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“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Cecília knelt in the confessional, crossing herself then resting her forehead against her hands. “My last confession was three days ago. I...” She took a breath, wishing she knew which priest was sitting on the other side of the screen. “My soul has been troubled these past weeks, Father. I’m afraid I’ve committed a mortal sin, and I haven’t had the strength to face it.”
“What sin is that, my child?”
She didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t make her feel any better. “I’ve told falsehoods, Father, and kept secrets. And people were hurt because of them.” “Hurt” seemed like such a weak word for it, but Cecília didn’t dare give it more specific form. “I thought I was doing what was best when it all started, but now... I sinned. I sinned, and people got hurt because of me.”
“What people?”
Luís’s determined face flashed through her mind, feeling like a slap. “Friends. A man I cared for, even if it wasn’t as much as he may have wanted.”
“Was this man pressuring you for impure acts?”
“No.” She added another lie to her conscience, happily taking that over speaking ill of the dead. She likely should have allowed him those impure acts, at least after she’d met with Dom José. It seemed poor payment for losing the man his life. “But... I told him I loved him, because I knew that was what he wanted to hear, and I was trying to make him do what I considered right.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’ve been fasting and keeping the Litany of Hours and doing everything I can think of to atone, but...” She fought for another breath. “Please. I don’t want to be damned.”
“Telling falsehoods is a serious sin, child. I’m glad you realize that, but you should not feel sorrow for your sins for fear of punishment but because you have wronged our Lord, God.”
Cecília pressed her forehead tighter to her clasped hands.
“He wishes to forgive you, but you must open yourself to His grace and make yourself worthy of it because you understand His love, not just fear His retribution.”
She took a gulp of air. “Tell me what to do, Father?”
After a pause, the priest gave her penance—prayers she’d already said, restitutions she couldn’t make. She agreed all the same, hoping her other atonements could add up to what he had asked.
He offered a prayer for her, granting absolution, and she slid back into the chapel, her chest no less tight than it had been when she’d entered. The court had been quiet in the month since the Távora executions, but she still couldn’t be caught wandering around the halls, pale and trembling. She turned back for her apartment and started the slow progression to her room.
Tio Aloisio looked up from where he was seated on the couch as she opened the door. “Ah, Cecília, there you are.”
“I was in confession.” She went to pick up the Bible she had left by the bookshelf. She had read it through several times in the past weeks, trying to reconcile the stories of God’s love with the ones of His wrath, trying to divine what might be waiting for her come the true End of Days. Several times, she had wished she had never learned to read and that she could merely go to one of the priests and be told exactly what she needed from it all. But she had given up simplicity years before in pursuit of her own curiosity. After so many sleepless nights, she wasn’t certain it was a fair trade.
Tio Aloisio watched her for a moment then stood as she turned for her room. “I was wondering if you might want to get away from court for the day, Cilinha.”
Cecília frowned, her mind and body too sluggish to react any more strongly. “Get away?”
He nodded. “I’m going down to the docks today. The Vento de Verão has returned, and I wanted to take a look at the cargo firsthand.”
The name of her father’s ship jolted through the haze coating her mind. She blinked in an attempt to focus. “With me?”
He offered a smile. “I know you always loved that ship.”
A fledgling rush of excitement pulsed through her, followed closely by a stronger wave of guilt for daring to feel anything of the sort. She lowered her eyes. “I have penance I need to do.”
“You’ve been praying every time I’ve knocked on your door this week. I think God would understand if you took a few hours to get some fresh air.”
“You speak for the Lord now?”
Tio Aloisio shook his head, keeping his eyes firmly on Cecília. “Come to the docks today. I truly believe it will do you a world of good.”
She didn’t answer.
“I will join you for Vespers and Compline tonight once we’re back, if you wish. We can pray for both of our souls.”
You want to go, Cecília. Are you truly going to let yourself believe what you want is what is right again? The voice that had been plaguing her nagged at her. Look where that led you.
But Tio Aloisio looked so earnest, and Lord knew he would benefit from more prayer as well. She looked down at her dress—though it was drably colored, it was still made of a rich, thick fabric that wouldn’t care for sea air. “I should change first.”
Tio Aloisio smiled, the tension in his body visibly lessening. “I’ll send Águeda in. We’re leaving in an hour.”
***
THE SALTY AIR MADE the curls at Cecília’s neck flutter, and she inhaled deeply, gulping as much as she could take. The guilt wouldn’t fully release her, but being at the docks made everything lighter, as if a weight that had been crushing her had at least lessened, if not entirely lifted.
The way Tio Aloisio was moving along the crates his deckhands were unloading said he felt the same.
Runs in the family. She smiled a little bitterly. Half of us are saints, and the other half can’t wait to take to the sea and run as far as we can.
“Cilinha.” Tio Aloisio motioned for her to join him. “What do you think of this?”
She walked up to the box Tio Aloisio had pried open and looked at the glasses inside, all a vibrant red. “They’re beautiful.”
“Venetian.” He picked one up and held it out to her. He waited for her to take it before speaking again. “Most of this is to sell”—he motioned to the crates and barrels sitting around—“but I thought you might like these.”
She looked at him, the smooth glass cool in her hands. “They’re for me?”
“An early birthday gift.”
Cecília gave a surprised laugh and set the glass back in the straw that had been used as packaging. “It’s almost my birthday, isn’t it?”
“Twenty-first, if I’m not mistaken.”
How that sounded so old and so young at the same time, Cecília didn’t know. She began to answer when a familiar voice knocked the wind out of her. She turned to scan the rest of the ships moored at the docks, the skin at the back of her neck prickling. Then she spotted him. Though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, John was shouting to another man on a nearby brig. Even with him mostly angled away and at such a distance, every inch of her knew it was him. “John,” she murmured under her breath.
“What?” Tio Aloisio looked at her then followed her line of sight.
Cecília cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound normal. “Isn’t that Mr. Bates?”
“It certainly looks like him.” Tio Aloisio turned to face the brig. “He did say he was sailing again.”
She turned to her uncle with a frown.
“He writes now and then when he’s in port,” he explained at her look. “Last I heard, he was headed to the Colonies, though.”
Cecília looked at the brig again and watched John’s back as he made his way down to the dock. Though he was obviously in work clothes, loose trousers and a short coat, he otherwise looked exactly how she remembered, down to his clubbed but not powdered auburn hair. “Mr. Bates!” She jumped, her own voice surprising her as it bubbled free.
His head snapped in their direction, shock clear in his expression even from so far away. He took a step toward them, hesitated, called something to one of the other men working on his ship, then turned for her and Tio Aloisio. He wiped his hands on his trousers self-consciously as he stopped within talking distance. “Senhorita Durante, Senhor Durante. What an unexpected pleasure to see you both.”
“And you, Bates.” Tio Aloisio nodded. “I hadn’t heard you were coming to Lisbon.”
“We’ve actually brought some things for Mr. Hays. The—”
“British envoy,” Tio Aloisio completed. “I know him well.”
John nodded, seeming to struggle to find something else to say.
The urge to throw her arms around him pulsed through her, and Cecília caught her hands in front of her to tamp it down. “Are you headed to court, if you’re going to see Mr. Hays? We have our carriage—”
“I’m sure Bates is in the middle of something, Cecília.” Tio Aloisio cut her off, though he looked more relaxed than he had in weeks.
He thinks I’m feeling better. The thought dampened Cecília’s mood. Meeting John had been half of what had started everything awful that had happened. I knew what was right before meeting him.
What I thought was right. Why can’t anything just be right?
“Unfortunately, he’s correct.” John’s voice took her out of her internal argument. He looked over his shoulder at his ship. “There’s going to be trouble if I’m gone too much longer, and we still have a cart to load before we head anywhere. Are you both at court these days?”
“Indeed we are,” Tio Aloisio said. “You should stop by for a drink, if you have the time.”
“I’ll certainly do my best.” He checked behind him again as someone shouted at him in English. He bowed to Tio Aloisio and Cecília quickly. “Pleasure to see you both, Senhorita Durante, Senhor Durante.”
Tio Aloisio lowered, tipping his hat, and Cecília curtsied quickly before she looked up to watch him go.
“The Lord does have a sense of humor.” Tio Aloisio watched for another moment before he turned back to his cargo. He motioned to get a deckhand’s attention then pointed to the box of glasses. “Pack that into the carriage. The rest should be inventoried. I’ll deal with it later.”
“Senhor.” The man lowered his head.
Tio Aloisio looked at Cecília. “Ready to head back?”
She nodded, her mind whirring into even more of a mess than it already had been.
***
CECÍLIA SAT ON THE couch in the antechamber, trying to focus on the Bible in her lap as Tio Aloisio sat at his desk. Every set of footsteps, however, made her tense. So far, there had been no sign of John.
He’s working. He would have to see Mr. Hays first. She tried to force herself to relax. He didn’t even know if he could actually come. Maybe he shouldn’t. You’re already a mess. You don’t need him rattling your thoughts even more.
She tried to call up some verse on tested faith out of the hundreds she had read over and over in the past weeks. All that bubbled out of her mind was more decrying her sins. If I could just do one thing right...
Someone knocked. Cecília stiffened and tried to focus on the Bible in her lap. Suddenly, she couldn’t make out any of the words. Much too slowly, Tio Aloisio rose from his desk and walked to the door. Cecília glanced up as the door swung open then released a soft huff when she saw one of Senhor Carvalho’s servants.
“The first minister is asking for you, Senhor Durante.”
“I’ll be right along.” Tio Aloisio didn’t ask any questions as he picked up his hat from its spot by the door.
Cecília offered a smile, but her uncle didn’t look back, so she returned to her reading as the footsteps moved away. She read quickly, her earlier stumbling with Latin a mere memory.
O Lord, to us belongeth confusion of face, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee...
A new set of footsteps came from the opposite direction. Cecília lifted her eyes but still started at the sharp knock. Suddenly frozen to the spot, she could only stare at the dark wood.
The second knock spurred her to action. She crossed the room quickly and lifted the latch. The door swung open just in time for her to find herself facing John’s fist.
He managed to stop the knock before he hit her face, froze for a moment, then dropped his fist to his side. “I’m sorry.”
“My fault,” she said a little breathlessly, suddenly transported back to the first time she had seen him, caught halfway to knocking on the door of Tio Aloisio’s house, which no longer existed. He was even back into a proper coat and breeches, making him the exact man she had seen three years before, and she was once again seventeen, entirely thrown, and staring. She recovered, forcing a smile. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He removed his hat and stepped out of the hallway. His eyes swept the space quickly. “Is... your uncle here?”
“You just missed him.” She shut the door once again. “Senhor Carvalho needed him for a moment. He should be back soon, I imagine.” Not technically a lie. He could be back soon.
“Would he mind my being here without him?”
“I don’t think so.”
His eyes met hers, and Cecília felt her insides pull tight, as he still seemed able to read her as well as he could three years before.
She cleared her throat and went to pick up the Bible from the couch. “You seem to have a talent for appearing at dire moments.”
“Do I?” He turned to remain facing her.
She held the book to her chest as though it would shield her. From John or herself, she hadn’t entirely worked out. “You heard there was an attempt on the king’s life?”
“I did.” He nodded. “Though that was months ago?”
“Things have been... difficult since then.” She pushed a black curl back from her face and met his hazel eyes once again. Something brittle and weak, like cracked glass, shattered inside her mind, and she couldn’t keep the words back. “Why didn’t you tell me you can’t give it back?”
His eyebrows furrowed, the confusion plain on his face as he tried to work out her meaning. “I’m sorry?”
“Scientia potentia est.”
He gave a small smile. “You read Leviathan?”
“And some days, I wish to Heaven I hadn’t.” She sat on the couch, the fabric of her gown puffing out around her in a very unladylike fashion. “I read it. I’ve read scores of those.” She motioned to the books on her uncle’s shelves. “Senhor Carvalho is a strong proponent of universal education, but none of you told me once you read all those theories and philosophies, you can never give it back.”
“You want to give it back?”
“I didn’t feel this awful before I knew.” She looked up at him.
He studied her for a moment before he took a seat next to her, still searching her face. “What’s happened, Cecília?”
“You,” she said. “And Senhor Carvalho. And that earthquake. And that blasted trial.”
“What trial?”
She took a breath, trying to find whatever had shattered and put all the shards back into place. It seemed as likely as being able to reassemble one of the Venetian glasses her uncle had gotten her, should she smash it. Somehow, she still managed to plaster on a fake smile as she set the Bible gently aside. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve had a dreadfully long day, and now I’m babbling before even asking how you’ve been. You’ve been sailing. Obviously. To the Colonies, I hear?”
“Delivering supplies for the soldiers there this trip.” He nodded, though he seemed to be half-focused at best on his own answers as he continued to study her.
“Right. You’re fighting with the French again. I heard some talk about that, though of course, everyone’s much more interested in what’s happening between France and Spain around here...” She lost her train of thought as he continued to watch her silently. “Will you stop doing that?”
“Do people really let you get away with that these days?” he asked.
Her throat constricted, the rush of panic feeling as though he had been able to see straight into all her sins. Her voice wavered too much as she spoke. “Get away with what?”
“Changing the topic when you’re obviously not fine?”
“What?”
He shook his head. “You can’t tell me you’re honestly more interested in discussing the war than whatever awful thing you’re dealing with in your own head.”
The words landed too close to that shattered part of her. She stood sharply enough that her skirts almost tripped her. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You haven’t seen me in three years. You can’t know what’s happening in my head.”
He studied her, seeming to read her far too well all the same. “But something’s happened.”
She blinked, trying to keep herself together. She wasn’t seventeen anymore. She wasn’t the lost girl who needed his support to keep going. I’m practically a new person, she tried to convince herself.
But then why do you want nothing more than to just crumple into John and have him make everything better?
Whatever had shattered might as well have been ground to sand as a new pain rushed over her from deep inside her chest, and a sob escaped.
“Cecília.” He stood in alarm, and she didn’t have the energy to fight it.
She stepped forward, pressing her face into his chest so she wouldn’t have to look at him as she fought through the tears. “I’m going to Hell.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He wrapped his arms around her as naturally as if he had never been away, the familiar smell of salt and sweat surrounding her. “Shh, Cecília. Everything will be fine. Whatever it is, it can’t be that awful.”
“It is.” Her words came out muffled against his wool jacket. The click of the latch on the door made her stiffen before John could answer. A second later, his arms slipped away. She turned her head and saw her uncle standing just inside the doorway. “I’m sorry.” She took a shaky breath then looked back at John, who actually deserved an apology after that display. “I’m sorry. I...” Tears still too close to the surface, she shook her head and turned for her own room. “I’m sorry.”
She barely made it inside before she slid down to the floor, her skirts eating her up in a sea of fabric. She couldn’t imagine what John and Tio Aloisio would be talking about in the antechamber, but for the moment, she couldn’t stop her own thoughts long enough to care.