The Golden City (24 page)

“Do you not know?” Oriana asked.

“I’ve been abroad for much of the pa
st
three years, Miss Paredes. Witches come and go, particularly where the . . .”

The latch on the library door clicked and began to turn.

“Go
st
and again
st
the wall,” the Lady ordered, pointing. “Stay behind me.”

Mr. Ferreira grabbed Oriana’s hand and hauled her out of her chair before she could prote
st
. She barely managed to grab the sketch off the table with her free hand before he dragged her back toward the wall with him. The Lady went to
st
and behind the couch, one hand lying on its back, as the library door swung open, and a silver-haired man walked in, a young girl clutching his arm.

It was Paolo Silva.

D
uilio’s whole body tensed when he saw young Con
st
ancia Carvalho being squired about on Silva’s arm. He wanted to
st
orm over there and plant the man a facer. The old lecher had a reputation for seducing young women that had never quite made sense to Duilio. Silva simply wasn’t that handsome, and while he might be influential, it was usually older women who found power attra
ct
ive, not girls of barely seventeen, like the one on his arm now.

Silva gave the library door a gentle push, not obvious enough to alert the girl she was closed in. It would be scandalous if the girl was caught here alone with Silva, even if the man
was
old enough to be her grandfather.

Miss Carvalho pointed at one of the shelves, fortunately not too near where Duilio
st
ood, Miss Paredes
st
ill as
st
one beside him. It was clear that whatever the Lady was doing
worked
. Miss Carvalho showed no sign of seeing them there.
How fascinating
.

“I think the book is on that shelf,” the girl said brightly, pointing. “Father keeps the keys with him, though.”

“I only wanted to see the cover, my girl.” Silva
st
arted in their dire
ct
ion.

Duilio heard a soft intake of breath from Miss Paredes. He grabbed her hand to reassure her. Silva didn’t pose a true threat to them right now. Even if the man saw them in the library, his presence here was no less que
st
ionable than theirs. And Duilio wanted to know what the man was up to. The Lady moved silently to
st
and dire
ct
ly between them and Silva.

Silva peered into one of the bookshelves with locked glass doors. Duilio doubted Miss Carvalho could see Silva’s right hand fiddling with the lock. Apparently skill with a skeleton key ran in the family. A muted click sounded, and Silva pronounced, “Oh, look. Your father’s left it unlocked, my girl.” He opened the door and extra
ct
ed one leather-bound volume. “It is lovely.”

“Father never leaves the doors unlocked,” Miss Carvalho prote
st
ed, sounding panicked.

Duilio felt sorry for the girl. She wasn’t the brighte
st
of the Carvalho daughters to begin with. Newly out in society and exuberant over her birthday ball, she mu
st
have made an easy target. The girl wrung her hands together, then raised one as if beseeching Silva to return to her side. “I said I would show it to you, but you can’t look inside. Father would be livid.”

“Your father’s a friend of mine,” Silva told her. “He won’t mind.”

Miss Carvalho chewed at her lower lip. She ca
st
a glance back at the door, her eyes widening as she apparently realized for the fir
st
time it was closed. She knew she was in trouble. “Please . . .” she began, her voice fading to a whisper.

It was a
ct
ually clever of Silva,
Duilio thought.
Cruel, but clever.
For any young, unmarried girl to be caught alone with a man would be scandalous. Silva could have crept into the library on his own, but this way, if he got caught he could hold the girl’s reputation ho
st
age in order to get away unscathed. Surely Carvalho would prote
ct
his daughter before his books.

The Lady turned slowly to face them. She pointed at Duilio and indicated the chair farther from where Silva
st
ood flipping through his confiscated book, then ge
st
ured for Miss Paredes to approach her. Duilio under
st
ood—his mere presence would prote
ct
young Miss Carvalho’s reputation. He glanced at Miss Paredes and nodded. She let go of his hand and walked a few
st
eps until she
st
ood right at the Lady’s side.

Duilio walked softly around the back of the couch to the chair the Lady had pointed out. The fabric made a soft whoosh when he sat, not loud enough to alert Silva, though. The man continued to flip through the book’s pages.

Duilio waited. The Lady mu
st
be keeping him in reserve.

The library door opened a second time. Duilio turned his head and saw it was the elde
st
of the daughters, Genoveva—the one Carvalho wanted to palm off on him. Lovely in an elegant cream-colored gown, she seemed more mature than her twenty-one years. Her brown eyes flicked between her si
st
er and Silva, and she regally extended one hand. “Come here, Con
st
ancia.”

The younger si
st
er darted over to her, but Silva didn’t look up from the book. “Miss Carvalho, how will you explain where your young si
st
er has been for the pa
st
quarter hour?”

The elder Miss Carvalho lifted her chin. “No one need know she was here, Mr. Silva.”

“She disappeared from her birthday ball with a man,” he said. “I, for one, would consider that a sign of overeagerness.”

Genoveva
st
rode over to where he
st
ood, leaving the younger girl cowering by the library door. “You will not slander my si
st
er,” she hissed.

Silva’s eyes rose to meet hers, and then he made a show of giving her a thorough appraisal. “I will do whatever I want, Miss Carvalho. Are you offering yourself in her place?”

“She’s been in the ladies' retiring room,” Miss Genoveva said coolly. “She and I were returning to the ballroom when we looked in the library and saw you pawing through my father’s books.” She held out one hand, clearly expe
ct
ing him to place the book in it.

Silva didn’t. “Two gue
st
s saw her come in here with me, Miss Carvalho. I made sure of that. So what will
you
give me to keep my mouth shut?”

Her no
st
rils flared. For the fir
st
time Duilio thought that if she hadn’t fallen in love with Alessio long ago, an arranged marriage between them might have worked out after all. Genoveva Carvalho had nerve. Duilio glanced over at the Lady and nodded . . . and the Lady and Miss Paredes both disappeared from his view, as quick as the blink of an eye. He hadn’t expe
ct
ed that.

Duilio heard a quickly
st
ifled squeak from near the door. Evidently Miss Con
st
ancia had seen
him
, even if the other two inhabitants of the room hadn’t yet. In as light a tone as he could manage in his current irritated
st
ate, Duilio said, “None of this is necessary, you know.”

Miss Genoveva shrieked and spun about to
st
are at him wide-eyed. She pressed one gloved hand to her bosom. Silva chose not to acknowledge Duilio at all.

Duilio put on his blande
st
smile. “I’ve been here the entire time, Miss Genoveva. I sent my mother home from the dancing, you know, and I was going to meet with Pimental to chat later, only I came in here to find the newspaper and I mu
st
have fallen asleep. I guess I blend into the chair.” He laughed as if he found himself amusing, then rose. “Whatever is that book you’re reading, old man? It mu
st
be fascinating.”

Silva snapped the book shut and set it back on the shelf. “I doubt that, in your drink-addled
st
ate, you would under
st
and a word of it, pup. Likely not if you were sober either.”

Ah, those rare chances to speak with Silva face-to-face
. Duilio ignored the insult and turned to Miss Genoveva. “Isn’t Miss Con
st
ancia missing her own ball? Nice of her to show him the library, but I expe
ct
she wants to get back to the dancing and”—he waved one hand in a vague circle—“whatever things, I suppose, that girls do.”

Miss Genoveva gazed at him for a moment, her eyes uncertain. Then she seemed to snap back to attention. “Yes, of course.”

Without a further word, she
st
rode across the room, grabbed her younger si
st
er’s hand, and dragged the girl out of the library.

“You
are
inconvenient,” Silva said acidly, dropping his pretense of civility. “Where were you hiding, pup? Under the couch?”

Duilio kept his eyes on Silva, praying he couldn’t see either of the two female occupants of the room. Not that he thought Miss Paredes couldn’t deal with Silva. He would simply rather avoid that confrontation. “I was there the whole time,” he said. “Are your eyes going bad?”

Silva crossed his arms over his che
st
, lips pressed together in an angry line. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here, pup, but forget it.”

“You know what I want,” Duilio reminded him. The pelt was all he’d ever wanted from this man.

“And I’ve told you I don’t have it,” Silva said. “I’ve never laid a finger on the thing.”

That was what Silva
always
said. The one thing that made Duilio think there might be truth in those words was that the man had never asked him for a ransom. “Tell me about Mata,” Duilio sugge
st
ed. “What’s he after this time?”

Silva laughed aloud. “Mata? You think
I’m
giving him orders? You don’t under
st
and what’s going on at all, do you? Playing policeman again—I should have known. What a wa
st
e! If all that money had come to me in
st
ead, as it should have, I wouldn’t be spending my time hunting for missing servants.”

Duilio gazed at Silva wide-eyed, trying very hard to look
st
upid. The man clearly knew
something
about Mata. There was no telling what else he knew. “Missing servants?”

Silva tilted his head. “How
did
you find Miss Paredes fir
st
? I planned to have her in my quiver of arrows, so to speak. But, alas, now she’s warming your bed, when I would have been using her as bait.”

He hoped Miss Paredes wouldn’t be offended, but he didn’t intend to argue with Silva about that insult to her. “Bait?”

Silva patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly fashion. Duilio was hard-pressed not to sweep the man’s hand aside. He did his be
st
to ignore it.

“You see, pup,” Silva said, “I don’t know exa
ct
ly what the Open Hand is doing out there, but when she escaped them, your fishling lover changed the balance of prophecy. The prophecy that Fabricio is de
st
ined to die at the hands of the sea folk? Every day that prophecy is growing
st
ronger and
st
ronger.” Silva smiled with false affe
ct
ion, his hand heavy on Duilio’s shoulder. “So, keep in mind that while she’s powdering your sainted mother’s cheeks and handing her fans, your little fishling is planning to kill your lawful ruler. That makes you treasonous ju
st
for harboring her in your house.”

Silva dropped his intrusive grasp and
st
rolled pa
st
him toward the door.

The Open Hand?
Duilio hoped nothing showed on his face. He clenched his hands behind his back. Silva had ju
st
spilled far more information than he’d expe
ct
ed, which meant at be
st
it was poisoned. It was more likely all false.

“By the by, I wasn’t going to seduce the little one,” Silva said as he went. “Too bland for my ta
st
es. But the older girl might prove intere
st
ing. A bit of fire in that one.” He paused at the door to see if Duilio was attending, then added, “Or perhaps I’ll wait until
after
you marry her.” With dramatic grace worthy of the theater, Silva swept out of the library.

Duilio closed his eyes. He could not begin to express how much he
hated
talking to that man. He took a couple of calming breaths, afraid that if he spoke to anyone too soon he would bark at them. Then he turned back to look for the two women who’d heard every word of that exchange. They
st
ill
st
ood next to the couch, less than ten feet away.

Miss Paredes regarded him with wide, haunted eyes. “It’s not true,” she said softly.

“I know,” he said, although he didn’t know anything of the sort. She could be an assassin. It
was
possible, but the very fa
ct
that Silva asserted it made Duilio think it unlikely. If she’d posed a dire
ct
threat to his prince, Silva would never have let her go. “I take everything he says with a great deal of skepticism.”

Miss Paredes looked relieved, her shoulders losing their tightness.

“Well, I found that informative,” the Lady said, apparently unfazed by all the di
st
ra
ct
ions of Silva’s conversation. “Let’s have a look at that book.”

Duilio located the book Silva had set back on the shelf. It
st
uck out from the others ju
st
enough that he could readily spot it. He pulled it out, noting that no title appeared on the spine.

“Please hand it to me,” the Lady said. “Carvalho may have given me permission to use his library, but he didn’t extend that to you, Mr. Ferreira.”

He had no way to verify that, so he didn’t see any point in arguing. Duilio handed it over.

She opened it out and flipped through a few pages in the center. Then she shook her head. “I wonder how many times Silva’s managed to get into this house. I suspe
ct
he’s
st
ealing mo
st
of his better prophecies. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Silva isn’t a particularly
st
rong seer. Stronger than you, Mr. Ferreira, but nothing like Abreu or Gardineiro.” She turned the book so that Duilio could see the handwritten pages. “Whose prophecies are written in this volume. This belongs to the city’s Freemasons and is not for public consumption—the reason Carvalho keeps it locked away. I will sugge
st
a more secure arrangement for the future.”