The Golden City

The Lady laid a gloved hand on Miss Paredes’ arm. “I do not imply that. But you and your mistress may have been chosen because someone within the organization wants to sabotage whatever the Open Hand is trying to achieve.”

“My knife,” Miss Paredes whispered, her eyes lifting to his. “They didn’t take my knife. I had it with me, but whoever tied me to that chair didn’t take it.”

Duilio recalled her mentioning the knife, but before this moment he’d assumed it was a hurried oversight. He could tell she’d already worked her way to the conclusion: if she’d been put there to sabotage the spell, then Isabel had been selected intentionally merely to put Oriana Paredes in the desired situation. He set a hand under her elbow to support her. “We don’t know what’s true at this point, Miss Paredes.”

She nodded jerkily. He hadn’t driven that demon out of her mind, he could tell.

The Lady glanced across the library, and Duilio turned to see Inspector Gaspar standing in the doorway. Duilio nodded to the man but didn’t bother with introductions.

“Are you ready to go?” the inspector asked the Lady.

“Actually,” she said, “I need to stay a while longer and speak to Carvalho about his security. Could you see these two home safely and then return for me?”

The inspector nodded and stepped inside the library to wait.

Miss Paredes handed the sketch to the Lady. “Perhaps it will help.”

“We’ll talk again,” the Lady said, tucking the folded paper into a handbag Duilio hadn’t noted before. “I think we’ve all learned enough for one night.”

Duilio mentally agreed to that. If they weren’t running short on time, he would like to mull this over for a week or two. Possibly three.

Still looking shaken, Miss Paredes took his mother’s shawl and settled it around her own shoulders. “I’m ready.”

CHAPTER 21

Walking might not be the fashionable choice, but it was faster than sending for the carriage and waiting for it to come back. So she and Mr. Ferreira slipped out the servants’ door in the back and walked down the street in silence, the unknown African man following them at a distance. Oriana hadn’t caught who he was, although he was likely one of the Lady’s special associates. Mr. Ferreira seemed inclined to trust him. For now that was enough for her.

Oriana drew the shawl up over her head to cover her hair. It was chilly out, although not nearly so much as this time last week. Her thoughts swirled. She didn’t think she would sleep at all tonight, despite feeling worn to the bone.

Until tonight, she’d believed that ending up in that house with Isabel had been an accident. Not that those who put them there were unaware of their actions, but that the selection of Isabel Amaral and Oriana Paredes as victims had been an accident. Hearing that her placement there might have been intentional—that hurt. That Isabel had been killed merely for being with her. For befriending her.

If true, it also implied that the saboteur was aware of Oriana’s identity. The killer hadn’t been, although he might have guessed by now how she’d escaped. Would the killer even know that something was missing from the artwork yet? How would he know that?

And Silva, that . . . bottom-feeder. She hadn’t believed for a moment that his rescue of her had been beneficent. But he clearly had ugly designs within designs. If that was what one used a seer’s gift for, it was a crime.

The Lady had said it very clearly, though. Silva was a seer, not a particularly strong one, but stronger than Mr. Ferreira. The moon was almost full, allowing Oriana to see Mr. Ferreira’s face. He was watching the pedestrians on the street. Not overtly, but she could tell from the way his eyes flicked from group to group, evaluating the danger each posed.

“I owe you an apology,” she told him.

He didn’t look her way, eyes still busy. “Why do you think that?”

“Because of what I said about seers being frauds.”

He laughed softly. “No offense taken, Miss Paredes.”

A carriage rattled by and she tensed, unable to quell the irrational fear that someone would jump out and grab her. It was foolish. She knew that.

Mr. Ferreira took her hand and laid it on his sleeve. “We will get home safely, Miss Paredes. That’s about all my gift’s good for, but it does tell me that.”

Her tension slipped away like water rolling past. She wouldn’t have believed those words if they’d come from Silva, seer or not. But she trusted Duilio Ferreira. They walked on for a moment in silence, and then she said, “So, you and Miss Carvalho are betrothed?”

“No, she and I are not betrothed,” he said firmly. “Her father suggested that it would be a good match, but I refused his proposition. I wonder how Silva learned about it.”

A good question. “She’s a nice girl, although she and Isabel didn’t associate much.”

It was prying, she knew. She didn’t have any business asking into his personal plans.

“Yes, Genoveva Carvalho is a perfectly nice young lady. When she was her young sister’s age or so, she fell head over heels in love with Alessio. He never led her on. He was always very clear with women that he had no intention to marry, ever. But he was friendly to her, and that was enough. I would hate to marry a woman for whom I’m the second choice.”

Like Pia, Oriana thought. Pia would have been Mr. Efisio’s second choice. Oriana wholeheartedly agreed with the girl’s decision to cut her ties with him. They stopped for a carriage to cross Clerigos Street, and then continued on. “Why did your brother not intend to marry?”

Mr. Ferreira let out a long breath, sounding almost vexed. “His scruples. He didn’t believe he could be faithful to a wife and refused to take vows he couldn’t uphold.”

“Is that what he and your father argued over so much?” Pressuring a young man to marry and produce a legitimate heir was common in aristocratic families.

“They argued over everything possible, Miss Paredes. They would argue over whether the color of an invitation card was ivory or bone,” he said with a sigh. “Alessio adored our mother, and it infuriated him that Father was unfaithful to her. Alessio took every opportunity to fling that in his face. Father actually threw him out of the house a few years ago. It took the theft of my mother’s pelt to get them to work together on anything.”

Oriana pressed her lips together. She had bickered endlessly with her own father. It didn’t mean she hadn’t adored him. But she’d always thought she knew better than he did, particularly where her younger sister was concerned. It had taken her years on her own to realize how often she’d been wrong as a girl.

She could see the front gate of the Ferreira house now, a reassuring sight, but in the moonlight the house looked Gothic, its dark stone haunted by the memories of angry quarrels and bitterness. “Your mother doesn’t mention that about your father—that he was unfaithful.”

“No,” he said, “her people expect males to be promiscuous. She found it more troublesome that he lied about it and treated women like they were . . . I don’t know . . . whores. Throw some money at them and his responsibility ends there. Just like his father before him.”

Oriana felt the corners of her lips lifting. He definitely wouldn’t have said that to Genoveva Carvalho. His irritated tone hinted that the lying must have irked him as well. And his grandfather’s actions had to be part of what made Silva such a twisted man. “Do you have any other siblings?” she asked cautiously. “Like Silva, I mean?”

He paused at the gate before his house. “There’s a reason I didn’t refute Silva’s claims about the nature of our relationship, Miss Paredes, despite the fact that I did so earlier when speaking to Rodrigo Pimental. Any scrap of information Silva picks up, he’ll twist into a weapon. He has, in the past, hinted that I have two bastard brothers. He says he kept a closer eye on our father than Mother did. I have no way to know if it’s true. But he used that to distract me, which was all he was after, I suspect.”