The Seat of Magic (21 page)

After dinner, they retired to the sitting room, but Lady Ferreira quickly excused herself, leaving Oriana alone with Duilio again.

“You look ready to run away,” Duilio said softly.

She didn't know where to start. She should warn him that she'd probably said too much. Marina would doubtless repeat things to
Father, who might come to Duilio with expectations that Duilio had never meant to raise. “It's been a difficult day.”

Duilio came and sat in the spot his mother had abandoned. “It would be nice if everything were simple. Unfortunately, not much in my life seems to be.”

She gazed down at her hands. “Marina asked me a lot of questions about you, which I may not have answered as clearly as I should have. She may give Father the wrong impression.”

“What impression might that be?” Duilio said.

Do I have to say it aloud?
“You know what I mean.”

“That I'm courting you?” Duilio asked. “He already has that impression. He asked me this afternoon what my intentions were.”

Oriana looked up at him, horrified. “He what?”

“And I told him that if I discussed my intentions with him, you would kill me,” Duilio said blithely. “Although it's equally possible you might kill
him
instead.”

Oriana felt cold seeping through her, rooting her to that spot on the sofa. What intentions
did
he have?

He moved closer until he sat next to her on the sofa. His sympathetic eyes stayed on hers. “I admire him a great deal, Oriana. But it truly isn't your father's concern what our relationship is. We're both adults.”

Ah, she understood then. Duilio hadn't made a secret of the fact that he wanted her, even if he'd backed away to give her more time. That was a relationship she could accept. She could be his lover, which was as close as she could get to taking him as her mate.

For a moment he stared into her eyes. Then he was leaning toward her. His lips met hers, warm and firm. Oriana didn't want him to pull away, so she slid one hand around his neck. She felt him smile against her lips.

Ah gods, I like this. No, I love being in his arms.
Surely this would be worth all the pain farther down the line.

He pulled away too soon, far enough to lean his forehead against hers. “You have become very precious to me.”

Oriana took a shaky breath, catching his scent in her gills. His warmth was all about her. He expected her to say something, but nothing would come out of her mouth. Frustrated, she let him go and sat back. She didn't know what face to let him see now. Surely everything she felt showed on her features anyway, a helpless and terrifying thought.

Duilio wiped a tear from her cheek. “This is frightening for you, isn't it?”

Oh, such deadly accuracy.
She hadn't realized she'd been crying. Oriana nodded mutely after a second, unable to put words to her fears—her fear that he wouldn't understand what she offered him, or even worse, that he would spurn it. No, he wouldn't do that. She was certain he wanted her.

“It's like diving off a cliff,” he said. “Not so bad once you're in the air, but that moment when you jump is truly terrifying.”

Now he's resorting to nonsensical analogies.
“What?”

He took her hands again. “When you dive, you're going on faith that there won't be rocks under the water, that there will be enough depth for you to swim away. And that moment before you jump, you're weighing the possibilities and you're afraid because there's a chance you're about to do something supremely stupid. But once you've jumped, you enjoy the fall because the decision is already made.”

Oriana laughed wetly. “So the hard part is the decision, not the leap itself?”

“Of course. Once you know where you're going, you just go.”

She licked her lips. Talking was so easy for him, whereas she had never possessed a silver tongue. He waited for her to speak, but she could only stare at him helplessly.

Duilio stroked back a loosened lock of her hair, his expression serious. “I would like for you to marry me.”

What?
Oriana sat back, suddenly unable to catch her breath. He wasn't supposed to ask her that. He wasn't supposed to . . .

She managed to inhale. “What?” she squeaked.

He grasped her hands firmly as if afraid she would run away. “I would like for you to marry me,” he repeated. “I don't know if marriage is the same among your people as ours, but I do want to marry you.”

“You can't,” she blurted out.

His expression stayed calm. “Why not?”

She dragged her hands free of his. This wasn't what she'd planned. Not at all. She was supposed to court him, not the other way around. “It's illegal, for one.”

“That didn't stop my mother and my father.”

Oriana sat as far away from him as she could. “It wasn't illegal when they married. And your mother can pass for human.” She held up her hands, fingers wide to display their webbing. “I can't.”

“You lived in the city for two years before you came here,” he pointed out.

“Do you want me to spend the rest of my life hiding what I am? Do you want me to be like Marina?”

“No,” he said. “There are other cities. Cities where it's not illegal for us to marry. London, Edinburgh, Paris. We could go to one of them. And the prince won't live forever.”

He's definitely been giving this some thought.
Even so, they were all
human
cities. She shook her head. “You would be shunned if you were involved with me. A gentleman doesn't marry his mother's companion.”

“I don't care about society's opinion,” he said.

It was a foolish argument anyway, given the example of her father and
his
wife. Lady Pereira de Santos, the daughter of a duke, had married a commoner. Duilio, the son of a mere
cavaleiro
, had far shorter a distance to fall. Her hands started to tremble. She pressed the heels of them against her eyes, trying to quell the urge to sob.
She had cried more in this past week than she had in years. It seemed the only response she had left in her any longer, and she hated that.

Duilio's arms came around her. He folded her close to him, her head tucked against his shoulder. “I have no words for what this is between us,” he said softly. “I am amazed you so perfectly match my heart's desires, but you do.”

Amazed
was the word that came to her mind as well. Whatever lay between her and Duilio, it made no sense. If this was love, it was a terribly confusing and uncomfortable place to be.

“I am willing,” she mumbled against his coat, “if you want me.” She couldn't look at him when she said that. She had never thought she would say that.
Never.

He stayed silent for a long time, though, and she finally forced herself to look up at him. His expression hinted something akin to frustration. “Oriana,” he said, “I want more than being your lover. I want you as my wife. I don't want . . .”

Why can't he see he's making this more difficult?
She jumped up and stamped her foot on the floor. “Why does it have to be
your
way?”

He rose, a rare mulish expression coming over his face. For a second she thought he was going to yell at her in return. His lips were pressed together, holding something in. And when she decided he wasn't going to say it, she swept past him and out of the sitting room, trying to keep her head high and the tears from her eyes.

*   *   *

D
uilio stayed in the sitting room long after Oriana had fled back to her own room, trying to place exactly what had gone wrong. He'd never before asked a woman to marry him. Of course, after careful consideration, he realized he'd failed to do so this time. He'd informed her that he wanted to marry her, rather than actually
as
king.

In turn, after throwing up a handful of ridiculous objections, she had asked why it had to be his way, which made him wonder what her way was. She had, he was moderately certain, offered to
become his lover. That had taken him by surprise. As much as he'd like to share her bed, he wanted to be clear that he didn't see this as a passing relationship. And he didn't believe she wanted that either, did she?

But she yelled at me.

That was a good sign, he decided. This was important enough for her to yell at him. Taking that thought as comfort, Duilio headed upstairs to his own annoyingly empty bed.

S
UNDAY
, 26 O
CTOBER
1902

O
riana endured a nearly sleepless night. When the clock in the hallway chimed three, she filled the tub and lay down in the water. The coolness of it lulled her, allaying her frustration enough to let her drop off to sleep to the sound of the constant dribble from the tap. But when she woke, her reflection looked worn and worried anyway.

She didn't know how to answer him.

In actuality, she didn't recall his actually
asking
. He'd spoken of marriage as if it were the only possible course ahead of them.

But it meant giving up who she was. If she were to become Mrs. Ferreira, she would have to pretend to be human all the time. And even though she'd done that for the last two years,
forever
was a different matter. She had lived this long without Duilio Ferreira in her life, surely she could manage without him. She could.

That thought was incredibly bleak.

And foolish.

Oriana looked in the mirror again and smiled at her pallid reflection.
I am going to court him, and we will work out all the details along the way. We will.

Having made up her mind, she suddenly felt less weary. She felt like anything was possible.

A tap came on the bathroom door. “Miss Paredes, I've left your coffee tray. Is there anything else you'll be needing?”

“No, Teresa. Thank you.” She recalled one of Isabel's tricks and yanked open the door. The maid hadn't escaped the bedroom, so Oriana called after her. “Teresa, do we have any cucumbers?”

The girl beamed at her and curtsied. “I'll go see, miss. I'll be right back.”

An hour later she was fortified with strong coffee and a headache powder, dressed appropriately, and had slightly less puffy eyes. She would have to apologize to Duilio for losing her temper with him; she wouldn't even mind doing so now. When she reached the breakfast room, the Ferreiras were already sitting down, the mother with her coffee and her newspaper, and Duilio attacking his usual large breakfast.

He looked up when he saw her enter and smiled. It wasn't forced, which made Oriana smile back at him.

“You're looking tired, Oriana,” Lady Ferreira said. “Did you not sleep well?”

Oriana settled for equivocation. “Well enough, Lady.”

“Perhaps you might take a nap after you eat? I'm not going to Mass and I have no plans this morning, save for some correspondence.”

“Actually, Mother,” Duilio said, “if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow Miss Paredes for a few minutes after breakfast.” He smiled at Oriana again, as if to reassure her.

“Duilinho,” his mother said tartly, “that depends entirely on her. Ask
her
.”

Oriana found him gazing at her expectantly. “Certainly, sir.”

His mother sighed. “Oh, please stop that, both of you. You know each other's names. There's no need for formality in front of me.”

Duilio's eyes danced. His lips were pressed together as if he
fought to keep from bursting out laughing. “Oriana, will you talk with me after breakfast?”

“Yes, of course, Duilio.”

“Much better,” his mother said. “Duilinho, let her eat before you spirit her off.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Oriana busied herself filling her plate, picking more than she normally would have—more like one of Duilio's excessive breakfasts. She
would
need a nap after this. When she came to sit at the table, Duilio kept a straight face, but she suspected he felt as chastised as she did.

Lady Ferreira took mercy on her and changed the topic to the newest taxes on boatbuilding, one of the family's investments, which occupied them throughout breakfast. And after giving her ample time to eat, Duilio escorted Oriana to the sitting room. He held open the door for her, and then closed it behind them.

Oriana waited until he turned back to her. “I need to apologize.”

He gestured toward the sofa, indicating that she should sit. “For what?”

Oriana settled on the end. “For losing my temper.”

“You wouldn't have done so if it wasn't important to you.” He sat down next to her.

She wasn't going to deny that. “You had the best of intentions.”

“I did. But I have no idea what your way is. Will you tell me what is done among your people when a man wishes to court a woman?”

She gazed down at her hands, shaking her head. Of course he would assume that. “They don't.”

His brow furrowed. “Are all unions arranged, then?”

Oriana laughed. “No. Well, some are, but not a large percentage. It's the opposite, though. Usually the man is courted by the woman.”

He took one of her hands in his own, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Truly? The men don't do the courting?”

She shook her head.

“Have you ever courted a man before?” he asked.

He's enjoying this.
Not her discomfiture, but wheedling out things she'd never told anyone. “I've never seriously entertained the idea,” she said. “I was told my bloodlines weren't good enough to attract a mate. My aunts always said I was born to serve instead.”

His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “If you were to court me, you might prove your aunts wrong.”

Oriana shook her head, more in bemusement than denial.

“What exactly passes for courtship among your people?” he asked then. “If you were to court me, what would you do?”

“Well,” she said, “I could give you gifts.”

“Gifts? What sort of gifts?” His sly smile showed he knew he was winning.

“All I have is what you and your mother have given me, Duilio.”

“Is the man being courted allowed to make suggestions?”

“He can always
suggest
,” she said cautiously.

“I would like to learn your people's hand language.”

She recalled some of the things he'd seen her father—and her—sign. “It's not a language, Duilio. Just a few words and phrases for talking underwater. Not at all polite.”

“I should be able to learn, shouldn't I? I've studied Spanish and French, and English, too.”

She wondered if he'd studied those tongues—none of which she had beyond a few words—in his law studies, in his foreign travels, or if he'd just been keen to learn. “Then may I offer to teach you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is this to be considered a courtship gift?”

She showed him the sign for yes, the closing of a fist. “This is
yes.
”

He imitated the gesture thoughtfully. “Does it matter which hand?”

“No.” She showed him that one as well, and he imitated it.

“A good start,” he said. “What happens after the giving of gifts? In your people's courtship, I mean.”

“Well, the man decides which among the females courting him he wants.”

“And if there aren't any other females courting him? Do they still go through the same process?”

“Of course they do.” A laugh bubbled up out of Oriana's throat at his crestfallen expression. “Besides, isn't Miss Carvalho courting you?”

“That doesn't count,” he protested.

“Why not?”

“Because she has absolutely no chance of winning me.”

Oriana wet her lips with her tongue. “Well, we are not fond of terribly long courtships as your people are.”

He grinned, and then his smile dimmed. “I am not joking, Oriana. I am willing to do this your way, whatever you ask of me, however long it takes.”

“I just need time,” she whispered. “To figure out . . . how this will work.”

He slid the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I can wait. I only wanted to know that . . . we're heading in the same direction, more or less.”

Taking a mate was, in her eyes, the same as marriage, even if the steps to getting to that end might seem different. But Duilio was giving her control over that path, something she suspected most human men wouldn't. It was a relief to have control over
something
.
Surely we can make this work somehow.
“Thank you.”

He smiled, and her heart swelled. “Very well,” he said. “Joaquim is coming over after Mass. We intend to sit in here until we figure out what we know so far. We could use your thoughts.”

“A good idea,” she said, and then had to cover her mouth to hide a yawn.

“Why don't you go back to your room?” Duilio said. “You do look like a nap would do you good. And I mean no insult by that.”

“I didn't sleep well,” she admitted. She managed to tear herself
away from that sofa, but stopped at the door of the library and looked back at him. “Send Teresa for me if I oversleep.”

*   *   *

D
uilio watched her head up the stairs, observing the familiar sway of her hips. He probably had a foolish grin on his face. Whatever form this courtship of hers took, he would do everything possible to make sure she decided to keep him. It would be awkward if this didn't eventually lead to a wedding. Society had its rules, and he couldn't introduce her as his mate here. But even if she didn't agree to
marry
him, he would work around the difficulties that presented.

Rather pleased with himself, he headed toward the library, only to intercept Cardenas laying an envelope on his desk.

“It's good I found you, Mr. Duilio,” the butler began. “Our boatman is down in the kitchen, wishing for a word with you. And your man found this in yesterday's jacket.” He held out the envelope.

About half of the staff would be at Mass this morning, so that left Cardenas doing a footman's work again. Duilio took the envelope, the one Monteiro had handed to him the day before, the note that warned the man not to talk. “Thank you, Cardenas. I'll go see to João directly.”

The butler headed up toward the front door while Duilio turned down the side hall to the stairs that led to the kitchen. As promised, he found João sitting at the servants' table, his cap in his hands. The boatman rose when he saw Duilio entering the empty kitchen.

“What brings you up to the house, João? Is Miss Aga well?”

João flushed at the mention of his inamorata's name. “She's well, sir. I came about the pelt, sir. You asked me to keep an ear to the wind.”

“Did someone find it?”

João sat when Duilio indicated he should do so. “Well, sir, I was talking to old Augostinho, who runs one of the Ramires boats.”

The Ramires family owned several fishing boats moored close
to Duilio's own. “What did he have to say?” Duilio asked as he sat across from the young man.

“He did find a pelt on his boat, but he'd left it alone.”

Fishermen tended to be superstitious. If a selkie's pelt showed up on their boat, they probably wouldn't touch it. “But then . . .”

“He thought it was a bad omen, sir. It started to smell, like it was rotting.”

“The girl whose it was is dead, João, so it would.”

The young man's lips pursed. “Oh. Was it someone Aga knew?”

Duilio shook his head, feeling guilty. They'd gone to warn Oriana's family about this killer, but he hadn't thought of Aga, who was a selkie as well and Erdano's half sister. “It was a young girl named Gita, but the queen said she washed up on their beach after that last big storm, so Aga wouldn't know her, I think.”

“Good.” João puffed out his cheeks. “It's strange though, Mr. Ferreira. Old Augostinho told me when he pulled the pelt out of its hiding spot to drop it in the ocean, there was a square of it that wasn't rotting. As big as his hand. He said that spot looked fresh and whole, like a pelt usually does.”

Duilio shook his head. How could only a part of the pelt still be . . .
alive
, for lack of a better term? “I don't understand, but thank you for telling me. Since one selkie has already been killed, it may not be safe for Aga to go into the city alone. I would keep her close for the time being.”

“I will.” Frowning, João turned his cap in his hands. “There's something else, sir. About Aga.”

Duilio had half risen, but sat again. “Yes.”

“I'm wanting her to marry me, sir,” João said in a rush, “but she doesn't want to. I mean . . . she doesn't understand
why
we need to be married. Like she didn't understand about not taking her clothes off at first, sir.”

Most selkies had no qualms about nudity and were mystified by the social conventions of the Portuguese that forbade it. João had
managed to explain that to her. Prejudice against bastardy was a more complex issue, and it was likely that Aga would fall pregnant eventually. “Let me talk to my mother. If anyone can explain the situation to Aga, my mother can. I'll send a note to you with her answer. Would that help?”

“I'd truly appreciate it, sir.” João nodded quickly and rose. “Good day, Mr. Ferreira.”

Duilio let the young man out.
Perhaps Mother can talk Oriana into it while she's at it.