34

Once they left the market, things quieted down. But even so, many of the building exteriors were decorated with brightly colored murals, and strains of music came wafting gently from open windows. As far as Sonya could tell, they were not taverns or other public places, but merely the homes of regular people.

“Does everyone play an instrument in Raíz?” she asked Jorge.

“No, but everyone is encouraged to take up some sort of artistic endeavor from an early age.”

“What was yours?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Painting. Although honestly I spent more time mixing the paints than using them.”

“An apothecary in the making, huh?” she asked.

“I suppose so.”

“You’re a pretty good dancer, though.”

He gave her a confused look.

“I saw you dancing with Blaine on our first night with the Uaine,” she said.

His posture stiffened. “Let’s, uh, not bring up things like that around my family, okay?”

“They don’t like the Uaine?” she asked.

“They’ve never met them, but I’m sure they wouldn’t approve of them or their… liberal lifestyle.”

“It was just dancing,” said Sonya. “It’s not like the two of you were tearing each other’s clothes off. I don’t even think you kissed, did you? And they’re all about the kissing here, right?”

His face was tense and his posture was now almost painfully erect. “Still, let’s just leave it out of conversation.”

“Sure.” She still didn’t understand a lot of her friend’s hang-ups around sex and romance. But she didn’t want to upset him just before his big family reunion, so she didn’t press any further.

The brick street slowly rose on an incline, and the homes became larger, each taking up additional space with small gardens and courtyards. Finally, at the summit of the slope was a brightly colored building easily three times the size of Roskosh Manor, surrounded by a thick high stucco-covered wall. The roofs had the same red tile as the other buildings, but it was several stories taller than any others she’d seen, and small balconies jutted out gracefully from many of the upper windows that were veiled in wafting silk curtains. The wall blocked her view of the courtyard that surrounded the building, but she could see the tops of several trees, including an orange and a lemon tree, both just beginning to bear fruit.

“That’s your home, huh?” she asked.

“Cassa Estío,” he said with quiet pride. “Home to the Elhuyar family for half a millennium.”

“It’s… nice.” Sonya actually thought it was excessive, especially just for one family, but she again reminded herself that this was not her land or her culture, so she had no right to judge it.

He gave her a wry smile. “It’s grotesquely opulent. But it also contains all my fondest childhood memories, so I can’t help but love it.”

The front gate was guarded by two men dressed in sleeveless golden robes, armed with curved swords similar to the ones carried by the Anxeles Escuros. One guard appeared to be in his thirties, but the other was a bit older, with long gray braids. He still looked quite formidable, though, his bare arms showing ropey muscle tattooed with images of the sun.

The two guards watched their approach warily until the older one’s eyes suddenly widened.

“Little Señor? Is that you?”

Jorge smiled and waved. “Hello, Ignacio. My father hasn’t let you retire yet?”

Ignacio gave a short rough bark of a laugh. “Let? My life is dedicated to the safety of the Elhuyar family. Your father would have to order me to retire.”

The leader of the mercenaries stepped forward with a sharp clap of heels on brick. He addressed Ignacio rather than Jorge, which Sonya thought was strange.

“We are contracted to deliver Jorge Elhuyar, youngest son of Arturo Elhuyar, to his family estates. Do you consider this contract fulfilled?”

“I do,” said Ignacio.

“We will add this service to the monthly bill, then.”

“Thanks, Miguel,” said Ignacio.

Miguel nodded. “Always happy to serve, Ignacio. Give my regards to the señor.”

Ignacio grinned. “I’ll make certain that your name is attached to this happy news.”

“Thank you.”

With that, Miguel clicked his heels again and rejoined the formation around Jorge and Sonya.

He looked at Jorge. “It has been an honor!”

Then he and his fellow Anxeles Escuros turned in unison and began marching back toward the market.

As the younger guard unlocked the gate, Ignacio beckoned enthusiastically to Jorge.

“Come, Little Señor. Let’s go make your mother cry with joy.”

Jorge’s face was still flushed, but he looked eager rather than embarrassed now. Sonya thought perhaps she could even see something of the “little señor” in him that Ignacio remembered so affectionately. It was, she decided, very adorable.

The younger guard stayed at his post, while Ignacio led them through the gate into a small alcove beyond. He gave a sharp whistle and two little boys hurried out and took their horses into an adjoining stable. Then Ignacio led them through another gate and into the expansive courtyard.

Sonya was, on the whole, not particularly fond of nature that had been so tamed and manicured that it looked man-made. But when she saw the gardens that stretched before her, she decided that, at least in this case, she was not looking merely at tamed nature, but nature used as a medium for artistic expression. The regular geometric pattern of shapes and colors had something almost hypnotizing about it, and as she gazed upon it, she felt a knot of tension ease in her chest.

“What is this?” she whispered.

“A Viajero garden,” said Jorge. “It soothes a troubled mind.”

She looked at him with surprise. “It’s magic?”

“Expressive magic is, on the whole, more subtle and elegant than what your brother does.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it before,” she said.

He smiled proudly. “Well, get ready to experience a lot of it. The Elhuyar family commissions a lot of Viajero work.”

“Great.”

She actually found magic that influenced her emotions to be a little invasive, but she supposed it would just be one more thing, along with kissing strangers, that she’d have to accept if she wanted to live in Colmo.

As they followed Ignacio through the peaceful, lush garden, she felt it continue to work its soothing charm into her chest. It wasn’t that it felt bad, exactly. She was fairly anxious about meeting Jorge’s family after all, so it probably did her some good. It was just… strange to know that the feeling came from outside herself.

Finally they reached a massive fountain where a short, plump, older woman sat painting a portrait of the marmalade cat that slept nearby on a sun-drenched stone bench. The woman had long, intricately plaited iron-gray hair and wore a pale pink dress that left her round, brown arms bare. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice their arrival.

Jorge cleared his throat and said, “Hello, Mama.”

Sonya had assumed Ignacio exaggerated when he said they would make Jorge’s mother cry with joy. He had not.

The round-faced woman turned, her expression first confused, then shocked, then shining with happiness. She leapt up from her chair, knocking the painting off its easel and startling the cat.

“Jorge! My baby! My God, you have returned my baby to me! Thank you, God!”

Then she dropped to her knees, her hands clasped together in prayer.

“Oh, Mama…,” Jorge said fondly in a tone that suggested this level of intensity was fairly routine for her. He knelt down next to her. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

Her hands shot out and gripped the sides of his head so suddenly that Sonya tensed up. Then she yanked his face to her and loudly and fervently kissed his cheeks, one after the other. Jorge bore this patiently, a beatific smile on his lips.

Jorge’s mother gazed at her son fondly for a moment before releasing him, then sighed and abruptly stood back up, now looking calm and very much in charge.

“Well, my treasure, I am overjoyed to see you but why are you back so early, and who have you brought with you?” She eyed Sonya speculatively and her gaze narrowed. “Not a new wife, I hope.”

“A good friend,” he said firmly. “Sonya Turgenev Portinari, meet my mother, Señora Magdalena Elhuyar.”

“It’s good to meet you, Señora.” Sonya could hear the nervousness in her voice.

“Hmm,” said Magdalena as she continued to scrutinize her. Then she leaned over to Jorge and in a very loud whisper said, “My son, there is something… unusual about your friend’s eyes.”

“Yes.” Jorge glanced at Sonya. “It’s considered a… blessing in the Izmorozian religion.”

Technically that was true, even if Sonya no longer felt like it was. Since Magdalena was clearly a religious woman, the idea seemed to please her greatly.

“Ah, good! Not enough young women value faith in God these days.”

Sonya considered correcting her to say that it was actually a goddess who had done this to her, but decided against it. Especially since the woman was rapidly approaching with outstretched arms. Her insides squirmed as she received the same wet, loud kisses on her cheeks, but she bore it bravely. Or at least she liked to think she did.

“Sonya, you are welcome here!” Magdalena proclaimed.

“Thank you, Señora.”

Magdalena patted her cheek. “And such manners, too. Jorge, you always did have good taste in friends.”

Sonya smiled, again careful to keep her mouth closed. If only her own mother had been here to witness this casual acceptance from one of the most powerful people in Raíz. Although admittedly, the perennially reserved Irina Turgenev might have died from the shock if she’d been here to see it.