The Golden City

“I see,” she said, then shook her head. “No, actually, I don’t. Why would a female share her male with another? Or fifty others?”

“I’ve never understood it,” he admitted. “Selkie charm?”

“What exactly is selkie charm?” she asked.

“Selkies don’t talk about it,” Duilio said. “It’s not a talent or a skill; it’s just the way they are. Their powers of seduction are quite real, but I don’t know to what they can be attributed.”

She looked at him from under a lowered brow. “Do you . . . Have you . . . ?”

He clamped his lips together, holding in the urge to laugh at her hesitance. She was apparently shy when it came to matters of sex, which suggested a modesty sailors believed sereia didn’t possess. If he recalled correctly, the English even used the symbol of the sereia to indicate houses of prostitution. It pleased him that Oriana Paredes didn’t fit that stereotype. “No,” he answered. “I don’t have it, whatever it is. Alessio did, though. No one could resist him.”

She smoothed her skirt. “Is it something to do with the way you smell, perhaps?”

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks. “Well, we do smell.”

She looked up then, her lips falling open. “I didn’t mean that badly. It’s just that I thought at first you were wearing cologne—ambergris cologne. It took me time to realize you weren’t. Your mother, as well.”

Duilio supposed he should be relieved she hadn’t meant that as an insult. “I do bathe regularly, which limits the smell, but you should hear my valet grumble about it.”

“I am not complaining,” she said.

Duilio chuckled. “So, may I ask, is your ability to call something that your people simply do or a skill?”

Oriana didn’t answer immediately. They’d passed the port of Leixoes and were nearing Braga Bay, so Duilio watched the cliffs more carefully. He didn’t want to miss the narrow opening. But he stole a glance at her face and decided she was still unsure whether to answer his query. “You don’t need to answer,” he said. “I’m simply one of those inquisitive people who wants to know everything.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said in a dry tone. “We’re all born with a voice, but we must learn to use it. It’s a combination of natural talent and skill. Some females can call ships from afar. Others can’t get the attention of a man two feet away.”

He was tempted to ask into which category she fell, but decided it would be rude. She’d said she could coax a human into answering questions, so she must have some talent. But she probably wasn’t supposed to have said as much as she already had. “Why do you suppose it affects humans?” he asked instead. “I’ve always wondered why selkie charm seems to be aimed at humans rather than other selkies. Does the call affect males of your own kind?”

“Not as much,” she said. “It is specifically pitched for humans. Our lore says it’s because you’re the main danger to us. We’re relatively harmless. Before your Vasco da Gama, we simply distracted sailors into sailing past our islands.”

Even when he couldn’t see the webbing, he liked watching her hands. They were long and slender. Capable hands. “Being half-selkie,” he said, “I must have some immunity.”

“I know we’re not supposed to affect them,” she said. “Or the otterfolk, for that matter.”

“Good to know,” he murmured.

* * *

Oriana wished there had been more time, but they’d reached their destination. Braga Bay was surrounded by cliffs, the narrow strip of sands melding into rock. It was more of a cove than a bay, but the name had stuck, Duilio told her. Despite the storm clouds rising out at sea, the water was calm and crystal clear. Inaccessible to larger boats, it made an ideal spot for seals to bask in the sun.

Duilio drew the boat up onto the shore before helping her to the beach. She waited, enjoying the feel of the sand under her bare feet while he grabbed a chart from the boat. Then he directed her toward the center of the narrow beach, where at least two dozen seals waited. They grunted in surprise at the humans’ approach. Then the largest rose on its flippers and began to strip off its pelt.

Oriana stared, mouth agape. She didn’t see how it happened, but one moment she was looking at a large seal; the next at a man unwrapping a pelt from about his body.

“I still can’t figure it out,” Duilio said in her ear. “It’s magic.”

She turned back to the seal man. He was definitely the selkie who’d fondled her rump after helping to cut loose the floating house the night before. He cast his pelt onto the sand, and two female seals moved to stand guard over it.

Erdano approached them then, eyeing her. No, he was leering at her. Several inches taller than Duilio, he was broader as well and heavily muscled. There wasn’t much resemblance to Duilio, save about the eyes. They both had their mother’s eyes, clear and warm, with thick, dark lashes. He was a strikingly handsome man, but even so, he wasn’t to her taste.

He grinned down at her. “You’re much prettier than I remember.”

Oriana could smell the seal musk on him too. If that was a component of selkie charm, it didn’t work on her. However, having seen Erdano nude, she’d begun to formulate a new theory about selkie charm, one she wouldn’t embarrass Duilio by discussing. Hoping to discourage the selkie at the outset, Oriana firmly told him, “I am not interested in being part of your harem.”

Erdano cast a sly smile at her, one surprisingly like his brother’s, and then turned to Duilio. “Are you still not . . . ?”

“No,” Duilio interrupted him sharply, flushing. “Thank you for helping Oriana with the house.”

Oriana tried to catch Duilio’s eyes, wanting to know what Erdano had been about to ask. Duilio seemed determined to avoid her gaze.

Erdano crossed his muscular arms over his bulky chest. “You didn’t tell me Kerridan was there.”

Kerridan? “Who?” she asked.

“The other male that was trying to kill you,” Erdano said, giving a name to the selkie who’d been working with the Open Hand. “Thought I’d scared him out of my territory before. Got him this time.”

Erdano leered down at her as if expecting her to be impressed by that. Duilio cleared his throat and asked, “Were you able to follow the ship?”

“It went far down the coast to the green stone cove,” Erdano answered.

“Which one is that?” Duilio asked, unfolding the chart.

His brother scowled dramatically at the chart. “On that? I can’t tell you.”

“The one with the hooked cliff, right?” Oriana asked Erdano. When he nodded, she pointed it out on the chart. It had to be the site of the workshop.

Duilio’s expression went pensive. “This map doesn’t show any buildings there.”

“Well, there is one now,” Erdano said. “I can show you where.”

Half an hour later, Erdano lounged in the boat’s prow, dressed in a loose tunic and trousers. After another conference with his brother, Duilio came back to the rear and settled on the wide bench next to Oriana. He took the tiller from her and thanked her for holding on to it while he spoke with Erdano. The motor rumbled as the paddles splashed quietly in the water.

The green stone cove was farther up the coast, and she’d only seen it from a ship before, but a layer of copper deposit made it distinctive. It would take some time for this paddleboat to reach it. The clouds that had been gathering all afternoon had come closer, blocking out much of the sun. They consumed the meat pies that Mrs. Cardoza had packed for them, and after a time Erdano fell asleep, snoring loudly, in the prow of the boat. The boat’s paddle splashed on as the afternoon waned toward evening, and they could only hope that Gaspar was following. Oriana pushed her skirts aside to double-check the box tucked under the bench on which she sat. It was still there and, fortunately, not wet.

“I know you’re expected to leave soon,” Duilio said, startling her. “But our house is open to you for as long as you need it. We should be able to keep your name out of the papers. You’d be safe.”

Such a tempting offer. She could hide in the Ferreira home, pretending to be a companion just as she had with Isabel. Perhaps no one would come asking questions about Isabel. But Maria Melo would know she hadn’t obeyed orders and would make her father pay—a threat that Oriana didn’t doubt. She stared down at her webbing.