The Shores of Spain (34 page)

Oriana swallowed, hoping they weren’t saying that about
her
in a couple of days.

They’d reached the section of the city that housed many government buildings, neat stacks of no more than two stories with little embellishment on the gray walls, perhaps a conscious attempt not to look like the Portuguese architecture common on Amado. The headquarters of the Ministry of Intelligence had a triangular pediment on each end, similar to Greek temples Oriana had seen in photographs. Most of the activities of the ministry took place far from here, but the highest officers could be found within.

The naval officer walked them up the steps and inside, her expression impassive, leaving Oriana uncertain whether she would be heard out, or whether she was walking to her execution. A heavyset woman with hard eyes and gray hair greeted them once they’d walked up the stairs into the building.

“They’re here to meet with Minister Paredes,” the officer informed the secretary, even though they’d never said that.

A prickle went down Oriana’s spine. Duilio hadn’t reacted, but she was sure he’d caught that. Her aunt was
Subminister
Paredes . . . or had been the last time Oriana spoke with her.

“You’ll need to stay here with me,” the officer said to Vas Neves.

They’d expected that. The secretary walked next to Oriana and Duilio, leading them down a gray stone hallway. A moment later they were ushered into a large and ornate office where her aunt Jovita presided over a handful of minor functionaries, bidding them off on small tasks, most to seek out paperwork for her. Their escort bade them remain at the entryway to the large office, so they both waited under a large tapestry that probably depicted a scene of their people’s glorious past. Unfortunately, neither of them could see it from where they stood.

After her aunt had dispatched the last of her lackeys, most of whom spared them only the quickest glance on the way out of the office, Jovita turned annoyed eyes on them. “I don’t have time for you today,” she snapped.

No, whatever was going on here, it didn’t look leisurely. “We have information,” Oriana began, “that we felt necessary to bring to your attention.”

“I don’t need information,” Jovita said bluntly. “I need evidence. Close the door.”

Oriana did as bidden.

“Now, what do you want of me?”

“I have more information than I did last time we spoke, Subminister.”

“
Acting
Minister, I’m afraid,” Jovita said. “My predecessor is currently under arrest, forcing me into a position I don’t have time for.”

“Minister Raposo is under arrest? Does that have something to do with the arrest of Madam Davila?”

Her aunt leaned back against her desk, arms crossed over her chest. “It will come out eventually, so yes.”

“If I may ask, what evidence did you have to arrest Madam Davila?”

“Worried for yourself, are you?” Jovita asked.

Oriana drew a calming breath. “It’s a reasonable concern.”

Jovita snorted. “A photograph fell into our hands yesterday morning of the woman stepping out of her bath. Adequate proof that the Spanish mission was harboring a Canary spy.”

Yes, that would be seen as grounds to search the embassy and detain its personnel. “What was your source?”

“One of my people working in the American embassy. The photograph had just been developed, and fell rather conveniently into her hands.”

The implication being that the Americans had
fed
the information to the ministry. “I see.”

“Yes, there’s little love lost between Norton and Davila. Davila had gone that morning to visit you on Amado, so we waited until she returned. We had to move quickly, so as to capture her before she left again. After her arrest, Madam Davila implicated Minister Raposo, who was also imprisoned last night pending investigation. We didn’t have evidence yet, but those involved seem more than willing to turn on each other. At this point, my office is having trouble keeping up with the numerous confessions. We would, however, like more substantial evidence before proceeding with trials, especially evidence that tells us something about where this conspiracy started.”

“You have someone seeking that evidence, don’t you? The agent who’s been collecting information about the executions for the last six months, Lorena Evangelista.”

Jovita cast an exasperated look her direction. “Yes, I hired her not long after your supposed execution. She’s from Capraria and has no ties to anyone in the ministry. I thought it would help to have an outside perspective. Unfortunately, all she’s been able to collect is hearsay.”

Capraria was one of the outer islands, one that sided more with Amado than Quitos in political matters. “Well, I have one piece of evidence for you that may help,” Oriana said. “But first I would like you to answer a few questions for me.”

“I’ll consider it,” her aunt said slowly.

That was as good as she was going to get. Oriana took a deep breath. “When my mother died, did you see her body?”

Her aunt shot her a disturbed glance. “This is about Lygia?”

“Did
you
—not Valeria or Vitoria—identify my mother’s body after she died?”

Her aunt’s strong jaw clenched. “As head of the Paredes line, I did.”

“And her body was recognizable?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have signed the paperwork otherwise.”

Oriana felt some of the tightness slip from her shoulders. One of her worst fears had been that her mother had ended up where Leandra Rocha had. “What about Marina’s body? Did you also see hers?”

Jovita’s jaw clenched again. “No. I’m aware it wasn’t her body you were shown. I didn’t learn that until over a year later. You’d already been assigned to Northern Portugal by then.”

“Is it customary for members of the ministry to produce disfigured bodies whenever they wish to deceive grieving family members?”

“Not to my knowledge,” her aunt said. “But one thing I’ve learned as subminister is that there are factions within any group.”

Oriana wished she had the ability to weigh the truth in her aunt’s words, like a Truthsayer. “Why did you not think I would make a good spy?”

“A spy has to see her mission as all important. You, on the other hand, question the validity of everything, like your mother. You were cooperative enough, I heard, at first, but I knew that once you got your land legs you would start debating every order.”

Oriana licked her lips. She
had
been obedient at first. Isabel’s death had been the breaking point for her, when the ministry’s
orders had ceased to make sense. That was when she’d decided to leave the ministry. And when she’d become expendable. “A woman known as either Maria Melo or Iria Serpa showed up in the Golden City. Do you know either of those names?”

Her aunt took a deep breath. “I won’t answer that question.”

“When I met her in the city,” Oriana said, “she said something odd to me. She said that I had Mother’s look about me, and that Mother didn’t know how to play the game either. I will never forget those words.”

Her aunt sat back, folding her hands over her stomach. “You think she was responsible for Lygia’s death?”

“Yes, directly or by some other agent’s hand. I was present at this woman’s death. Despite being an agent of the ministry, she had the markings of a Canary. Prince Raimundo’s men took photographs for me.” Duilio handed Oriana his notebook, and she took out one of the precious photographs from that night, showing a woman’s body partially wrapped in a bloodstained sheet, her skirts drawn up high enough for the photographer to capture the image of her striped thighs—the skipjack markings that indicated Canary bloodlines, the same markings that had given away Madam Davila’s identity. “She leapt from the roof at the palace, so her back was mangled, but the doctor who examined the body said there were scars that could have come from the removal of a dorsal fin.”

Her aunt’s lips pressed in a thin line, but she said nothing.

“When she died, this Iria left behind documents indicating that the assassination of Prince Fabricio was planned by the government here on the islands, by the Ministry of Intelligence.”

“If that’s the case,” her aunt said, spine stiffening, “why has Northern Portugal not demanded retribution?”

“Because Prince Raimundo believed
me
when I said she didn’t represent our people.”

Now her aunt looked truly concerned. “And if you hadn’t been there?”

“If she’d succeeded in getting rid of me beforehand? The islands might now be at war. With Northern Portugal at a minimum, and possibly Southern Portugal. The English would be bound by their ancient treaty with Portugal, and I think the Americans want the goodwill of the Portuguese more than they want trade with these islands. Tell me, to whom would the government have turned for support?”

“The Spanish, of course.”

“Marina and her husband are currently in Spain, looking for Leandra Rocha, the woman who stole my mother’s journal. You’ll find her name on Evangelista’s list as well. Her testimony might offer that proof you seek, as would that of any other survivor.” Oriana didn’t know how much of Leandra Rocha’s recent movements Jovita was aware of, so she laid it all out before her, including the information that the boy, likely Leandra’s son, was Duilio’s half brother.

“If this is all true,” Jovita said, “what makes you think I’m not involved?”

That had been the dangerous question all along. Duilio signaled to Oriana that his gift considered the situation safe, though. “I’m very aware this may be a mistake,” Oriana said to her aunt, “but you’ve always been honest with me, even if you didn’t like me.”

“You are family.” Jovita sighed gustily, her face weary. “Madam Davila already admitted to us that the women supposedly executed are being transported to Spain, one every six months.”

Oriana felt hollow inside, but it wasn’t too much of a surprise. “Why was anyone being given to the Spanish? Has Madam Davila admitted that yet?”

“A trade,” Jovita snapped. “Apparently the Canaries’ numbers are low and most of them are involved in controlling certain individuals in the Spanish government. They’ve been using these stolen women to serve on Spanish ships in their stead, to enforce their will in their prison, and, I’m afraid, to bear the next generation who will one day replace them.”

Oriana felt ill. That could have been her fate if Duilio and
Joaquim had not rescued her. “And if the Spanish succeeded in taking over the islands?”

“The conspirators here represent all the major lines in the ministry. In return for their collaboration, they would have a place in government when the Spanish came to take over. They sold their own daughters into slavery for a promise of power. No woman should ever betray her family.”

Her aunt believed that. The family line was all important.

Jovita sighed heavily, and added, “Valeria and Vitoria are among them. They denied knowledge of Lygia’s murder, but have both admitted they allowed you to be executed under false charges of treason. They hoped that by giving
you
to the Spanish, they wouldn’t have to turn over their own daughters one day.”

Oriana laid one hand over her belly, feeling the slight swell there. She didn’t know what she would have done in her aunts’ place. She hoped to the gods she never faced such a question.

Jovita’s gaze locked with Oriana’s for a long moment. “Iria was right, by the way. You do have your mother’s look.”

Oriana bowed her head to acknowledge the compliment.

“She was wrong, though, about the other. It was never the case that Lygia didn’t know how the game was played. Your mother simply refused to violate her principles. I believe you’ve also inherited that trait.”

Oriana wasn’t certain whether that was a compliment or a warning. “Thank you,” she said anyway.

Jovita looked away, picked up a stack of papers, and began flipping through them as if anxious to return to her work. “The Spanish embassy will be completely cleared in a day or so. I didn’t have enough personnel I trusted to clear all the embassies, which is why we simply forced the others out. But the navy has since agreed to supervise the investigation of the foreign missions, so your people can start moving back in as soon as tomorrow. They will, however,
each be interviewed and cleared to ensure that the Canaries haven’t slipped in another agent.”

Oriana signed her acceptance of those terms. Fortunately, it would be a simple matter to prove the humanity of her personnel—they only had to display their human feet.

Jovita crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you, if needed, be willing to testify in the trials?”

That would make her more of a target, but she had to do it. Her mother had surely given her life trying to prevent this. She could help put an end to it and bring the collaborators to justice. Oriana glanced back at Duilio, and when he signed agreement, she said, “Yes.”

“This . . . series of revelations has shaken the oligarchy. When it gets into the press, we may see repercussions against the families in power.”

Oriana couldn’t hide her surprise. “It’s going to be allowed into the newspapers?”

“Yes,” Jovita said gravely. “It’s frankly the best way to protect any witnesses who do come forward. And as long as I’m alive, I mean to ensure that these people will not escape what they’ve done.”

Oriana hoped her aunt lived a long life, then.

CHAPTER 31

                   B
ARCELONA                   

M
arina laid one hand over her mouth, kneeling on the floor next to Adler’s unmoving form. She closed her eyes.
Be calm,
she reminded herself.
Be calm
.

She had to help Adler first. She wasn’t a healer. She had no idea what to do with injuries, but once aboard the English ship there had been an incident with a seaman stabbed by another in the dining room. The cook had ordered one of the other men to hold a clean towel against the wound until the ship’s surgeon got there. Marina surveyed Adler’s clothes. Blood stained the left side of his coat, near the floor. He must have been lying atop the injury before she’d turned him onto his back. She clambered around to that side and drew his coat back, exposing a bloodied shirt. The wound was clearly visible from this angle, a deep cut between two ribs. She took off her gloves, dug a handkerchief out of her handbag, and pressed the handkerchief against the cut.