The Golden City

Palace. “Please come to my office if you remember anything. Her father is very worried.”

Oriana slid the card into her handbag. At least Isabel’s father was showing concern over his daughter’s absence. “I will, sir.”

“Miss Paredes?” Duilio Ferreira spoke at her shoulder, startling her.

Oriana craned her neck to glance up at him. “Yes, sir?”

“I must apologize for stealing you away from your conversation,” Mr. Ferreira said, “but I’m afraid my mother has decided she’d like to go home. She’s waiting in the carriage.”

Oriana picked up Lady Ferreira’s shawl and thanked Maraval, who rose along with her. Mr. Ferreira nodded to him, and then led Oriana from the ballroom.

When they were on the stairwell that led down to the ground floor, Oriana quietly asked, “Is your mother on her way home?”

“Yes,” he said. “Gustavo and Tomas will get her there safely. What did Maraval want?”

“He rescued me from Silva,” she admitted, “but he did want to know if I could tell him where Isabel is. He’s a friend of her father’s. Are we late?”

“We have a couple of minutes to spare,” he said, showing her his watch as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. “Shall we?”

Oriana laid her fingers on his sleeve. She hadn’t thought to ask before how he knew where to find the library in this house. Perhaps he’d broken in to it at some point. The very thought made her smile.

They walked down the hallway, and he opened the door onto a library far larger than his own. The walls held bookshelves with glass doors—some locked—but otherwise there was no resemblance to the Ferreira library. This room was tastelessly decorated with garishly overdone floral wallpaper in pinks and reds. Burgundy couches and chairs surrounded a huge Persian rug in the same shades as the loud wallpaper. Oriana stepped over the threshold into the room, relieved to see it was unoccupied. Fortunately, the gaslights were turned up.

“This will look improper if we’re caught here,” Mr. Ferreira said, closing the door behind them. He stalked across the room to check behind the couches, perhaps expecting small children there. “Especially after I had to quash some gossip that you’re my mistress. So we’d best not get caught.”

Oriana felt heat rising through her body. “Who said that?”

“Pimental,” Mr. Ferreira said without hesitation. “I have something on him, though, which will keep him from spreading lies about you.”

Good news, although she would rather people not talk about her at all. Especially in a way that might harm the Ferreira family. “What do you have on him?”

“Are you encouraging me to gossip, Miss Paredes?” He looked offended when he said those words, but his eyes laughed.

“It would be best to save the gossip for later.”

Oriana spun about at that voice. She pressed a hand against her chest to quell the pounding of her heart.

A woman stood in the far corner of the room.

She wasn’t hidden. Mr. Ferreira could not have missed her standing there. For that matter, Oriana had looked too. Right in that spot. How was that possible?

The woman walked toward them, her fine dress rustling with the movement. She had inky hair and fair skin that would have rivaled Isabel’s, although she was much older, perhaps in her forties. Her eyes were a clear, pale gray or blue, striking with her dark lashes and brows. “You’ve come to see me, Miss Paredes,” the woman said, “but who is your companion?”

Oriana shot a glance at Mr. Ferreira, who nodded. She turned back to the elegant woman. Was this Nela’s mysterious Lady? How could she determine that? “Mr. Ferreira is my employer. I am his mother’s companion. How did you get in here?”

The woman turned her attention on Mr. Ferreira. “Duilio Ferreira? I met Alessio back in Coimbra, years and years ago.”

Apparently her question was going to go unanswered.

“I was not,” the woman added, “one of his lovers.”

Mr. Ferreira hid a smile behind one hand. Oriana couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes were laughing again. He managed a polite nod, but didn’t respond to the woman’s announcement otherwise.

The woman settled on one of the wine-colored couches, apparently unconcerned about rumpling her skirts. Her dress seemed to fade into the couch itself. “Mr. Ferreira, you spoke with one of my associates this afternoon, Inspector Gaspar. I am also curious to know why Mata is after you.”

He ran one white-gloved hand casually along the top of the couch. “So, you’re with the Special Police as well?”

Oriana held her breath. What sort of trap had she led him into?

“Let me be clear, Mr. Ferreira,” the Lady said. “My team is here to investigate the Special Police, both abuses of authority by some officers and misuse of them by . . . well, that’s one of the things we’re trying to uncover. Someone other than the prince has been using members of the Special Police to his own ends. That must be stopped.”

Oriana cast a quick glance at Mr. Ferreira. He didn’t seem too surprised by those claims.

“Mata is, essentially, an assassin,” she went on, “working within the ranks of the Special Police. We want to determine who’s pulling his strings. For what it’s worth, we have evidence that he was paid to kill your brother.”

Mr. Ferreira’s jaw clenched, but his face didn’t relay any emotion. “Why would you think someone assassinated my brother? He died during a duel.”

The woman shook her head with a sigh and turned back to Oriana. “Miss Paredes, will you come sit across from me? I don’t think he’s going to sit until you do, and I’m tired of looking up at him.”

A valid point. Oriana settled in a chair across from the Lady, her handbag in her lap. With a quick scowl, Mr. Ferreira sat in the chair next to hers.

“It took him three tries to kill your brother,” the Lady said, smoothing her wine-colored skirts. “We confiscated letters from Mata to a counterpart in Southern Portugal, detailing his difficulties with Alessio Ferreira. I suspect his seer’s blood allowed Alessio to escape the first two attempts unharmed, just as yours allowed you to escape last night.”

Oriana licked her lips and dared to look over at Mr. Ferreira. He shrugged apologetically, and without words she knew the Lady was right. Duilio Ferreira was a seer. Like his uncle Paolo Silva and his brother Alessio.

Oh, dear. She’d been rather insulting about seers, hadn’t she? Now she wished she could take her words back. Had she offended him? Her eyes fell to the handbag in her lap.

“Why kill Alessio?” Mr. Ferreira asked.

“We don’t know who wanted him out of the way, and unfortunately, Mata didn’t reveal that in his letters. If we can catch him, we have a team who specializes in extracting information, who could get out of him whatever he does know.”

Mr. Ferreira’s face hardened. “Torture?”

The Lady laughed. “Not at all. They wouldn’t lay a hand on him. But he will answer their questions.”

Oriana leaned closer to him. “I could do that,” she whispered. “I could coax answers out of a human if I had to.”

His brows rose but he said nothing.

“So, what did you do, Mr. Ferreira,” the Lady asked, “that would cause this group such dismay that they would send their assassin after you?”

He gestured toward Oriana’s bag. “This might be a good time to show her the sketch.”

He didn’t look too upset, at least. Oriana opened her handbag, withdrew the sketch of the table, and unfolded it. She handed it to the Lady, who took it with careful fingers. “Are you a witch?”

“Not at all,” the Lady said. “I study witchcraft but am not a practitioner.” She turned the sketch about to read the Latin inscription. “Where did you find this? Nela wouldn’t tell me, which makes me suspect this is a matter of import to your people.”

How much was she willing to trust this woman? Oriana glanced over at Mr. Ferreira again, wondering how