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Cecília unlatched her window and swung it open slowly, easing it past the point that always squeaked. With the moon waning, it wasn’t as easy to see outside, but after two years, Cecília likely could have found her way around the palace grounds in the pitch black. Pausing to think about it, she realized she actually had.
After spending an hour with Senhor Carvalho, having every word of what Francisco and Father Moreno had said picked apart, even if none of it sounded outwardly seditious, she couldn’t consider staying inside. She had needed to remain far too still all day, hearing first from Francisco about how Father Malagrida was saving souls two days south of the capital only to then hear how the man was inciting insurrection from the first minister. For as stern as Senhor Carvalho was, he never actually frightened Cecília outside of when he spoke of Father Malagrida. The loathing the minister had for the priest seemed far deeper than his political feuds with the old families at court. The hatred felt nearly personal.
With her bed dress tied directly over her camisa, Cecília might as well have been nude, as far as court would have been concerned. Without her stays, padded rolls, or pannier, however, she was nimble enough to slip out of the window. She knew well enough how to avoid any other late-night wanderers if she wanted to.
She turned for her favorite spot on the southern side of the Real Barraca, just past the last of the manicured hedges of the gardens, overlooking the river. She glanced up at the crescent moon. There should be enough light to see the water.
The pale-silver glint in the distance proved her right. She slowed as she came close to her spot, realizing that she recognized the dark shape sitting in the shadow of the hedges. Certain it was Luís, she released a heavy breath. Most nights, she didn’t mind the company when Luís followed her outside. After the day she’d had, however, she didn’t much feel like talking. After debating it for a moment, she continued forward and took a seat next to him.
“I was beginning to wonder if it was too dark for you tonight,” Luís said.
“Dark but beautiful weather,” she answered, looking out at the shimmering river in front of them. Beyond the soft chirping of crickets and the vague sound of waves that reached them when the wind blew the right way, the world was silent. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
“Autumn’s coming,” he said.
“I always loved autumn.”
“Loved? You don’t now?”
Too many bad memories. She once again redirected. “My father wouldn’t sail in the winter, if he could help it. He always said Brazil was at its most miserable in January, and the winter storms out on the Atlantic weren’t worth going to melt in Brazilian heat. Autumn meant I could start watching for his ship down on the Tagus. He normally didn’t actually arrive until close to Christmastide, but that didn’t matter. It was the only time of year my father was around for that long. He would stay through Easter if he could. Then when João started sailing with him... I don’t think Mamãe was ever happier than when they were both home.”
“João was your elder brother?”
She was certain she had mentioned João before, but she nodded. “I never got to know him especially well. He was eleven years older and was already sailing by the time I was six, but my mother always said we were the most alike of her children.”
“You and your brother?”
She nodded. “I think, honestly, we were both most like my father. Both got his dark eyes and curls. Both felt drawn to travel. I would have gone sailing as well, were I allowed.”
A smile came into his voice, though it was too dark to make out his expression. “You wanted to be a sailor?”
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not.” He found her hand in the dark. “I just can’t see you as a sailor.”
“Give me a chance to see the world, I’m not certain I’d turn it down even now.”
“I hope I’d be able to convince you to stay here.”
Cecília didn’t answer. She found it was safer not to when he strayed too close to saying anything substantial about their relationship. The world went silent once again as the conversation died off. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The wind blew, and she heard a whisper of the waves of the river hitting the banks. For the first time in three years, she let her thoughts drift back to the docks in Lisbon and the Paço da Ribeira, the king's riverside palace, which wouldn’t be rebuilt, per Senhor Carvalho’s plans. The Ribeira dos Naus, the royal shipyard, would. Through the nausea that came at any thought of what life had been back when things had been beautifully simple, some grain of happy thoughts tried to take hold. She had loved her city, truly, deeply. She could only hope building would properly start sooner rather than later, and she would be able to see the new city risen from the ashes.
“Did things not go well with your brother?” Luís pulled her back out of her thoughts.
“What?”
“You seem distracted.”
“Oh.” The happy thoughts withered at once. She went with the safest answer. “My brother and uncle don’t get along.”
“Any reason?”
“My uncle is friends with Senhor Carvalho, and my brother has been living in Setúbal?”
“Ah.” Luís obviously caught her meaning.
“No one in my family ever seems able to agree with each other.”
“The men, at least.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. “I hope they don’t pull you into the middle. There was enough trouble with...”
“My grandfather?” she completed as she pulled her hand away. “Could we not talk? I’ve talked far too much today.”
“Of course.” Luís slipped his arm around her and rested his hand low on her hip.
That wasn’t an invitation. Cecília rolled her eyes. “Luís...”
He released a heavy breath. “Will you at least let me touch you?”
“It’s a sin,” she argued, pushing his hand away.
“You know I would marry you if I could.”
“Doesn’t change that we aren’t.”
Luís was silent for a moment before he shifted, his shadow twisting to face her. “What if I talked to your uncle? Or your brother?”
Cecília stiffened at the sudden change in the common conversation. “What?”
“We could... perhaps work something out. Your brother could marry us. Secretly.”
Cecília had to laugh. “And you’d... what? Have a wife you could only see in side rooms? Who lives with her uncle rather than you?”
“We could sort things somehow.”
Leaning forward, Cecília placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him quickly, pulling back as soon as she felt his hand back at her waist. “I don’t think this is something we should discuss now.”
“You’re going to be the death of me, Cecília.”
I don’t think anyone has ever died of frustration. Her life would have been greatly shortened from some of the dreams she’d had if so.
For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: These are the things which defile a man. The passage suddenly flared to mind, the sound of it feeling surprisingly close to Francisco’s voice.
You would certainly think me defiled from some of my thoughts, Cisco. Cecília pulled away entirely and stood. Nothing good had happened since her brother had arrived, and she had the feeling that things would only turn worse if he was there for long. Senhor Carvalho’s ranting, Luís’s sudden ideas of secret weddings, her own guilt... Can I even ask God to make a priest leave? What if I should feel guilty?
That was a road she certainly didn’t want to walk down. “I should go back in. It’s getting a little cold.”
“I could give you my jacket.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She ignored the offer. “We can talk then?”
The shadow that was Luís looked up at her, radiating enough disappointment that Cecília didn’t need to see his face to sense it. “Of course.”
“Good night, Luís,” Cecília said, turning away before he could offer a good night as well, trying to fight down any of the old guilt she’d done so well in ignoring for the past two years.
***
WITH FRANCISCO STILL at court, Cecília found that morning prayers had become more than a place to overhear court whispers. Every day, she could feel her brother’s eyes on her from wherever he happened to be, as if her presence was the only thing that satisfied him enough not to demand she leave her estrangeirado uncle before he irrevocably corrupted her mind.
He likely already has. She kept her hands clasped and her head down. She perhaps hadn’t lost her faith, but she had certainly examined it and adjusted it. That had to be why so many books had been banned by the Inquisition. Heretical or not, once thoughts were read, they had a way of sticking inside one’s head.
Knowledge is power. Yet, as Tio Aloisio also liked to quote: A little learning is a dangerous thing.
She tried to remember where he had gotten that. Some Englishman with an ironic name.
Pope—it came to her. Alexander Pope. An Essay on... something or another. It had been in English, so far beyond her ken. She couldn’t even read the French treatises yet.
“Cecília.”
The voice far too close to Cecília’s ear tore her out of her thoughts. She jumped and looked to her left.
The familiar pale face of Graça Cardozo came into view. She smiled, showing her slightly crossed front teeth. “You were obviously deep in prayer.”
“I’ve been feeling contemplative lately.” Cecília looked up at the altar and crossed herself, getting a quick glimpse of Francisco still watching her from where he stood, off to one side. Recovered from not having heard anyone come up beside her, she turned back to Graça with a smile. “When did you get back?”
“Last night, just before dark.” Graça crossed herself as well before standing to let Cecília out of the pew. “Papai said he couldn’t take much more of my grandmother. I wasn’t supposed to hear, of course.”
From a questionably noble background and with Carvalho-friendly parents, Ana Graça Delgazo e Cardozo had unsurprisingly not been invited to Mateus and Isabel’s wedding, either. Rather than staying at court, however, her parents had taken her out into the country to see Graça’s perpetually ill grandmother. As those who had been invited to the wedding filtered back to court, Cecília certainly would take another ally, especially one who didn’t need to keep from being seen with Cecília like Luís.
“Your trip went well, though?”
“A little dull, but I can’t complain.” Graça glanced over her shoulder as she walked with Cecília toward the doors of the chapel. “Is there a reason that priest is staring at you?”
“My brother. He’s visiting Father Moreno.”
“He’s quite striking.” Graça set him a final look before they slipped through the door.
“He’s a priest.”
“Doesn’t change that fact.” Graça giggled. “Do you know how long he’s staying?”
Not much longer, I hope. “He hasn’t said.”
“Well, we could certainly use nicer things to look at in Mass than Father Rocha.”
“And he’s my brother.”
“Pity for you.”
Cecília shook her head, but the sound of female voices coming from the other direction cut the conversation off. If Graça also reported to Senhor Carvalho, or if she knew Cecília did, Cecília didn’t know. Either way, they both seemed to share the instinct to listen.
“I’m just glad to get away from that witch.” Maria’s voice came down the hall then changed pitch as she imitated who was presumably Isabel. “Are you really wearing that, Maria? You do know who is going to be here? One would think you’d want to look your best. You aren’t growing any younger, you know.” Her voice dropped back to normal. “I was ready to pull those stupid little stuffed birds right out of her hair. Pretentious li—”
Maria stopped mid-syllable as they reached the intersection of the halls and Graça and Cecília came into view.
Cecília gave her courtier smile and lowered her head. “Good morning, Maria, Constança, Marga.”
The three women lowered their heads quickly, forced to maintain a shred of etiquette, though they looked loath to, before they scurried off silently.
“It seems everyone’s coming back to court.” Cecília watched them go.
“At least the happy couple won’t be back for a while,” Graça said.
“You mean you aren’t missing Mateus and Isabel desperately?”
“I don’t know how I’m managing.”
“Senhorita Cecília.” Águeda appeared. She curtsied quickly as she stopped, her movements quick and birdlike in the way Cecília had grown to associate with the woman running behind on her chores. “Your uncle is asking for you.”
“We’ll catch up later.” Graça squeezed Cecília’s arm with a smile.
Cecília smiled her own quick goodbye and followed Águeda. Keeping her face bland, she tried to prepare herself for whatever could be waiting for her. Any hope for good news died the second she saw her uncle’s expression. She waited for him to excuse Águeda before speaking. “What’s happened?”
“Your brother.” Tio Aloisio tossed a pamphlet on the couch.
Cecília made no move to take it. “What’s that?”
“Father Malagrida’s most recent thoughts on the rebuilding of Lisbon and the state of our souls. Particularly those at court. Your brother has been circulating them.”
Cecília picked up the pamphlet, a cold pit opening in her stomach. “Senhor Carvalho’s seen?”
“You aren’t his only pair of eyes around here.”
“I’m well aware.” Cecília stared down at the paper without opening it. She didn’t need more reminders to pray for her immortal soul or for more guilt to rush back. She needed to worry about Francisco, not herself. “But he’s seen? He has a plan?”
“Your brother is going to be expelled from court once Senhor Carvalho gets the royal decree. Sent back to Setúbal.”
Cecília released a breath. As far as the possibilities went, that was mild. He wasn’t being thrown into Junqueira Prison or exiled to Angola. Expulsion from court was far better than either of those.
“He wants you to go with him,” Tio Aloisio continued.
“What?” Cecília blinked as she focused on her uncle once again.
“The first minister is sending you to Setúbal as well.”
“But I haven’t done anything!” Cecília’s voice pitched up dangerously.
Tio Aloisio sent her a look that said she was acting childish. “He wants eyes on what’s happening there. Enough of the court goes for ‘spiritual retreats’ that dissention could well be brewing. Who better to go and report back than a sister who has every reason to be angry with the first minister over the treatment of her brother?”
“You think anyone will believe that? After I’ve lived with you for two years?”
“You are a convincing actress when you wish to be.”
“Cisco’s not going to believe that I’m leaving court to support him.”
“Then you better start working out how you’re going to convince him.”
Cecília released a tense breath through her teeth. Trying to argue with her uncle felt more and more like arguing with a brick wall. She supposed she could appeal directly to Senhor Carvalho, but the first minister wasn’t known for taking I can’t very well, and she didn’t much relish the idea of being on the receiving end of one of his piercing, displeased stares. Her tone turned whinier than she cared to admit. “But I don’t want to leave court.”
“I don’t believe that’s up to you.”
“But—”
“Cecília, we are both here because of the minister’s good will. Do you want to lose that?”
Cecília pursed her lips, but she knew better than to argue more. If she couldn’t convince her uncle to plead her case, she didn’t stand a chance with Senhor Carvalho. “How long do I have to stay in Setúbal?”
“As long as you’re told,” Tio Aloisio said. “I’m sure there are plenty of places for you to get into trouble down there as well.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Águeda will help you pack. I’ll make sure you have everything you need for however long you’ll stay. You should be ready to leave come morning.”
“Morning?”
“Be glad the king is away from court until tonight. Remember, Diogo Mendonça was given three hours to leave the capital once his exile was announced.”
Cecília crossed her arms, aware but not entirely able to care that she looked like a sulking child as she slunk off to her room. As she looked around her room of the past two years, she tried to console herself.
It isn’t the end of the world. You aren’t being exiled. It isn’t so far that you’ll never come back. Though Father Malagrida had been banished from the capital, he had hardly been living in the far reaches of the Amazon. Some of the most important families still kept Father Malagrida as their personal confessor, not in the least Leonor Tomásia de Távora, the marchioness herself. She certainly wouldn’t allow Father Malagrida to live in squalor.
“Learn, oh Lisbon, that the destroyers of our houses, palaces, churches, and convents, the cause of the death of so many people... are your abominable sins.” The memory of the priest’s sermon and piercing eyes resounded in Cecília’s mind and made the hair rise on her arms. After living with Tio Aloisio for so long, she wasn’t certain she could face Father Malagrida, not when three-year-old words could still make her squirm.
Then again, maybe that means you need a spiritual retreat. Truly.
Forcing her mind away from the topic, Cecília focused on the room around her, trying to think what she would need with her.