Oriana watched the ambassador leave, escorted by a servant. Her grandmother sat again, a signal for them all to do so, so Oriana complied, her mind still reeling.
They had discussed whether the Canaries themselves might be behind the plot that killed the prince of Northern Portugal—and Oriana’s mother—but hadn’t believed the idea viable since the Canaries were all held in the Unnaturals Prison in Lleida. The Americans, however, didn’t believe they were. That the Canaries might be acting outside the prison and the navy—twisting the minds of powerful men to suit their purposes—was worrisome. Especially since she didn’t know what their purposes were.
The question of Leandra Rocha’s execution was equally troublesome. What did Leandra Rocha do to deserve execution? Or had there been an execution at all?
Perhaps the alleged execution was instead a cover for the Spanish extracting a Canary spy from the islands. Someone within the ministry was working with them—of that they were certain—so it would have been a simple matter to arrange. They could disseminate the story of an execution to hide Leandra’s disappearance.
And if that was the case, how did that relate to her own attempted execution?
The ship that had come after her had fled to a Spanish port after the leviathan damaged it. Had they believed her a Canary agent? Would they have taken her to Spain? Or slit her throat and dumped her overboard when they discovered that she wasn’t a Canary?
“I like her,” Grandmother Monteiro pronounced, apparently speaking of Ambassador Norton. “She has promise.”
Oriana smiled at that faint praise. “She’s given us a name for our thief and the information that the Spanish embassy was involved, although possibly against their national interests. It seems definite that this Leandra Rocha is a Canary, working on their behalf rather than Spain’s . . . or the ministry’s.”
“It would explain why she didn’t take the journal back to Quitos,” Joaquim offered. “The Canaries must want it for leverage in future interactions.” He rubbed one hand over his face.
He’d probably not had a full night’s sleep, Oriana realized. And they’d already had this discussion a dozen times over the last few days, trying to force together pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Oriana knew from past investigations that the pieces would all make sense when looked at from the other end, but for now their questions simply led to more questions.
“Who is the boy, do you think?” Duilio asked abruptly, peering over her shoulder at the photograph on the table. “Her son?”
“He could be,” Oriana said. “He would have been born after she left here. Given that he’s webless, he had a human father. That would be more likely in Spain than here.”
Duilio picked up the photograph and handed it to Joaquim. “He’s important. Find him. You have a sense of him. He’ll lead you to her.”
Oriana recognized how he’d used that word—important. His gift often warned him of people who would be pivotal in his life. Apparently the boy was one of them.
Her grandmother held out a hand and Oriana went to help her rise. “Now, I know the four of you have plans to make. And I, I’m afraid, must find a diplomatic way to accuse my friend Lady Guerra of lying.”
That should prove a delicate matter, not only because of their friendship, but because if Oriana recalled correctly, Lady Guerra’s mate had come from the powerful Palmeira family on Quitos. The Inês Palmeira who’d been questioning others about Leandra could very well be their neighbor’s daughter.
* * *
In light of the ambassador’s revelations, Duilio dragged Joaquim to the main sitting room inside, hoping to have a private discussion. He wanted to be sure that Joaquim grasped the danger he faced in Spain. The male guards had suffered through three difficult months, giving Duilio ample experience as he watched them fend off the constant barrage of sereia magic on Quitos.
“I’ve got a box of wax earplugs I can give you,” he began as Joaquim settled in a chair across from him. “They’re more effective than cotton or wool. If you’re going up against the Canaries, you may have to wear them all the time. I’d work out some hand signals with Marina as well.”
Joaquim’s brow furrowed. “When we crossed the blockade at the edge of sereia waters, it didn’t bother me. João went crazy and his wife ended up tying him to the railing, but I didn’t react. I could feel the magic, Duilio, but it just slipped past me.”
Duilio pressed his lips together. He had a very good idea of what had happened.
“I’ve felt a call before, Duilio,” Joaquim added after a second. “I reacted then.”
He huffed out a breath. “Remember how the ambassador talked about a sereia using their call more subtly? There’s a way for a sereia to guard a human male against other sereia. They call it wrapping a hand around his heart.”
Joaquim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think Marina did that to me?”
“I cannot think of any other reason you wouldn’t react to the blockade.” Joaquim didn’t like magic, Duilio knew. He had an egalitarian turn of mind, and disliked anything that bestowed an unfair advantage, whether it was money, nobility, or magic. That Marina had evidently used her magic on him had to bother him. “On the plus side,” Duilio said, “you don’t have to wear earplugs the whole time you’re in Spain. You should be grateful to her. She was protecting you.”
Joaquim frowned. “She didn’t ask.”
Duilio crossed his arms over his chest. “When you planned to leave the Golden City, did you give her the option of coming with you?”
“Of course not. I don’t know how dangerous this will be. I don’t want her hurt.”
“You didn’t ask, though, did you? You were trying to protect her, and gave her no choice. How is that different?”
Flushing, Joaquim turned his head to gaze at a tapestry on the sitting room wall.
“You’re married to her,” Duilio said. “Trust that she has your best interests at heart.”
“I do,” Joaquim said with an aggrieved sigh.
“But you’re still annoyed.”
“Has Oriana ever done that to you?”
“No,” Duilio admitted, “but I’m half selkie, so I’m partially immune to the call of other sereia. You don’t have that advantage.”
Joaquim just shook his head.
Duilio rose and went to a desk near the door and dug out a handful of hand-pressed stationery and his fountain pen. “Very well. You should sail to Lisboa rather than home,” he began. “That will save you a day. The Sud Expresso travels from Lisboa to Madrid overnight, but not every day. I can’t remember which days. You’d best book into a hotel in case you have to stay overnight in Lisboa. I recommend the Hotel Avenida Palace. It’s new and clean and stands next to the train station in Lisboa’s downtown.”
Dragged out of his sulk by the need for information, Joaquim sat up. “I don’t have funds with me for a fancy hotel.”
“You’re listed on my account at the Bank of Portugal. Since this trip is to help Oriana and me, we should pay for it. I suggest making a large withdrawal while you’re in Lisboa, although that would mean staying until Monday night.” It was unlikely they would reach Lisboa until Saturday, or Sunday at the latest.
“Why am I on your account?” Joaquim asked.
Duilio patted his shoulder. “You’re my legal heir. Also, I’d hoped you would move into the house on the Street of Flowers. You’ll need access to those funds to keep the servants paid and the house repaired. It’s shocking how much a place like that costs to maintain.”
Joaquim blinked at him. “Your legal heir?”
Joaquim had been for years now; Duilio had simply never informed him. But he knew Joaquim would take care of his mother should anything happen to him. “If Oriana and I live here most of the time, that house will stand empty when Mother remarries, which is a waste.”
Joaquim rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I’ll consider it.”
Duilio knew better than to press Joaquim further, so they moved on to the fascinating topic of train schedules.