Autumn, 1506
Bayonne, Gascony
Mira
Mira, Elena, and Xabi hustled through the streets of Bayonne, fizzing with energy. At the inn, they hurried past the sniffing, superior innkeeper and bounded up the stairs. In Elena’s bedchamber, Mira saw Xabi cast an admiring glance at the four-poster bed.
“Why don’t I take Alejandro’s things and meet you in the sitting room downstairs?” she suggested. “I saw some portraits hanging there and I wish to ask the innkeeper about the artist.”
“A fine plan,” Elena agreed, casting a covert glance at Xabi.
He ran a hand along the surface of an oak chest, oblivious to the scheming of the two women.
As soon as Mira shut the door she heard muffled laughter from within the room and grinned. She resolved to take all the time in the world to examine the artwork.
In the corridor, she wrinkled her nose at the acrid scent of tallow that hung in the low-ceilinged space. Despite its veneer of elegance, the inn supplied tallow candles to its guests, rather than the more costly, sweet-smelling beeswax favored by the wealthy.
As she descended the staircase, the bell jingled over the front door.
A party of merchants clattered down the stairs behind her, their boots loud on the wooden treads.
Mira rounded the corner into the entry hall. A plump, veiled woman dressed all in black stood by the innkeeper, who was talking to her in a supplicating manner.
Was this the same widow who had been seated at the opposite end of the long table the night of the bishop’s feast, the woman whose lonely demeanor inspired sympathy in her? Mira stood motionless, transfixed.
The woman was speaking now, her low tone marked by the unmistakeable lilt of an Aragónese accent.
Dread constricted Mira’s chest.
She knew that voice.
It belonged to Amadina Sacazar.
Quickly Mira pulled the hood of her cloak over her forehead. She stood in the shadows as the merchants trooped through the entry hall, filling the space with booming laughter and animated chatter. Their voices galvanized her into motion. She darted forward, hoping to blend with the group as they departed.
Then the innkeeper’s voice rang out.
“Madame,” he called. “A word.”
She pretended not to hear, willing the merchants to exit so she could make her escape. But the one in the lead stopped in his tracks.
“Blast,” he swore. “I’ve forgotten my coin purse. Won’t get far without it.”
“We shall wait,” one of his companions replied.
The delay gave the innkeeper time to reach Mira.
“Madame, the woman you inquired about earlier has returned,” he said, eyeing her with annoyance. “She is here now, and eager to speak to you.”
Mira froze, panicked.
Amadina stood several paces away, her head shrouded by a gauzy black veil. A burly man descended the stairs and came to stand at Amadina’s side. Mira registered the features of his face with sickening clarity. He was the blank-eyed servant who had tried to lure her into Carlo Sacazar’s home that autumn day in Nay.
Amadina spoke to him in rapid Aragónese. “Did you lock it up?”
“Yes, madame.” His meek voice belied his formidable appearance.
He handed a key to Amadina, which she slipped inside a pocket.
Panic seized Mira’s heart. She could not tear her eyes away from the man.
The merchant thudded down the stairs, jingling his purse. “I would have a look upstairs if I were you,” he advised the innkeeper, gesturing to the heavens. “I caught a whiff of smoke. Perhaps a candle has burned through a drape.”
The innkeeper snapped at a servant to go investigate the matter.
The merchant rejoined his companions and the group of men made ready to leave. Mira wanted to vault forward and beg them for protection. She pressed a hand against her thigh, felt the outline of her dagger in its sheath.
“Good sir,” she heard Amadina say to the innkeeper in a voice pitched high. “Please do not delay in your investigation. We will make our introductions. My man will watch over the entryway for you.”
The merchants filed out the door.
“Very well,” the innkeeper said, mashing his lips together. “I shall return directly.”
The sound of the innkeeper’s footsteps retreating up the stairs echoed in the sudden silence. Amadina’s eyes glinted behind the dusky veil. The manservant advanced slowly toward Mira, his face expressionless.
She backed into the sitting room, a scream rising in her throat.