Page 96 of The Familiar

“No!” Donadei screamed, trying to grasp the neck of the vihuela, seeking the song and its secret words once more.

Luzia heard shouts and cries from the crowd.

Donadei turned on her. “You stupid cunt.”

Luzia laughed. “Smart enough to learn your name, Fortún. Do you think Vázquez is thinking of Philip’s armada when it was lost to England’s queen? Do you think he’ll thank you for the demonstration of what a Spanish ship looks like when it sinks?”

Donadei snarled and shoved her. Luzia lost her footing. Her arms pinwheeled and she nearly plunged into the murky water. He swiped at her again and she called up the boards, struggling to keep the refrán in her head as her panic rose and the song tried to split.

No, she wasn’t going to lose her tongue or her life to fear today. She sang the boards into being, one after another, a path to take her back to shore. Behind her, she could hear pieces of Donadei’s ship plunging into the water, its masts toppling, its feathered sails collapsing into nothing.

She ran, and as soon as her feet made contact with one of the wooden planks, she cast it aside so Donadei couldn’t follow, leaving him to the lake. Maybe his fish could carry him to shore.

Had she won? Had he? Would Vázquez curse them both for their petty games? She couldn’t think of that now.

But the shore ahead was a scene of confusion. The crowd had broken away from the water and some seemed to be running toward the woods as the king’s soldiers followed. Vázquez was bellowing something from the stage.

She stumbled, toppling forward into the shallows.

Then Santángel was before her, hauling her to her feet. “Did you see?” she gasped. “Did you see what he did?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, dragging her to dry land where his horse waited. “Antonio Pérez has fled. He used the trial as a distraction. The king’s men are rounding up anyone they can. Can you ride?”

Luzia tried to make sense of what he was saying. Where had Pérez gone? What did the king’s men want with them? “Not well.”

He helped her into the saddle and then he was behind her and they were riding as she had dreamed they would, away from kings and climbers and curses.

CHAPTER 42

“Where are we going?” she asked as they plunged into the woods.

“To Madrid. To the widow. She leaves for Valencia tonight. I can bribe Víctor’s men to take you too.” He didn’t know if this was true. He’d tried to act against Víctor before and it had never worked. But perhaps it would be better for his master’s fortunes if Luzia wasn’t discovered or questioned. If that was the case, then Santángel would be free to help her, as he should have helped her before. “I’ll get you to Valencia somehow.” He had to believe he could.

He set his mind to the task ahead, trying to plan, sorting through his connections and spies, who would require bribes or favors. He didn’t want to think on how badly he had blundered. He’d thought he would have more time to make his choices, to untangle this mess. Would he have told her the truth? Or would he have continued on—selfish, hopeless, made careless by desire until the trap closed around them?

Antonio Pérez had turned all of them into players in his great farce, and Santángel had been too busy falling in love like an untried youth to see it coming. He should have known better when Pérez had claimed the king had demanded a third trial. It was Pérez who must have insisted, and pleaded with his ruler for this last chance. He had known the king wouldn’t welcome him to El Escorial and that he would never set foot at La Casilla—the home that had been as good as a prison to Pérez since he’d fallen out of favor. The precise location of the third trial had been of no consequence—so long as he would finally be free to make his escape.

Had Pérez still hoped the king might forgive him, that he might regain the glory he had lost? Had that hope died when his rival had exited the coach? Or had he already known that flight was his only option?

“Keep your head down,” he instructed, nudging their mount on as fast as he dared, dodging branches and praying the horse wouldn’t put a foot wrong. She is fragile, he reminded himself. No matter her gifts, she is mortal. She does not have a thousand lives to waste.

Luzia and Donadei had provided the perfect distraction as Pérez fled through the cover of the woods. Not just a competition but a battle, a spectacle to snare the attention of Vázquez and his guards. And Luzia might well be blamed for it.

Santángel needed a plan that would benefit Víctor, even if Víctor would punish him for it. If not for his curse, he could ride straight to Valencia with her, see Luzia safely onto a ship. But the port was several days away. He would burn to ash when morning came, and then Luzia would be stranded without allies or protection. He had to find someone he could trust to shelter her, to get her out of the country.

“Ahead!” Luzia cried.

Two soldiers on horseback had emerged from the woods to block their path.

“Hold on tightly,” he commanded, ready to charge, but then he heard Luzia whispering, and the woods sprang up in a tangled snarl around the men, forming a barrier, closing them off from the rest of the wood.

He tugged at the reins, urging their mount west toward a clearing, away from the morning sun. They would keep out of sight of the road and make their way back to the city to shelter until nightfall.

He sensed the other soldiers following before he saw them. Santángel’s gift for stealth had served Víctor well, his understanding of the way threats moved through the world. He knew instantly that together they would never make it out of the woods, never reach Madrid. But he could create a distraction.

“You’ll have to ride without me,” he said, wheeling the horse around, so that he could sight the soldiers more easily through the trees. “I need you to make it to the city. Go to the church of San Sebastián. I have friends there. I’ll lead the soldiers—”

He had no chance to finish before the arrows flew. He covered her body with his, felt the steel tips pierce his back like bolts of fire. His horse whinnied in distress, rearing up as it was hit too. If it fell it would crush them both.