The Golden City (40 page)

Duilio slumped into his chair again.

A book might tell him a dozen different interpretations of that card’s meaning. Whatever Felis had seen in it didn’t matter. Like all fortunes, the only thing that mattered was what he saw in it now, what it meant to him: that Oriana Paredes was the great love of his life.

And he was about to watch her walk away.

Should Oriana simply ignore her orders to return home, she would be in violation of her people’s law. Much like a military man who fled his po
st
. For some that would be acceptable. For her, he didn’t think it would be, and he was not going to attack her resolve. That would only belittle her.

He had to hope that she would return to the Golden City. He didn’t care if she was assigned to spy on his people. He didn’t care if there was a scandal tied to her name, if she was exposed as a sereia. He ju
st
had to hope she would come back.

He picked up the card and slid it into his jacket pocket. Then he did take a drink of his brandy, letting it burn down his throat. It didn’t chase away the malaise of vi
ct
ory and despair that clouded his thoughts.

“Mr. Ferreira?” Oriana
st
ood at the door, her expression somber. “How do you feel?”

He’d gone back to being Mr. Ferreira, as if a polite di
st
ance would make this easier. Duilio swirled the glass before glancing at her. “I’ll be fine. Ju
st
bruised.”

“I suspe
ct
that Miss Carvalho has changed her mind about you,” she said then. When he gave her a curious look, she added, “I think you’re no longer her second choice.”

Ah, she mu
st
have seen that exchange in the hallway. “It doesn’t signify,” he said. “She would be
my
second choice.”

He waited for her to say something, anything, but she ju
st
st
ood there with her eyes on the floor. “Did you receive orders to go?”

“Yes.” She
st
ill didn’t meet his eyes. “I need to leave immediately if I’m to make my rendezvous.”

Immediately?
He’d hoped she would be able to re
st
for a day or two. He’d hoped they would have time to talk, that he would have time to work out all the confused yearnings in his head. He set the glass on the table. She had her hands folded together tightly, knuckles white.

“Mu
st
you go?” he asked, even though he knew what she would say. She had never told him whether she was being blackmailed, but he suspe
ct
ed so.

“Yes.”

“Any time you need a safe haven, our house will be open to you. I meant that.”

She closed her eyes, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.

Duilio
st
epped closer and set his hands on her arms. “Oriana . . .”

“I’m expe
ct
ed to be at my rendezvous by noon,” she said in a tight voice. “I need to leave now.”

She no more wants to go than I want her to leave
.

He should be pleased by that knowledge, but in
st
ead it hurt, an ache in his che
st
that mu
st
be his heart breaking. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to batter again
st
her resolve. He finally settled on, “I’ll walk you down to the quay.”

S
pray lashed up over the prow of the rowboat, the waves at the mouth of the river rougher than Oriana had expe
ct
ed. The sun’s fir
st
light
st
reamed across the water, a red dawn. She ca
st
a glance back to where Duilio sat at the oars, his face grim. His linen shirtsleeves fluttered in the wind; as chilly as the autumn morning was, he’d given her his frock coat anyway to keep her warm until she dove.

The boat breached a low wave and landed hard as they passed the
st
one breakwater that prote
ct
ed the river’s mouth from the open sea. “The
st
orm is coming,” he called to her.

“I’ll be under,” she called back. “I’ll be safe.” She looked ea
st
ward, pa
st
Duilio at the city rising on its hills in the sunrise. The whitewashed walls of myriad houses gleamed in the morning light. But the time had come to leave it behind.

It wasn’t the city she would miss.

Duilio shipped the oars, and the boat began to drift outward on the tide. “This thing doesn’t fare well on the open sea, not if it’s rough.”

Meaning that this was as far as he could take her. Oriana rose cautiously. She looked out at the red-
st
ained waters to the we
st
, smelling the salt and the coming
st
orm,
st
ill hesitating. She turned back to Duilio, trying to decide what to tell him.

She didn’t know what would happen to her once she got home. She couldn’t even be sure that her leaving would keep her father safe. The only thing that seemed clear to her was that she wanted to return to the Golden City, to come back for
him
.

Duilio had risen to
st
and next to her. The boat heaved as another wave came, and he
st
eadied her with a hand under her elbow. He regarded her as if he suffered the same lack of words she did. He ran fingers through his dark hair and then said, “Please come back.”

Oriana reached up and set one bared hand again
st
his cheek, feeling the feathery warmth of his breath on the webbing between her fingers. Duilio turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm, his eyes drifting closed. She pulled away, afraid she would lose her resolve.

“I will try,” she said, her voice breaking. It was the mo
st
she could promise. And then, because no more words came to her, she drew off his frock coat and passed it into his hands, shivering as the cold air clutched at her bare skin.

“Go,” he said softly.

Oriana dove, going deep beneath the waves. She didn’t look back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. Kathleen Cheney
is a former mathematics teacher who has taught classes ranging from seventh grade to calculus, with a brief
st
int as a gifted and talented speciali
st
. Her short fi
ct
ion has been published in such venues as Fantasy Magazine and Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and her novella
Iron Shoes
was a Nebula Finali
st
in 2010.