The Shores of Spain (38 page)

He shrugged. “Twenty?”

The prison, especially one that held other prisoners, couldn’t be large enough to hold a whole population, but the Canaries were spread across Spain now, if the American ambassador’s information was correct. Even so, twenty was
negligible
. “Does that include your mother?” When he shook his head, she asked, “And the other women like your mother? The ones who spoke Portuguese. How many of them?”

His eyes closed as he calculated. “Eight? Not sure.”

Had there been twenty-four at one point? She doubted Alejandro knew the answer to that. “Why are you not sure?”

“Some want to stay there. My mother doesn’t count them.”

Marina sat back, rubbing one hand with the other. If there had been twenty-four, some must have defected to support the Canaries. That seemed to put Leandra in the minority. “Alejandro, do you know how your mother got to Barcelona? Back before you were born, I mean.”

He took another bite of his meat pie. “The Vilaró said she escaped. She took Liliana and ran away when Liliana was just a baby. Capitan Captaire helped her. Or she helped him. I’m not sure.”

So Leandra had been trying to escape for years, but many of the others didn’t feel that way. After all, had the islands done anything to save them? They must feel abandoned and betrayed. And if she guessed correctly, they had children to protect, children who might be hurt if they did try to escape. She glanced over at Alejandro again. What would
she
do if someone threatened him?

CHAPTER 34

                   L
LEIDA                   

J
oaquim didn’t know how long he’d waited in that cell before footsteps on the stone outside warned him of more visitors. This time it was
two
guards. Either was large enough to take him on his own, so when they stepped into his cell, he didn’t bother to try to fight.
Better to save my energy.

One of the guards unchained him from the bed, and the other stepped behind him and dropped a hood over his head.

“Let’s go meet a new friend,” he said, and shoved Joaquim in the direction of the door.

Joaquim walked, unable to see, but guided by the grasp of the first guard on his left arm. The mask was unnecessary—once he’d been somewhere he could
always
find it again. But they thought he was a seer, not a finder. Once out of the cell, they pushed him along a stone hallway, turned down another, and then another after a moment.

The guard dragged Joaquim to a stop, keeping a tight grasp on his arm. He yanked off the hood, and Joaquim blinked a moment in the lamplight until his eyes adjusted.

Inside a cell stood two women, elegantly garbed—a young one all in white, and the other, a graying matron, in a charcoal suit with
black accents. A third woman sat in a chair, her arms bound behind her. That was Leandra Rocha, without a doubt. Joaquim recognized her narrow face and tired eyes. She didn’t seem frightened, though, as she had in that photograph. Instead her eyes stared off into an empty corner of the cell, the very image of exhaustion.

She still wore the garb she’d had on in the photograph. Her shirtwaist was spattered with blood, mostly dried to a sickly brown, and one eye was swollen almost shut. Her white shirt collar had been pulled down to expose a neck that looked as if it had been savaged by a wild dog in the past. It took Joaquim a moment to realize that her gills had been cut out, leaving hideous scars. The neck clap she’d worn on the islands had hidden that. He swallowed, his stomach turning. That had to have been Dr. Serpa’s work.
What did they do to her?

“Do you see who we’ve found for you, Leandra?” the white-garbed woman asked in a sweet voice with a Castilian lisp. She was young, no older than Marina, her straight hair pulled back neatly from a lovely face. Her white shirtwaist and skirt made her look pure and innocent. It brought to mind the garb of a religious novice, though, rather than a debutante. “It’s Alejandro’s father,” she added, “come to visit you.”

She gestured sharply, and the guards pushed Joaquim down onto another chair, where he faced Leandra. One jerked his arms behind him and proceeded to tie them, the rope tight across the bandages on Joaquim’s burned forearm. He hissed with renewed pain.

Leandra gazed at him with resignation, and lifted her eyes to face the white-garbed girl. “Piedad, he isn’t Alejandro’s father. I don’t know where you got him, but he’s about thirty years too young.”

Joaquim took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to go well for him. “I’ve seen a photograph of this woman before,” he agreed, “but that’s all.”

The young woman in the white dress—Piedad—walked over to a small table and donned a glove. As she approached him, Joaquim saw it was more of a gauntlet, metal plating the back. She raised her hand and
backhanded him across his face, hard enough that his vision went black for a second. Then he realized his eyes were closed. He fought for a moment to get them to open. He blinked rapidly as the pain subsided. He’d been hit harder by Alessio as a boy, but he was moderately sure she’d just broken his nose. And the metal had cut his face in at least one spot. Blood trickled down one side of his jaw and pooled hot on his upper lip. He waited a moment until the blood trickled into his mouth, and then sputtered out a breath, splattering Piedad’s white garb with red.

Her chilly metal-encased fingers stroked the side of his face. Then she wiped her hand down the front of her shirtwaist, leaving streaks of his blood behind. “You’re the Portuguese who’s come looking for Leandra. If you’re not the boy’s father, then why?”

Does it matter what I tell her?
“I was sent for the book, not her. I hoped the boy could lead me to it.”

Leandra gazed at him, a guarded expression on her tired face.

Piedad laid her hand under his chin. “And what have you done with the book?”

“I don’t have it,” Joaquim said. “The boy didn’t know where it was.”

She leaned closer and smiled for the first time, revealing teeth that had been filed down to points. The sight sent a chill down Joaquim’s spine. “Try again,” she said.

“The boy didn’t know where it was,” Joaquim repeated. He swallowed, tasting blood.
The journal is fourteen years old. Why do they need it so badly?

Piedad abruptly turned back to Leandra. “So, tell me, Leandra, where’s the book?”

Leandra gazed across at him but didn’t answer.

After a moment of silence, Piedad turned back and struck Joaquim across the face again. Better prepared this time, he swayed with the motion, but still felt his teeth rattle.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?” Piedad asked, hand poised to strike Joaquim again.

When Leandra didn’t answer, another blow fell, and then another.
Joaquim spat out blood. His collar felt wet with blood now, warm and sticky.

“She hasn’t flinched,” the woman in gray said from behind him. “She doesn’t know him. Don’t ruin his pretty face for nothing.”

Feeling dizzy, Joaquim figured his pretty face was probably already ruined.

“I want answers,” his tormentor insisted.

“Try something else,” the unseen woman said firmly.

“Yes, Reyna,” Piedad said. She turned to look over Joaquim’s shoulder, toward the guards in the cell’s doorway. “Bring
her
in.”

Joaquim heard the guards moving out of the cell. They weren’t gone long before he heard them returning, a high-pitched voice protesting. That voice belonged to a pretty young girl with curling flaxen hair, a girl not much older than Alejandro, but taller and better fed. One of the guards had his hand wrapped about her upper arm as he dragged her to stand between Joaquim and Leandra. The girl took in the scene with frightened disdain.

“Do you know why you’re here, Liliana?” the unseen woman—Reyna—asked.

The girl shrugged dismissively. “That woman’s done something wrong again.”

Joaquim felt a twinge of sorrow for Leandra. The girl had surely been trained to act that way, but it must sting, particularly considering all her mother had endured for her sake.

“What happens when she does something wrong?”

The girl tugged but wasn’t strong enough to escape the guard’s grasp.

Joaquim licked blood from his lips. Were they actually going to hurt her?

Piedad slipped off the gauntlet and dropped it on the floor. She moved to the girl’s side. “Usually I have your brother, but not today.”

And before Joaquim could protest, she backhanded the girl.
Liliana screamed, her dark eyes wide with shock. Her cry sent chills down Joaquim’s spine; she already showed a hint of a sereia’s power. Free hand pressed to the side of her face, she huddled toward the guard who held her captive.

Piedad turned toward Leandra. “Now let us try again. Where is the book?”

“Stop this,” Joaquim said before she could strike the terrified girl again.
What can I claim that won’t make us expendable?
“She doesn’t know. Not any longer.”

But that caught Piedad’s attention. “And do you?”

“The Americans have it. They’re planning on using it to trade for prisoners.”

Leandra’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t know whether he was telling the truth, but his claim sounded plausible.

One of Piedad’s fingernails pricked under his chin, forcing his chin up. “Which prisoners?”

“Leandra and the girl, I think. I doubt they know you have me.”

Piedad’s eyes narrowed. “And why would the Americans want them?”

“Because that girl is William Adler’s daughter, and therefore an American citizen.” He had no idea if that last part was true, but he suspected they wouldn’t know either.

The girl cast a horrified glance at him, mouth agape, making Joaquim wonder if she’d ever heard her father’s name before. “I’m not webless,” she protested.

Ah, she’s upset that she’s half human
. How could she not have known?

“Yes, you are,” Piedad said nastily. “Your mother always had poor taste.”

“Enough, Piedad,” the older woman said. “We have our answer. There’s no point in damaging them further.”

“Yes, Reyna,” Piedad said dutifully. She gestured toward the
guard holding Liliana’s arm and he dragged her back out of the cell. “And get Prieto up here,” she called after him.

Joaquim heard the men’s footsteps retreat, leaving the prisoners alone with the two women. Piedad eyed him speculatively, as if she wanted to continue the beatings for her own enjoyment. There were people like that, who relished hurting others, some basic thread of humanity in them missing. Piedad might be young, but they’d probably noticed her penchant for violence early on. That made her a tool for the woman named Reyna. With one final—comparatively gentle—slap to Joaquim’s cheek, Piedad followed the men.

The other woman came closer and peered into Joaquim’s face, then began humming. She’d been beautiful when young, he could tell, and had resorted to cosmetics to maintain the image of youth. Too much rouge, and cherry-stained lips against papery-pale skin. He recognized the faint
call
woven into her tune. Its wispy touch wrapped around him, no more effective than the naval blockade had been.
What is she trying to get me to do?

He listened closely to the tendrils of magic slipping past him, and felt the urge to lie down and sleep. Joaquim let his body go slack against the ropes that bound him, his aching head falling forward. It made the throbbing of his nose worse, but after a moment of shamming, the woman’s hum ceased. Joaquim stayed still.

“Odd that he looks so much like your son, Leandra, yet you deny he’s Alejandro’s father.”

The woman believed him asleep, a small victory.

“He’s far too young,” Leandra replied. “Perhaps this is one of his brothers.”

“And Liliana’s father is in Barcelona as well? I assume he was the blond fellow the Mossos beat up. Every time you leave this place you accumulate males willing to suffer for you.”

Leandra didn’t respond.

“Did you hope they would trade the book for you and your daughter?”

“I know better than to believe you’ll let me out of the Morra alive,” Leandra finally answered. “I want Liliana out.”

That wasn’t true, Joaquim realized. If she’d meant for someone to negotiate Liliana’s freedom, she would have given the book to Adler and told him the truth. The Americans had enough influence to sway the Spanish government. Instead Leandra had hidden the book and let the Mossos bring her back here. It was an effort to buy time, but for what?

“We are desperate,”
Miss Prieto had said.

“Liliana is our future,” Reyna said. “It’s one thing to let little Alejandro slip away. He’s an
aberración
, not acceptable breeding stock. Liliana, on the other hand, is exactly what we need.”

Joaquim felt ill hearing children described as breeding stock.

“That man’s right,” Leandra responded. “The Americans are going to insist on her, not me. She’s one of their citizens. You’d be lucky to get the book in trade at all.”

“I will have it,” Reyna snapped.

“To force the islands to sell you more of us? Perhaps a few males as well? By now they have to have realized the promised Spanish takeover will never happen.”

Reyna laughed. “Minister Raposo is too afraid the book will reveal her willingness to betray her own kind for the mere promise of power. She will negotiate with me, to prevent her own downfall.” Joaquim heard her feet move farther away. “If his information turns out to be wrong,” she added, “we’ll have this conversation again.”

Then she retreated as well. After a moment passed in silence, Joaquim opened his eyes and lifted his head. The throbbing in his face ebbed. “Are you hurt?”

It was a foolish question. He had no doubt she was hurt.

“You’re awake?” Leandra asked, surprise in her soft voice. “You should sleep for hours.”

“My wife’s a sereia,” Joaquim said.

“Ah, I see. And you’ve met William Adler? Is he safe?”

“He was stabbed,” he admitted. “Whether he lives I have no idea.”

“Poor William,” she said softly. “You lied about the Americans trading for me, didn’t you?”