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“He can’t just take it. It’s our land!”
“You should know better by now. You’d be safer saying ‘no’ to the king than the first minister.”
Cecília tilted her head toward the voices as much as she dared. She still moved the coral rosary beads through her fingers even as she listened to the two girls whispering a few pews back.
“But we still have two years to rebuild off that other silly edict! How can he just—”
“How can he just anything? He’s the first minister.”
“Girls!” an older woman whispered sharply. “You know better than that. And in church!”
“Sorry, Mamãe,” the girls whispered back.
Cecília waited for the three pairs of footsteps to audibly move out of the pew and toward the doors of the grand wooden chapel before she looked behind her—it was the Countess Atouguia and two of her daughters complaining about Senhor Carvalho, but that was barely worth reporting. Any noble who had ever owned so much as a statuette in Lisbon was still bewailing the law passed that allowed the crown to buy the land still needed in the Baixa with or without the owner’s approval. “Eminent domain,” Senhor Carvalho had called it. Two months of time to digest it hadn’t helped much. Since the first minister had put Porto under martial law the previous year, however, following a riot, there hadn’t been anything especially shocking for Cecília to report from inside the halls of the Real Barraca.
She supposed she should have been grateful. She had long grown used to her periodic meetings with Senhor Carvalho and actually enjoyed talking with the man when he had the free time to discuss philosophy and architecture, all things he fully encouraged she learn, but the wheeling and dealings of court could still give her headaches. Pageantry and excitement, she liked. Philosophy and theology, she liked. Politics, she could have done without.
Locking away the information about the girls in case she ended up with nothing else to report for a second week, Cecília crossed herself and stood to go to the confessional. She couldn’t say she’d had a truly clean soul since she had come to court—likely since the quake, but she could atone for most of her sins. It seemed most was the best everyone else at court did anyway. After two years of seeing the scandals and excesses of court, she could understand Father Malagrida’s harsh sermonizing about Lisbon’s sins.
Of course, the court wasn’t destroyed. She wasn’t sure if the statement was her thought or one of Tio Aloisio’s, but it might as well have been hers for as often as it popped up. Neither was Senhor Carvalho’s home nor the brothels to the north of the city. If God had meant to punish, he had focused a disturbing amount of anger on the Church, between the destruction of the offices of the Inquisition and the number of basilicas that had been destroyed.
“What do you think it says if God looked to save fallen women over the high inquisitor? It certainly makes me question some of the sermons I’ve heard.”
That was certainly Tio Aloisio, but without the second quake Father Malagrida had predicted and with the first minister solidly in charge, Cecília had at least been able to relax her own guilt enough not to feel damnation weighing upon her anymore.
Something dangerously like Francisco’s voice tried to bubble up from a dark corner of her mind. She pushed it back down. She certainly had no inclination to hear his burning words about fire and damnation again.
Pulling her skirt carefully out of the way, she left the end of the pew, looked up, then froze. She blinked, certain her mind was playing tricks on her before she had to admit her brother truly was standing at the doors of the chapel.
Maybe that wasn’t in my mind... A stone of guilt hit the pit of her stomach, as she had to wonder if God had suddenly sent her a sign, but Cecília managed a smile. “Cisco! What are you doing here?”
“It’s Father Durante.” Francisco frowned as he walked up the aisle of the generally empty chapel. “And I’m seeing Father Moreno. I’m glad to see you in church.”
To spy. That little voice she had done so well of fighting down sparked back to life with her brother standing there.
I came to pray as well, she answered herself. I’m a good Catholic. As good as anyone else here. She somehow kept her voice light and unburdened as she returned, “I’m glad to see you.”
It had been almost three years since she had properly seen her brother, but he somehow looked ten years older than when she had seen him in Lisbon. She supposed it had to be how thick he had grown his dark beard and the worry lines etched along the corners of his eyes. He certainly looked older than twenty-five. He ran his eyes over her, obviously critiquing her appearance. “It looks like court suits you, Cecília Madalena.”
The pinched look and how he’d used her full name left her suspecting that he didn’t fully approve of that fact. Then again, against his simple black robe, she had to look almost gaudy in her deep-red court gown. Even with all the ribbons and lace, it was only a day dress. She couldn’t imagine what Francisco would think if he saw her done up as expected for dinner. She kept her courtier’s smile plastered in place all the same. “Does it?”
His eyes settled near the low neckline where her stomacher met her gown, making her suddenly very aware of how much of her bust was on display. She was thankful that he didn’t comment on that. “You had your cross fixed.”
“What?”
“The one Pai gave you.” He motioned to the necklace. “It was dented.”
“Oh, yes.” Cecília brought her hand to the smooth gold, her fingers catching on the ruby that had been added at the center. “Tio Aloisio had the court jeweler look at it last year. They added the stone to cover some of the damage, but it’s nearly as good as new.”
Francisco nodded then glanced around the chapel.
“How have you been?” She tried to keep the conversation going.
“I’ve been in Setúbal.” He brought his eyes back to her. “I must say, I was hoping I might see you there one day. A number of the court ladies travel—”
“To see Father Malagrida,” she completed. She had heard more than one of Senhor Carvalho’s rants about the priest and how he was still holding his own courts almost two years after he had been officially expelled from the capital “for spinning false prophesies and inciting fear in the populace.”
“You’ve been with him?” Cecília kept her face placid.
“You should consider coming down with some of the other ladies one of these times.”
That would certainly go over well... “Perhaps. Tio Aloisio and I don’t leave the palace often.”
“Father Durante.” Father Moreno came from the back of the chapel, his face as good-natured as ever. “I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”
“I made good time.” Francisco gave a tight-lipped smile in return.
“And Senhorita Durante.” Father Moreno looked at Cecília. “Did you need someone to take confession today?”
“You’re obviously busy.” Cecília motioned to Francisco. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you certain? I’m sure your brother—”
“Truly,” Cecília said. She had made it two years without confessing to Father Moreno. Francisco being at court certainly seemed like a better reason to avoid the man than some she had given. She touched Francisco’s arm. “You’ll see me later? Once you’re free?”
Francisco nodded once then turned to Father Moreno as if Cecília had been dismissed.
Forgetting confession entirely for the moment, Cecília moved to the doors of the chapel. Rather than leaving, however, she hovered at the doorway, doing her best to listen to what Francisco and Father Moreno had to say to each other. She hoped that Francisco would be in and out of court quickly, before any real problems rose up around him, but leaving out his arrival when Senhor Carvalho next spoke with her wasn’t a possibility. Anything having to do with Father Malagrida always seemed to go right at the top of what the first minister wanted in his reports.
A hand caught her arm and jerked her the rest of the way into the hall. She squeaked as she hit the tapestry on the wall with a soft thud and looked up.
Luís shook his head. “How is it that every time I go looking for you, you’re hovering in doorways?”
Her tension left in a gust. “Luís! I thought you weren’t coming back until next week?”
“I missed court.”
“Court?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“Parts of court.” He bent as though to kiss her, but Cecília dodged him. He threw her a questioning look.
“My brother’s in there.” She nodded at the chapel. Francisco’s arrival apparently was a better excuse than she generally had for nearly everything. She had made the mistake of allowing Luís to kiss her one night after he’d found her wandering after dark. She had still been new to court and learning the intricacies of spying, and with him as her primary connection to the nobles who wouldn’t stoop to speak to a Durante, there didn’t seem to be a good enough reason to tell him not to again. He was kind enough and not bad at the actual kissing part, if she was honest. Still, as pleasant as the kisses were, none of them managed to shoot through her or bring back that deep burning she had felt the single time John had kissed her, and so far too often she felt her thoughts drifting where they shouldn’t go—to memories she certainly shouldn’t be entertaining—any time Luís attempted anything.
Luís took a step back to a more respectable distance, glancing at the chapel. “Your brother?”
“Francisco. Father Durante.”
“Oh, the priest.” It seemed to click in Luís’s mind. “Is that why you were lingering?”
“I didn’t know he was coming.” Cecília took hold of Luís’s elbow to lead him away from the chapel. “How was the wedding?”
Luís shook his head, willing as ever to let a topic go when Cecília didn’t want to discuss something. “How do you think a Mateus-Isabel wedding would be?”
“Careful. I’m going to be struck with melancholia for not being invited with you so enthusiastic.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” Luís shook his head. “I suppose there’s some benefit in being on the other side of things.”
Cecília nodded, not feeling the need to entertain another conversation about where they stood regarding the Vilhena family. With her solidly Cecília Durante after what had happened with Senhor Mendonça and Mateus, she was persona non grata with the entire household. With Luís unwittingly giving her enough of the gossip to fill her reports, though, Cecília couldn’t say she was too upset at her exile. If anything, it made things simpler. She stayed away from the people who would likely have drawn her into the gossip herself, and Luís couldn’t tell them anything about her without admitting he was still seeing her.
She just likely would have felt less guilty about it if he didn’t seem so obviously enamored with her, especially when she couldn’t say she returned the sentiment. After two years, she had to wonder if he would have proposed marriage if he wasn’t pretending they weren’t on speaking terms. A well-off merchant’s daughter and a penniless noble would have made a very suitable pair under normal circumstances.
They passed another door, and Luís pulled her into the empty room. He pushed the door closed, leaving it open just enough that they could argue that they hadn’t been alone in a closed-off room together. “Am I allowed to touch you now?”
“You should be careful.” She leaned against the wall, tilting away from him without looking as though that was her goal. “You wouldn’t want to do anything you might need to confess while my brother’s at court.”
He gently brushed a curl back from her forehead. “You know you do something to me, Cecília.”
“I really don’t try to.” Her stomach squirmed at the deep, devoted way he was watching her. He smiled, and she gave into the urge to slip away. She took a seat on the low couch. “Tell me more about the wedding.”
Luís frowned, following her. “You really wish to hear more about that?”
Senhor Carvalho will. She started slowly as she prodded for information. “How awful was Isabel?”
“I didn’t have to speak with her much, luckily.” He took a seat next to her. “She was happy playing queen for the day with the ladies.”
“Anything else interesting happen?”
Luís sighed. “Not unless you consider preening and complaining interesting.”
“A lot of complaining?”
“The food, the weather, what everyone was wearing... and that was just the day of the wedding.”
“And you wanted to leave that so soon?” she teased.
“If I wish to listen to people complaining for silly reasons, I might as well be at court.”
“I don’t know. Here, everyone’s still complaining about their landholdings in Lisbon.”
“Same there.” Luís took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “The first minster was certainly a favorite topic of conversation.”
“Nothing that will cause problems, I hope?” She furrowed her eyebrows, attempting to look purely concerned.
“No, lindeza.” He leaned toward her. “Nothing like two years ago.”
“You promise?”
“I didn’t hear anything that isn’t freely said at court. Don’t worry.”
So nothing new for Senhor Carvalho but Francisco. She finally didn’t pull back as he continued forward, allowing Luís to kiss her, figuring she had to give the man at least that much. And yet, her thoughts once again began to drift.
Dear São Miguel... I’m still going to Hell, aren’t I? She managed one last near prayer before letting her thoughts float away wherever they wanted.
***
TIO ALOISIO STOOD BY his desk, remaining focused on the letter in his hand as Cecília walked through the door. “Did you know your brother was coming to court?”
Good afternoon to you, too, Tio. I’m well. How are you? Cecília shut the door to their apartments and clicked the latch into place before she turned to face him. “I did not. I wouldn’t even have known he was here if I hadn’t been in the chapel when he arrived, in fact. He’s not here to visit us.”
“The first minister is going to ask about it.”
“I’m certain he will,” Cecília said, accepting she was going to receive another lecture even if Francisco’s appearance was none of her doing. Though she had two years behind her and managed everything Senhor Carvalho asked of her admirably, if she did say so herself, Tio Aloisio seemed unwilling or unable to see her as anything more than the seventeen-year-old girl who had stumbled through Lisbon, getting by on luck more than skill.
“Do you know why he’s here?”
“To meet with Father Moreno, apparently.”
“Meet about what?”
“He didn’t say.”
Tio Aloisio brought his eyes up to hers without lifting his head.
“I’m not expected to know everything the second it happens now, am I? I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I prodded people to the point of suspicion.” She moved to take a seat. “I’ll see what I can find out when I speak with him later. Perhaps it’s about Bibiana. Father Moreno likes updates on her, even if she’s been entirely normal for two years.”
“I find that doubtful.”
“Oh?” Cecília studied him across the antechamber. Construction hadn’t stopped on the Real Barraca in the entire time she had been there, and with Senhor Carvalho’s favor, she and Tio Aloisio had been placed in a much larger set of rooms than where Tio Aloisio had first lived, giving them each a bedroom and Tio Aloisio an office off the antechamber. Still, Tio Aloisio had chosen to keep a desk in the front room with many of his books. Cecília had to wonder if it was a taunt to the former powers that be in his own head. Senhor Carvalho didn’t control the Church, but it didn’t seem the Inquisition was going to come searching any of his friends’ shelves for banned books under the first minister’s watch.
When Tio Aloisio didn’t offer any more information, Cecília prodded, “And why is that doubtful?”
“She’s been at Convento da Conceição for the past quarter year.”
The information went through Cecília like a spear. “She’s gone to a convent?”
“Intends to join the Poor Clares.” Tio Aloisio nodded.
“She’s barely thirteen!” Cecília stood again. Of course, Bibiana had said she’d wanted to join a convent two years before—Lord, has it been that long since I’ve seen her?—but with everything else that had happened, Cecília hadn’t spent any time ruminating on it. She had been too busy. She had assumed she’d had more time.
“She was a criança milagre.” Tio Aloisio didn’t bother to temper the sarcasm in his voice. “Unsurprising she feels a calling to religious life. Anyway, I imagine your grandfather thought it good to encourage a granddaughter who wishes to be cloistered. I certainly would have less to worry about, if I sent you to a convent.”
“Who says I would stay in one?”
“One in the middle of nowhere, it goes without saying.” He sent her a look, though a touch of teasing softened the corners of his eyes.
Someone knocked. The teasing disappeared, and Tio Aloisio nodded for Cecília to answer. Who knew where Águeda or the other servants were, but Cecília stood without complaint and answered.
Talk of the Devil... or the priest. She plastered a smile into place at the sight of Francisco and Father Moreno. “Father Durante, Father Moreno. What a pleasant surprise.”
Father Moreno smiled back at her, catching his hands in front of him. “Father Durante invited me to join him on the visit. I hope I’m not interrupting a family moment.”
“Oh no. We’re happy to have you.” Cecília didn’t think for a second that she actually had a say as to whether the other priest stayed. Quickly, she went through what books Tio Aloisio did have lying about the antechamber. Even if the Inquisition wouldn’t break down their door, she didn’t much care to think what Francisco might do if he saw something he didn’t like. She stepped back and motioned into the room, relatively certain that though Tio Aloisio was bold, he wasn’t so bold as to advertise his more blasphemous tomes. “You likely remember my uncle, Father Moreno? Aloisio Silva Durante?”
Father Moreno’s expression strained slightly, but he lowered his head. “A pleasure to see you again, Senhor Durante.”
“And you, Father.” Tio Aloisio bowed then looked at Francisco. “Fathers. It’s been far too long, Cisco.”
“I prefer Father Durante,” Francisco said, his voice colder than when he had corrected Cecília. If he was still irritated with her, he was still incensed with Tio Aloisio.
Tio Aloisio quirked an eyebrow at the tone but kept his voice congenial. “As you wish.”
“Did you have a good trip here?” Cecília tried to redirect the conversation. “It’s been a lovely week.”
“We made good time.” Francisco’s eyes went solidly to the bookshelves as though he had picked up Cecília’s earlier thoughts, and he moved forward. “You have quite the collection here.”
“Tio Aloisio has taken it upon himself to better my reading ability.” Cecília kept the smile in place, as if blissfully ignorant of the tension in the room. “I’m now quite proficient in Portuguese and Latin.” She decided it was wisest not to mention how Senhor Carvalho had recently started her learning French as well—though she didn’t have much skill for it—so she could understand the diplomats wandering the halls.
“What have you been reading?” Francisco glanced back at her.
“The Bible for Latin,” Cecília said.
“Not just the Bible?” He picked up one of the volumes from the shelf.
“Some São Tomás de Aquino.” She picked the next least offensive work she could think of.
“Some?”
“I’ve reached his thoughts on the nature of sin. How God’s will flows through both natural law and eternal law. How sin is abrogating either one’s own reason or divine revelation.”
Francisco studied her for another moment before looking back at Tio Aloisio. “You’re turning my sister into a theologian.”
“If she had the temperament for it, I’d say she’d make a good nun,” Tio Aloisio answered. “She certainly has the mind for study, if not the patience.”
“Patience and a strong understanding of divine will versus human thought is paramount to study.” Francisco’s voice turned icy. “I hope you’re keeping a close eye on what you give her. Nothing dangerous to impressionable minds.”
“You heard Bibiana is at Convento da Conceição?” Cecília cut in, more than happy to keep Francisco’s mind off what philosophy she might have read.
“She wishes to join the Poor Clares.” Francisco set the book back on the shelf. “Avô Santa Rita wrote for my permission to move her. It seems she is doing well, living with the sisters.”
“She certainly has the temperament.” Cecília tried to pump some levity back into the room. She looked at Father Moreno. “You’d heard Bibiana is still doing well?”
“I would have to argue she was never unwell.” Father Moreno smiled from the place he had taken in the corner, either to remain out of the way or to watch everything that was happening. “But I don’t find it surprising she feels such a strong calling, now that God has given her fully back to the world, even as young as she is. He obviously has had a strong hand in her life already. You have a blessed family.”
The ones who are alive? “I pray to live up to it.”
Another sharp knock, and Senhor Carvalho appeared in the doorway. Cecília’s skin prickled as if it could feel the temperature drop his appearance caused.
Senhor Carvalho still gave a tight smile and bowed. “Father Moreno.”
“Minister.” Father Moreno lowered his head.
“I don’t believe you’ve met my nephew, Minister.” Tio Aloisio stepped forward. “Father Durante.”
If the men in the room heard how curtly Tio Aloisio clipped the name, they didn’t show it. Francisco and Senhor Carvalho exchanged their own quick greeting, then Senhor Carvalho addressed the room. “If you’ll excuse us, I need a moment with Senhor Durante.”
Cecília curtsied as Francisco and Father Moreno lowered their heads, and Tio Aloisio went to grab his hat by the door.
“Would you like to pray with us now, Cecília?” Francisco turned to her.
“Please, Senhorita Durante.” Senhor Carvalho spoke in the split second Cecília hesitated. “Don’t allow me to interrupt your devotions.”
“Thank you, Minister.” Cecília gave another quick curtsy, entirely able to catch the order behind Senhor Carvalho’s friendly dismissal. She wouldn’t need to talk about the countess and her daughters the next time she had to report. She likely wouldn’t even need to discuss what Luís had told her about the wedding. Senhor Carvalho would want to hear about her brother and just what he had been doing in Setúbal.