloquently. “You’ve been seeing her for six months. If you haven’t decided that yet, brother, I’m not going to interfere.”
“Fine, be an ass.” Joaquim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are we going to discuss why I’m here?”
Duilio gestured toward the dressing area again. “Later. Get cleaned up, take a nap, and after dinner we can do this one time with everyone present. I’ll get the letter and leave it on the bench for you to look at when you’ve napped.”
A nap sounded terribly seductive at the moment, and a bath would be truly welcome.
Duilio pushed away from the wall and laid one hand on Joaquim’s shoulder. “And after dinner you and I can have a nice private talk.”
Joaquim watched Duilio let himself out, and went to contemplate the auspiciously familiar-looking faucet in the bathing area.
* * *
Marina sat down on the bench in her guest room with a groan. They’d taken Joaquim off to the males’ wing, which meant she wasn’t supposed to talk to him unless he was chaperoned. Surely Grandmother didn’t mean to hold her to that. Then again, her grandmother probably still thought of her as twelve years old. She puffed out her cheeks. She was twenty-three now, and whom she courted was her own business.
A quick shake of the bells warned her before her door opened and Oriana stepped inside. Marina ran to embrace her. “I’ve missed you so much!”
Oriana stepped back, a fond smile on her face. “I missed you too. But how did you end up here? We were expecting Joaquim, not you.”
Marina heard the reproach in her voice. “I hid in his boat. I didn’t want him to leave me behind. And he would have,” she added. “He meant to leave me in the city while he sailed off to help you.”
Oriana’s lips pressed together in an expression she’d stolen from her husband. She was holding something inside. “Did you let Father know you w
ere going?”
“Yes.” Marina gazed at her sister, trying to place what had changed. Oriana wore a black vest embroidered in rose and gold over her pareu. That would save Joaquim from embarrassment if nothing else. She’d grown her nails out and filed them to points, and the bangles on her ankles and her bracelets were all rose gold. Then Marina noticed how the pareu was secured at Oriana’s hips, with five folds rather than the traditional three. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” Oriana said with a secretive smile. “We haven’t told Father yet.”
Which was why Marina hadn’t heard it herself. Their father could keep a secret endlessly, but he would have told her if he knew this. “Um, how long until you have the baby?”
“About six months,” Oriana said. “Now, what do you intend to do about Joaquim?”
She threw up her hands. “Nothing, since he’s locked away in the men’s hall.”
“I’ve never known the rules to stop you,” Oriana said mildly.
Marina stole a glance at her sister’s face. There was no point in announcing it if she did decide to break the rules and sneak into the men’s quarters. She changed the subject. “So, what does your husband want Joaquim to do?”
“It’s about Mother,” Oriana said. “Something you don’t know. Father chose not to tell you. He didn’t tell me either, not until I pushed him.”
“What?”
Oriana took a deep breath. “Mother didn’t die of food poisoning. She was murdered.”
Marina gaped at her. “What?”
“Mother was murdered,” Oriana repeated. “Father didn’t know until the very week he was exiled. Do you remember we went to visit our aunts on Quitos that summer?”
“Yes,” she managed, thoughts in a whirl. How could they have kept this secret from her?
“Father found Mother’s journal hidden under the floorboards in their room. In it, she wrote about something being wrong with a new recruit to the intelligence ministry. She was going to go speak with that person’s superior that day, but she died first.”
The Shores of Spain Page 11