Page 90 of The Familiar

“Apparently not,” said Marius.

They saw it now too: the distance Don Víctor was creating to protect himself. He sat astride a big gray gelding, his tunic ornamented with ropes of gold braid and jewels in every color of Philip’s crest. It wasn’t subtle, but perhaps the king didn’t care for subtlety.

Luzia took one last look at the crowd, then reluctantly settled in the coach. Don Víctor might wish to keep her and Santángel apart, but she didn’t think he would prevent his familiar from attending the third trial.

“Do we know where we’re going?” she asked, as the coach wheels jolted forward.

“Only the lead coachman knows,” said Marius.

Luzia watched the gardens, then the gates of La Casilla slide by, and then they were moving at a faster pace through the countryside, the horses’ hooves rumbling over dirt roads. They were heading west, farther away from the city, through dry hills and pastures. Luzia told herself to be grateful she was seeing more of the world beyond her tiny corner of Madrid and the confines of La Casilla. She had never thought the grandeur of a palace could come to feel small.

She wished they could open the windows. Instead she watched her breath fog the glass and made herself think through each of her refranes.

Too soon they turned onto a narrower road and the horses had to slow. Woods crowded in on both sides, slender white-barked trees, their leaves just beginning to turn, the green giving way to sudden exclamations of yellow and orange.

Marius tapped the window. “This is Las Mulas. It’s an old hunting ground.”

“Will they make her hunt?” asked Valentina. “Or … or battle beasts?”

Luzia wanted to tell her she was being absurd, but she had no idea what might be waiting for her or what form the whims of a king might take. What he required, she would find a way to provide. She must. Whatever Santángel might feel or Don Víctor might devise, that much hadn’t changed.

“Look!” cried Valentina.

A bright expanse of water had come into view, reflecting the cloudless blue of the autumn sky. It was so flat and calm, Luzia felt as if she might reach out and peel it away from the earth. Some kind of boathouse lay at one end and a herd of sheep grazed in the meadow beyond. The remnants of an old pier lay on the banks, its rotted boards slumping into the high reeds.

“Perhaps the king intends to stage a sea battle?” Valentina suggested.

Luzia doubted it. He hadn’t had much luck with those.

As they emerged from the coach, Luzia saw that a grand dais had been erected. The wood was highly polished, the canopy made of red and yellow silk, the chairs upon it cushioned with velvet. It looked sturdier than half the houses in Madrid and twice as imposing.

Long benches had been set just a short distance away and groups of lavishly attired guests had gathered near the shore. She recognized some of them from La Casilla, including Quiteria Escárcega in another of her fanciful quilted jackets—though the young man who usually trailed after her was nowhere in sight. There were new faces too. She wondered if they were friends of the king or Antonio Pérez.

Pérez himself stood surrounded by servants and courtiers. He met her eyes and gave her the briefest nod, a small smile on his lips. He looked confident and at his ease, but she suspected he’d look the same in a room full of crocodiles.

“Luzia.” Santángel emerged from the woods, leading the same black horse he’d ridden the night of the doomed marionette show. His fair hair was ruffled, and the horse bristled and snorted, its hooves stamping the ground.

She glanced at Marius and Valentina, but they were already chatting with the other guests, their attention diverted.

He set his hand on the horse’s flank to steady it. “When I realized your coach had left, I rode ahead.”

“Where were you?”

“Sleeping off a dose of poison. It’s Víctor’s way of making sure I don’t involve myself in his private business.”

Luzia didn’t know if she should believe him. “He would deny me your strength in the final trial?”

“He would deny me a chance to see you and trust my influence to do the work of victory. Luzia—”

“He came to see me last night.”

Santángel went very still. He wore black velvet as she did, but even he had made some concession to the importance of the third trial: a rope of silver braid spanned his chest, pinned to his shoulder by a heavy brooch, the tower of De Paredes rendered in silver. “For what purpose?”

“To warn me not to fail.”

“Luzia—”

But Don Víctor was striding toward them, ignoring Marius’s and Valentina’s greetings.