The Seat of Magic (23 page)

Oriana cocked her head to one side, considering. Perhaps they weren't seeing the whole picture, but she had no idea what that whole was likely to be. She turned back to Pinheiro. “Have you talked to Inspector Gaspar or Inspector Anjos yourself?”

Pinheiro shook his head. “I'm only passing through town. I managed to have lunch with my father, and then came here afterward. I did send Gaspar a note, though, so he'll probably get in touch with you.”

Duilio came alert at the mention of food. “Do you have plans for dinner?”

Pinheiro checked his pocket watch. “Actually, I need to catch the train for Guimarães. My maternal grandfather has summoned me to his home. I'm expected for dinner
there
tonight.” He didn't sound excited at that prospect.

“I thought your mother was estranged from her family,” Duilio said as Pinheiro rose. “I mean, after . . .”

“After she bore a bastard?” Pinheiro asked without heat. “Yes, but he asked, and he is my grandfather, so I'm going.” He nodded to Oriana and Joaquim. “Good day.”

Duilio headed after him to escort him out, but Pinheiro stopped him at the threshold. “I'll see myself out, Duilio.” He paused, and then added, “Do me a favor. Talk to Miss Carvalho. I believe her father has been pushing her to pursue you, and she needs be told there's no point.”

Duilio crossed his arms. “When did Miss Carvalho become your concern?”

Pinheiro opened his mouth but didn't answer immediately. Oriana could have sworn he was blushing. “I have had ample time,” he finally said, “during meditation to think about every last person I've ever met, even Miss Carvalho. Besides, Duilio, it does affect
you
, doesn't it? Do you think the gossips have missed that she keeps visiting your mother?”

Duilio laughed. “Whereas I've been avoiding her for the last two weeks. That should have been telling enough.”

“Make it clear, cousin. Please.” Pinheiro glanced over at Oriana. “Or you do so, Miss Paredes, since he doesn't want to be alone with her.”

And with that, he walked off down the hallway. A second later, the front door of the house closed. Duilio turned back to Joaquim. “Well, that was interesting. Do you think our cousin has an interest in Miss Carvalho?”

“They don't travel in the same social circles,” Joaquim said
doubtfully. “He is right, though. It would be kinder to tell the girl sooner rather than later.”

Duilio sighed theatrically, and Oriana did her best not to laugh. Duilio hated confrontations. He preferred to endlessly avoid them. “Would you prefer I talk to her?”

“And tell her what?” Duilio asked, throwing his hands up. “That she's wasting her time?”

“Yes. Exactly that. I doubt she would see me if I went to her house, but I suppose I can catch her the next time she shows up for tea with your mother.”

Duilio's lips pressed together. “Actually, we can find her earlier if my mother agrees. I'll ask in the morning. Short notice, but Mother enjoys a challenge.” He turned to Joaquim before Oriana could ask for clarification. “Speaking of which, Mr. Monteiro and his younger daughter have accepted our invitation to join us for dinner tonight. You're staying, aren't you, Joaquim?”

Oriana shot Duilio an irritated look, but he carefully didn't meet her eyes. He must have been sitting on that information for hours, waiting to spring it on her at the last minute.

“It's not a formal dinner,” Duilio added to Joaquim. “It's practice for a formal dinner Mother's planning, a chance for Mrs. Cardoza and Cardenas to work out the kinks. It's been a long time since we've entertained.”

Lady Ferreira intended to throw a
formal
dinner party and have the Tavares family over, but hadn't arranged it yet. Oriana held in a groan. Dinner parties weren't her favorite event. While other ladies took off their gloves to eat, she couldn't, and neatly handling a fork or spoon while wearing mitts could be challenging. Joaquim seemed to be contemplating the request still, though, so she said, “I'm certain Lady Ferreira would want you to stay. It would make the numbers even.”

He shot her a doubtful glance. “I'm not dressed for dinner.”

“Marcellin can fix you up,” Duilio inserted smoothly. “He can shoehorn you into one of my jackets.”

Although Joaquim was heavier, he and Duilio were similar in build. It didn't surprise Oriana that they could wear each other's clothes. In the midst of collecting his notes, Joaquim nodded shortly, defeated. “Do you mind if I head back to my old room and take a nap?”

“No, go on,” Duilio said.

Joaquim replaced the last of his notes and closed up his leather case.

“Would you like to look at my hands?” Oriana asked before he left the table.

A silence fell over the room. Duilio frowned but didn't protest.

Joaquim cast a rueful look at her. “I apologize if I was staring, Oriana.”

Joaquim had to have seen her naked when they found her on that island, but had likely kept his eyes averted the whole time. She went to stand next to him, noting when she did so that he didn't smell like Duilio, no matter how similar his appearance. “It's natural to be curious about something different.”

She lifted her hand for his perusal, spreading her fingers wide so that the translucent webbing showed between them. The webbing anchored at the last knuckle on each finger, and stretched between the index finger and thumb. With her webbing fully spread, she could feel the vibration of his pulse and, more distantly, Duilio's.

“May I?” he asked before touching her hand, indicating that she should turn her hand halfway over. “This is sensitive?”

“Yes. It's how we sense movement in the water . . . the tide, the presence of fish and other animals, even boats. It looks delicate, but it's difficult to tear and heals exceptionally well.”

Joaquim's brows drew together. “Do you intend . . . ?”

“No,” Duilio said before she could answer.

“No,” she echoed. “I am a sereia. I won't live the rest of my life hiding that. Some of my people don't mind living as humans, but I'm too stubborn to do so for long. So I'll not have my webbing cut away.”

Joaquin nodded slowly. “Do your gills . . . hurt?”

“No. They're fine as long as I immerse myself regularly. A bath will do, even. Would you like to see them?” When he nodded, she struggled to unbutton the high neck of her blouse. Duilio came to her side, carrying his scent with him, and his fingers eased the two top buttons free. Oriana drew down the high collar of her shirt far enough that her gill slits were exposed on one side. The edges would be visible, but not terribly
noticeable
. “They're closed if I'm not breathing water,” she told Joaquim. “Or
calling
.”

He moved closer to look and then drew back. “Thank you.”

Duilio buttoned the neck of her blouse for her, his breath warm against her skin.

“With those two exceptions,” she told Joaquim, “we are more or less human. And the color of our skin, of course.”

“Weren't you going to go take a nap?” Duilio asked Joaquim, irritation in his tone.

Joaquim laughed, his eyes meeting hers briefly. “I'll get out of your way.”

He picked up his bag and headed out of the library, pointedly leaving the door standing open. Duilio shut it and turned back to her, a vexed expression on his face. “Which one of us are you courting anyway?”

D
uilio had never considered himself a jealous man, but his visceral reaction to Oriana's offers had been to shove Joaquim out of the library. He knew it was childish, and apparently so did Joaquim and Oriana. “You weren't planning on showing him your dorsal stripe, were you?”

Oriana shot him an exasperated glance. “You know why I let him look at my gills.”

The annoying part was that he
did
understand. She wanted Joaquim to get over any nervousness before her sister showed up for dinner. It was that simple. Among her people, nudity was tolerated or even expected in some situations, so Duilio knew plenty of men must have seen her dorsal stripe and her gill slits before. “That doesn't mean I don't mind.”

She came to where he stood by the door. “I am not courting him. If you're unclear about that, I must not be trying hard enough.”

Duilio touched her cheek, ran his fingers down and along the side of her neck. Her gills slits were covered by her high collar now, but even through that, his touch made her shudder. Stepping closer, he ran a finger over her full lower lip. “How sharp are your teeth, exactly?”

She smiled. “Not sharp as a razor, but sharp enough that you don't want to surprise me.”

He pressed one step closer, and her back came up against the door. “Are you going to let me kiss you? You could consider it a gift.”

She didn't try to get away. She didn't say no. So he leaned closer and kissed her. Her hands slid under his coat, permission of a sort, and he touched her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened her mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and run it along the edge of those very sharp teeth. She drew a startled breath and pressed herself against him.

This wasn't like the first time she'd let him kiss her, sleepy and innocent, or the second interlude between them, where she'd been willing if not eager. This was different. He felt that right away. She was sure of herself this time.

So he let her lead, let her guide the kiss. He settled his hands on her hips and firmly reminded them to stay there. She brought one of her hands up to cup his cheek. Her tongue touched his, touched his lips. He shuddered.

When her hand wrapped about the back of his neck and tugged him closer, he didn't fight. His body pressed hers against the door.

It was glorious to feel her against him, her breasts brushing his chest, her legs against his. He reminded himself to stay composed, because this wouldn't lead where he wanted, not today. Her touch calmed then, her lips against his but the passion slowing into a careful exploration as if she'd recalled that constraint as well. She kissed him once more, and then drew back enough to meet his eyes.

He didn't step away. She still held one hand about his neck. The other lay on his back inside his coat. He couldn't decipher her expression, but then she smiled.

“I love you, Oriana,” he told her.

Her eyes began to glisten. She licked her lower lip and almost spoke, but then it seemed as if her words were caught in her throat.

Why does that not surprise me?
She was far more reticent than
he was. Duilio touched his forehead to hers. “That kiss was a perfect gift.”

Her head tilted in the way that always made him think that if only she could, she would be blushing. He stayed there a moment, only holding her. But then he eased away, managing to catch one of her hands. “I have a gift for you, by the way. Is that allowed in this courtship procedure?”

She apparently didn't trust herself to speak, but nodded quickly. He drew her over to his desk where Joaquim's other case waited. He drew a wooden box out of the case and opened it to display the contents for her. She cast him a baffled look.

He picked up the revolver from within. It was smaller than he preferred and unattractive like its name, but it had decent accuracy and had been simple to alter. “It's called a bulldog because it's short and stubby. I picked it up in England.”

“Along with your penchant for big breakfasts?” she asked slyly.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I also brought back an alarm clock, a bundle of books, and a kilt.”

Oriana rolled her eyes.

“Very well, I didn't buy a kilt,” he admitted. “You didn't look at this, did you? Joaquim had one of the men at the shop take off the trigger guard, so it won't hurt your webbing.” That had been the issue before—most guns required stretching the index finger away from the middle finger and thumb, far enough to be uncomfortable for a sereia. The smaller size of this weapon meant less of a stretch for her webbing and now there was no trigger guard to pinch it, either. He pointed out the screw they'd set in front of the trigger. “This can be tightened to keep the gun from firing accidentally.”

She took the small revolver pistol gingerly. “Not loaded, is it?”

“No,” he told her.

She wrapped her hand around the ivory grip, pulled back the hammer, and set her finger on the trigger. Her manner suggested
that she did, as she'd once claimed, have familiarity with firearms. She pulled the trigger, flinching when the hammer sprang forward with a click. But then she smiled widely. “This is a perfect gift.”

*   *   *

T
he dinner went smoothly, with no one resorting to harsh words at the table. Oriana managed to keep her calm. Her father seemed equally determined not to upset either Lady Ferreira or Marina with their normal squabbling.

Joaquim wore a coat that Oriana recognized as one of Duilio's. His white tie and light gray waistcoat flattered his darker complexion. As Duilio had gone to talk to Joaquim after leaving her in the library, he'd evidently gotten over his short-lived fit of jealousy. Oriana smiled to herself. She'd never had a man jealous over her before and, while Duilio had stepped between her and Erdano once or twice, that had been more along the lines of protection than jealousy. Duilio understood that Erdano merely
annoyed
her with his unsubtle attempts at seduction.

It was plain from his behavior during dinner where Joaquim's interests lay. He was seated next to Marina, across from Oriana and her father. He listened attentively to Marina's every word, something that wasn't lost on Lady Ferreira where she sat at the head of the table. While Oriana was eating her soup the lady cast a glance her way that seemed to ask her opinion. Oriana shrugged. She wasn't going to interfere in that situation any further.

Since Lady Ferreira insisted, Oriana didn't wear mitts. Everyone here already knew her secret anyway. It was a relief to sit at the table and eat without having to hide her hands. She didn't drop a single spoon or fumble with a knife.

Lady Ferreira managed to carry most of the conversation with her father, sparing Oriana from talking to him too much. She asked him discreet questions about his business in the city, about Marina's job there, and the current investment atmosphere, which demonstrated that she did read the trade daily from end to end. Oriana
didn't even mind when Lady Ferreira invited her father—and Lady Pereira de Santos—to the still-unplanned dinner party.

After dinner Oriana retired to the sitting room with Lady Ferreira and Marina, who seemed awed by everything she saw in the house. Oriana tried to recall if she'd felt the same way when she'd first arrived in the Ferreira household, but she'd been tired and careworn then. And she'd never had Marina's natural effusiveness.

“Father says I'm not to go anywhere alone,” Marina was telling Lady Ferreira as Oriana settled on the couch next to her. “So he'll escort me back to my flat and come back up to check on Lady P.”

Oriana saw Lady Ferreira's lips press together exactly as Duilio's would have done on hearing that abbreviation of the lady's name—holding a laugh inside. “I could get Filho to escort you back to your apartment,” the lady offered.

Marina flushed. “Oh. I wouldn't want him to go out of his way.”

The lady asked after the address and then pronounced, “That won't be a problem, since it's in the same direction as his.”

Oriana sighed inwardly, wishing she'd gone off to the library with the men.

*   *   *

M
onteiro was going out of his way to be civil, so Duilio steered the conversation away from either of his daughters. He poured a brandy for each of the three of them, and gestured for Monteiro to take his choice of the sofa or a chair at the table. The man chose the table, and took a sip of his brandy as Joaquim moved over to the sofa and sat there—probably still thinking.

“Your mother is a very gracious hostess,” Monteiro said.

“She has only been out of mourning for a few weeks,” Duilio said, “but she enjoys having company.”

“Apparently she does not mind
varied
company,” Monteiro said then. “Most fine households would not be so welcoming to my daughters. I am grateful.”

“Mother does not care for uninteresting people,” Duilio said,
“so by that measurement, you and your daughters are the best of guests.”

Monteiro seemed to take that as a compliment, which was how he'd meant it. “Thank you, Mr. Ferreira.”

Duilio went to the desk and retrieved the leather-bound book he'd intended to show Ambassador Alvaro. “I wanted to ask you about this, sir. My father claimed these books came from your islands. Oriana told me she can't read them—that it would take a scholar.”

Monteiro took the book and gazed down at the strange script on the spine. “I'm hardly a scholar,” he said, “but I
can
read this. Before I came to live here, I worked converting ancient texts to modern print. This is a history, telling of the reign of Queen Jacona.”

“I actually have several books like this,” Duilio said. “I considered offering them to the ambassador. I can't make use of them, so it seemed appropriate.”

“How many do you have?” Monteiro asked.

Duilio went to the case in which the others were locked. “Six volumes in all, but the bindings are different. They don't appear to be a set.”

Monteiro flipped through the pages of the one he still held. “I remember reading this as a child, although in Portuguese. Rather boring.”

Duilio drew out the remaining books and set them atop the table for Monteiro's perusal. None were in as pristine shape as the first—which made sense if it was a boring book—but only one could be considered tattered. “Do the islands import their paper?”

“Timber is an abundant resource there, but cutting is limited and most of that is used for construction,” Monteiro said as he picked up another book and read the spine. “So yes, most paper is imported. Trading is mostly with Spain and England these days, since we're cut off from Northern Portugal.”

That was to be expected. The sereia had long ties to the
Portuguese people, dating back to the claiming of the islands for the Portuguese by Vasco da Gama in 1499. When the Spanish attempted to take the islands by force during the sixteenth century, King Sebastian I had sent ships to protect the sereia. Despite those ties, the ban prevented them from trading with Northern Portugal while superstition kept them out of Southern Portugal. The sereia believed that the 1755 earthquake that destroyed Lisboa—or more precisely the tidal wave that followed it—had been an unfavorable judgment by the gods of the sea. Even so, Duilio disliked hearing that his people had been replaced in favor by the Spanish.

“This is another history and this, a novel.” Monteiro laid aside those two books. He picked up the tattered book and peered at the spine. Then he opened it, his dark brows drawing together.

“I've often wondered if tourists were allowed to visit,” Duilio said then. “Was that done before the ban?”

Monteiro didn't respond. Instead, he began to flip through the book, stopping briefly on various pages. His lips made a stern line.

“Sir? What is it?”

Monteiro glanced up. “Burn this one.”

Joaquim came over to look at the offending book.

Duilio gazed down at the page, the dashes and lines indecipherable to him. “Why?”

Monteiro shook his head. “All copies of this book were destroyed about fifty years ago.”

Clearly not
all
. “Then this is one of few copies left?”

“This is the journal of a monster,” Monteiro said, casting a glance up at the both of them as they stood over him. “His name was Dr. Castigliani. A Sicilian, I think. He did terrible things in his quest for knowledge. The copies—there were only about fifty printed—were destroyed to prevent anyone from taking ideas from his work. There's some debate as to why they were printed in the first place. He was a human doctor, after all, and male.”

Duilio sat again. History was filled with men who thought their
goals made the means, however questionable, acceptable. Maraval had thought so. “What did he do?”

Monteiro turned the spine toward him, showing its sereia script in faded gold leaf. “This book is called
The Seat of Magic.
The doctor was searching for the organs in the body that housed magic. This is the journal of his dissections.” He shut the book. “Or his vivisections. He kept his victims alive as long as possible to see the results of removing various organs.”

Duilio's gift warned him, a jangling of his nerves. Not that he was in danger, but that he was in the presence of something immensely important. “Of sereia?”

Joaquim's hand touched Duilio's shoulder. Clearly he saw the relationship, too.

“Yes,” Monteiro said, his jaw clenched. “That's why he came to our islands. He'd already studied otter folk, selkies, fairies. Anything with any magic, he managed to find them and take them apart. Human witches, too, if I recall correctly. Ultimately, he was executed for his experiments on the island, but his notes survived.” He pushed the book farther away from him. “This is the transcription of those notes—in the language of our scholars, as a precaution, so the common sereia couldn't read it. Even so, the book was deemed too dangerous and ordered destroyed.”