The Shores of Spain (52 page)

Given that the girl was also a sereia and coming into her powers, Marina had to agree that Ambassador Norton would be a better choice. Adler would be defenseless against his daughter’s
call
.

But the part of this conversation she’d most feared lay before her now. She dreaded asking the question. “So she’ll take Alejandro back to the islands as well?”

Leandra suddenly began coughing. She covered her mouth with
a handkerchief while Marina pulled the tray away from her. The fit passed after a moment, and Marina returned the tray so Leandra could resume eating.

“I was hoping,” Leandra said wearily, “that Alejandro would live with his family in Portugal. I didn’t know his father was dead.”

“You don’t want them raised together?” Marina asked, trying to keep the delighted note out of her voice.

Leandra shook her head. “They barely know each other as it is. And I want him to have the advantages that human males have, even if he’s half sereia.”

“We would willingly raise him,” Marina said before Leandra went any further.

“I saw you with him,” Leandra said. “You’re good with him, and that’s what he needs. He needs someone who will love him, and not care that he’s only half human.”

“Joaquim and I both want him to stay with us. We plan to—”

“Madam,” came a velvety voice in the hallway, “I do wonder why you think those
fish girls
, as you persist in calling them, would want you along on this excursion.”

Marina hid a smile. Lady Ferreira and the marquesa were bickering again, the lady in a soft tone, and the marquesa in her usual raspy growl. Despite the fireworks, they seemed to like each other, and Lady Ferreira had already invited the marquesa to visit with them at the Ferreira house so that she could meet Joaquim’s brother, Cristiano. Father Escarrá had returned to Terrassa that morning to have the marquesa’s maid pack for her. “They’re taking the women to a shop to purchase new clothing,” Marina whispered to Leandra, “so they won’t have to wear the uniforms from the prison.”

“They
are
fish girls,” the marquesa insisted from the hallway.

“As your great-grandson is married to a
sereia
,” Lady Ferreira returned, “perhaps you should learn the proper term. Also, the proper name for a seal girl is a selkie, if you were contemplating bandying that one about.”

Leandra actually smiled.

“When did seal girls enter this conversation, you foolish woman?” the marquesa snapped.

“You are speaking to one,” Lady Ferreira said regally.

The marquesa grumbled something unintelligible in answer, and then said, “Come over here, young man, and help me down those stairs. . . .”

The voices moved off down the hallway, leaving Marina and Leandra in silence again. Leandra sipped a spoonful of soup and then said, “I will list you as Alejandro’s guardian, then.”

Marina sat back, feeling as if she could breathe freely for the first time since she’d seen the woman on the steps of the town hall in Lleida. “Then will you tell me everything? I need to know what family you have back on the islands, about your execution, how you escaped the first time, what you remember of Alejandro’s father, what the prison was like. I need to know
everything
so that I can tell Alejandro when he’s older.”

“Will he want to know, do you think?” Leandra asked wearily.

“Yes,” Marina said. “I will make certain he never forgets you and all you sacrificed for your children.”

EPILOG

                   M
ONDAY
,
11
M
AY
,
1903
;
THE
G
OLDEN
C
ITY                   

I
n the front sitting room of the Ferreira home on the Street of Flowers, Oriana sat with Duilio, making their farewells. Fortunately. the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had given Oriana permission to stay in Portugal a few days longer than originally planned so that they could attend Saturday’s festivities: Rafael’s wedding to Miss Jardim and the small private ceremony that followed in which Duilio’s mother married Joaquim’s father. But with those ceremonies behind them, it was time for Oriana and Duilio to resume their duties on Quitos. Costa and Inês Guerra, recently married in Lisboa under his grandmother’s auspices, would return with them.

Madam Norton, with a still-sulking Liliana in tow, had departed earlier on an American vessel bound for the islands. For her part, Liliana had actually seemed happier once under her great-aunt’s firm control, perhaps recognizing that she couldn’t wrap the woman around her finger. Oriana suspected that the girl would soon learn to see her great-aunt as an ally rather than adversary.

The Spanish healer had ordered Joaquim to stay off his feet, so he and Marina wouldn’t accompany them to the quay to see the
Tesouro
off for its return voyage to the islands. While Joaquim had
made it through Saturday’s festivities, leaning heavily on the silver-headed ebony cane his great-grandmother had left for him when she’d returned to Spain on Wednesday, Oriana suspected he needed the rest.

Duilio scanned the headlines of the newspaper Joaquim had handed him before passing the paper to her. Oriana glanced at the headline. “It just sank?”

Joaquim nodded, leaning back in his ivory brocaded chair. “The harbormaster said the sand crept out to the ship and devoured it. That was the word—
devoured
.”

A steam corvette at dock in Ferrol had sunk overnight. The suddenness of the sinking had caused enough sensation to make the newspapers in Portugal. Oriana had no doubt what ship that was—one that usually flew dark sails, had a mermaid figurehead, and a recently replaced bowsprit—the ship that had carried Leandra to slavery in Spain. Oriana wasn’t surprised. Over the last week, word had been filtering back of women across Spain being exposed as sirenas. The Spanish government was taking careful steps to figure out which government officials had been compromised, and there was already talk of forcibly repatriating the sirenas. For her part, Oriana doubted they would like being returned to the Canary Islands. “I suspect your Vilaró was making a point.”

“He’s not
my
Vilaró,” Joaquim said. “He has refrained from killing anyone, but he’s done his part to make the Canaries’ lives miserable.”

Duilio just shrugged, likely finding it more amusing than Joaquim did. Joaquim felt responsible for the man’s—or fairy’s—actions since he’d
chosen
to release the Vilaró.

“The conspirators over on the islands are going to have it far worse, I suspect,” Oriana said.

“I thought things had settled down,” Marina said, a line of worry appearing between her delicate brows. “Is it safe for you to go back?”

“There will be trials. There’s ample evidence now to convict those involved. Aunt Jovita guaranteed our safety there.”

Not only would Jovita have the message from their mother’s journal, but most of the sereia from the prison were returning on the
Tesouro
and planned to testify in the trials. They’d received promises of amnesty from the government and there was even talk of reparations, both for them and their children, but also for the families of those sereia who’d died in the prison or aboard Spanish ships. Jovita Paredes was holding true to her word; the newspapers on Quitos had already printed parts of the story, sparking outrage among a populace that placed the importance of bloodlines above politics. In time the anger would die down, but it would likely be years before a Spanish mission was allowed back on sereia soil, a boon for Portuguese traders daring enough to sail there.

Marina had given her statement to Evangelista as well, and handed over a
copy
of the information in their mother’s journal. She’d decided to keep the original—along with the book that held Leandra’s notes—in Portugal, and Oriana didn’t argue that decision. Marina had fought to keep the journal out of the hands of an agent of the ministry, a woman who’d claimed she was working for their aunt Jovita, but actually worked for the previous minister of Intelligence, Raposo. Either way, Oriana now had the information about a safe-deposit box in Porto Novo that she hadn’t known existed before, and that would likely prove to be the journal’s true treasure.

That was one reason Oriana wanted to return to Amado. She wanted to see all the information their mother had collected, and make sure that Jovita got what she needed to prosecute whoever had killed their mother, every person involved with the selling of sereia women to the Canaries, and anyone who’d helped the Canary spies on the islands.

She would miss the Golden City, and this house. She’d come here almost eight months before, alone and afraid. The Ferreiras had taken her in, kept her safe, and when she had nearly died, Duilio and
Joaquim had come after her to save her. She hoped that she and Duilio would be able to visit here often in the future. She wanted her children to know this side of her family, to play in these halls with their cousins.

A high-pitched voice in the hallway warned them a second before the sitting room was invaded by two-year-old Serafina, her dark curling hair wild and her webbed hands smudged with chocolate. Giggling, she ran to Joaquim and wrapped her stubby arms around one of his legs—fortunately the uninjured left one.

Joaquim sighed and set one hand atop the girl’s head. Duilio suppressed a laugh at his brother’s long-suffering expression, since he was likely to be in a similar position in a couple of years and life had a way of repaying misbehavior. The child belonged to Safira Palmeira and Marcos Davila, the only two prisoners who’d decided to remain in Portugal. They were currently moving their meager belongings into Joaquim’s old apartment, too small for a family with a boy Alejandro’s size, but adequate for
their
needs while they decided whether to move to Amado to live with Inês’ family on the beach or stay in Portugal. While Duilio easily kept up the pretense of subservience, and Costa apparently didn’t mind letting Inês take the lead, apparently the prospect of living among the sereia daunted the young Spaniard, Marcos. Oriana couldn’t blame him.

Predictably, Alejandro peered around the doorframe a second later, unable to see the girl from his location. “Is she in here?”

The boy still carried around a hint of melancholy, provoked when his mother disappeared in the company of the Vilaró only a day after arriving in Portugal. It had been hard on Alejandro, but he was a resilient child, and had a family who would take care of him now. Oriana just hoped that the woman who’d suffered so much for her children was happy
somewhere
.

“Yes,” Duilio said to the boy. “She’s clamped on to your brother’s leg like an octopus.”

Alejandro rolled his eyes dramatically. “She’s a pest.”

But he came into the sitting room anyway and began detaching the girl from Joaquim’s leg. The girl relinquished her hold on Joaquim only to wrap her arms around Alejandro instead, earning another aggrieved look. Marina laughed, picked up the girl, and sat on the beige sofa again. She patted the seat between herself and Oriana, and Alejandro joined them.

“We were helping Mrs. Cardoza stir,” the boy explained, grabbing one of the toddler’s chocolate-smeared hands, “and she ran off.”

Marina tugged a handkerchief out of her sleeve, and the boy used that to scrub the little girl’s hands. In addition to football, Duilio’s new brother was fascinated by every aspect of life in an active household, including the cook’s work. Joaquim also said Alejandro showed great aptitude for reading. He’d been teaching the boy since he was currently held captive in the house by his injured limbs. Joaquim was confident that Alejandro could attend a school later that year, once he’d caught up to other boys his age.

Alejandro tried to catch Serafina’s other hand before she wiped chocolate onto Marina’s white shirtwaist.

The butler rapped gently on the doorframe. “Mr. Duilio, the driver’s waiting out front.”

So Oriana and Duilio rose, waiting as Joaquim pushed himself to his feet with his borrowed cane. While Marina extricated herself from the children, Oriana went and embraced Joaquim and then leaned down to kiss Alejandro’s cheeks.

Duilio hugged his brother, sharing a wish that they would be able to visit again soon. Then he turned to the boy. “You will make sure Joaquim doesn’t reinjure himself, won’t you?”

“He won’t,” Alejandro promised blithely.

Duilio’s own gift had told him that, although it would be a long road for Joaquim with an injured tendon. He’d told Oriana that Joaquim might be left with a limp. Fortunately. Gustavo Mendes, who’d taken over Joaquim’s job in the meantime, was more than willing to bring files to the house to discuss with him while it healed.

Duilio turned back to Joaquim, who was straightening an object on the side table with his free hand, a silver frame that contained a single worn playing card that looked as though it had come from Miss Felis’ old deck. “You’ll write,” Duilio said, “to let me know how you’re all doing?”

“I will,” Joaquim promised, glancing up at him. His eyes slid to Marina as he said that, and she smiled back at him. “But there’s no need to worry,” he added. “We’re going to be fine.”

Duilio smiled, and signed to Oriana that his gift told him that was
true.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
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