Page 91 of The Familiar

“Enough lovers’ talk,” he said. “The scullion is wanted by the lakeshore.”

Santángel gave a sharp nod. “I’ll escort her.”

“You’ll stay with me. She can manage by herself.”

“Then you should have used a larger dose.”

“Is all …” Valentina began. “Is all as it should be?”

“May I beg an introduction?” The lady playwright had stepped away from the swarm of guests, her panache of striped feathers set at a jaunty angle. She looked like a character in one of her own plays.

Don Víctor gave a distracted wave. “The scullion doesn’t stand on ceremony, señorita.”

“I have so longed to meet the little nun.” The words were for Luzia, but her gaze was fastened on Valentina.

“It is an honor,” Luzia said with a curtsy, her head too full of Don Víctor’s threats, Donadei’s warnings, Valentina’s fears. “Your work is the talk of our small home.”

“Have you been to one of my plays?”

“I have never been to the theater.”

“A scandal!” declared Quiteria. “And you, Doña Valentina?”

“My wife and I have attended the Corral del Príncipe,” said Marius.

Quiteria eyed him as if he were a fish she suspected had spoiled. “Have you? How traditional. If you’re ever in need of real entertainment you must come to one of my salons.”

She smiled at Valentina, bobbed her head, and was gone.

“What an unusual woman,” Valentina said. She had the bright-eyed look she’d worn the morning they received their invitation to La Casilla.

“Insolent,” said Marius. “Wicked, really. Rumor has it she has another conquest in her sights. Some new soul to corrupt. Camila Pimentel had to be sent to Sevilla and married off to a wool merchant to avoid disgrace.”

“If she is so very awful, why has the tribunal not taken her for trial?” Valentina asked.

“Who knows? Her father is great friends with Fray Diego. Maybe he has a cache of relics he’s promised to the king.”

Luzia didn’t care about Marius’s gossip or the playwright. She needed to think of how the lake might be used in the trial. She needed to speak to Santángel.

The thunder of approaching hoofbeats sounded through the woods and the crowd turned, shifting and arranging their order, jockeying for position, readying themselves for the arrival of the king.

Soldiers poured into the clearing, uniformed servants carrying banners that bore the royal standard. It was grand, but not nearly as grand as Luzia had expected, and a moment later she understood why. She had heard the king had grown frail and sickly, but the man who exited the coach was heavyset and moved like a determined bull plodding across a field.

“A priest?” she asked. Had they sent more holy men to test her and the Prince of Olives?

“Mateo Vázquez de Leca,” Don Víctor said, his voice bemused. “The king’s secretary. The man who replaced Antonio Pérez.”

Luzia risked a glance at Pérez. There was no change in his demeanor, but a new tension had come into the crowd that surrounded him.

“But …” Valentina protested, peering down the road into the woods, her hope still alive. “Then the king—”

“The king is not coming,” said Don Víctor. His calm baffled her. This was a man who didn’t like to be thwarted, but he sounded as though he’d merely lost a game of cards. “Our king has sent Pérez’s rival in his stead. The man who banished the Princess of Éboli and who would see Don Antonio banished too, or hung as a traitor.”

A stir went through the gathered guests as Vázquez de Leca mounted the stage. With a soft huff, he dropped into the enormous chair that had been placed for the king, bracketed by courtiers and advisors. He slumped to the side and gestured to Pérez as if he were the host here and Pérez little more than a servant slow to fetch the wine.

“Will the trial go on?” Luzia asked.

“Nothing has changed for you,” Don Víctor bit out. “Best Donadei. Do it in grand fashion. You will compete and you will perform so spectacularly that Vázquez has no choice but to place you before the king, so brilliantly that he will be itching to present an ugly scab of a scullion and demand she be made this country’s holy champion. That is how good you must be. Your life, your aunt’s life, your lover’s future all hang in the balance. So do your best or I will be forced to do my worst.”