In the end, she spared Reina no mercy. Do?a Ursulina shoved the ore right into Reina’s chest, which she suddenly realized was wide open and the reason for her agony. Except she didn’t know real agony until the edges of the ore contacted the crystal contraption Do?a Ursulina had installed in Reina’s raw, open chest.
Her nerves exploded. Pain like the scorch of fire licked her spine and blinded her. Reina screamed through the gag. Her ears pressurized, then were deafened. She screeched and writhed as this woman brutalized the area where Reina’s heart ought to be. Then Do?a Ursulina’s whispering lulled Reina into the oblivion of a weighted sleep.
Reina awoke later from the rapidly fading dream of meeting her father again: A tall, lean, umber-skinned man with short curly black hair and tamarind eyes. Her eyes. They were on a jungle path, where he beckoned her to follow him.
She groggily stared at the window, where morning light filtered through gossamer curtains. Somehow she was still alive. She couldn’t be sure of how long she had been unconscious or how she lived at all. She tried sitting up, her interest piquing at the memory of being on that hard table, under Do?a Ursulina’s ministrations.
Beneath the woolen bedcovers, a loose cotton shirt and pants protected her modesty. The fabrics around her were high quality, her pillows of soft down. She lifted the bedsheets and her shirt to look at her chest, where a dull throb emanated. Her torso was bound by bloody bandages, and something pulsed beneath them. A chill struck her, as if whatever was inside her now drained the warmth from her chest. She heard voices, a low susurration growing louder as she fixated on the thing burrowed into her skin. Upon bringing a shaky hand to her chest, she found raggedness where her heart should have been. Her breathing came short and heavy, and it got stuck in her throat, her flesh sweating cold in a panic.
Memories flooded her more vividly than any dream. She remembered feeling like she was drowning in never-ending agony, where no amount of writhing or crying could soothe her. And the dark creatures who’d ambushed her as dusk draped the mountains, their wicked smiles and animal ferocity as they clawed and bit at her.
Reina chewed her lower lip raw. She shut her eyes to force out the memories of the creatures Do?a Ursulina and Do?a Laurel had called tinieblas. Her heart palpitated beneath her palm. At least she still had a heart—or a semblance of it. At least she was alive.
A gasp sounded from the room’s door. A human woman carrying bandages froze by the doorway upon seeing her. Reina wiped her tears away. Before she could ask where she was, the woman scurried out. Maybe the sight of a battered nozariel was enough to spook her.
Reina decided she was too weak to get up. And if they hadn’t wanted her to sleep in the bed, they wouldn’t have placed her in such a lavish setting. She snuggled back under the covers and allowed herself to be swept away by a light sleep.
Later, the clicking of heels on the stone floor roused her again. A woman dressed in an azure gown entered the room. Reina recognized the blueness of her eyes and her full lips.
Do?a Laurel carried a bowl sloshing with a steaming soup. The layered scents of broth filled the room, awakening Reina’s hunger. She handed Reina the wooden bowl, which swirled with a milky chicken broth, diced potatoes, and small blocks of white cheese topped by a poached egg and a sprinkle of scallions.
“The cook made pisca today. Help yourself,” she said, then helped Reina sit up. “I have to say, I’m surprised to see you made it.”
Between spoonfuls of broth, Reina said, “Thank you for saving me, and for your hospitality… and for your food.” She could go on, really, because she meant it.
Do?a Laurel stared out the window as the curtains fluttered with mountain breeze. “I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Do?a Laurel Divina Herrón de ?guila. My husband is Don Enrique ?guila, the caudillo of Sadul Fuerte.”
Reina had heard of caudillos. Segolita didn’t have one because, as the capital of Fedria, it enjoyed the protection of its centralized government’s armament. But other cities and provinces in Fedria had them, as did all the provinces of Venazia, including Sadul Fuerte. They were the warlords who protected the land. The men who profited from farmers and traders to maintain a standing army and serve as the people’s sword and shield. As Juan Vicente had once told her: In Venazia, the caudillos wielded all the power.
This meant Do?a Laurel was likely the most powerful woman in this city, if not the whole country.
Reina swallowed awkwardly, a cough away from choking on the broth.
Do?a Laurel placed a hand on Reina’s knee. “Please. Relax. You are healing.”
“Mi se?ora, I am in no state to address you.” Reina lowered her head. She couldn’t maintain eye contact. Was she supposed to bow?
Do?a Laurel squeezed the bedsheets over Reina’s knee. “Please, regard me like an equal for now. I command it,” she said, her gaze fiery despite the sky-blue color of her eyes.
Reina coughed, then nodded.
“So where are you coming from?”
“Segolita, mi se?ora.” Reina’s old home, where her idealistic father had chosen to rear her, expecting the city to become a place of prosperity for nozariels after the revolution. Except Juan Vicente couldn’t have been more wrong. As the capital of the colony formerly under Segol’s command, which had split into what was now known as Venazia and Fedria, Segolita was owned by humans raised with the colonists’ prejudice. Humans who still saw nozariels as filthy, lesser creatures.
“From the Llanos?” Do?a Laurel chuckled. “I’ve traveled there before. Segolita’s majestic—if you can ignore the misery hiding in its back alleyways. If you’re willing to convince yourself the stink of shit is actually the aroma of roses. Things smell stronger in the heat, did you know that? Maybe that’s why people here in Sadul Fuerte can be such good liars.” Do?a Laurel watched her with a coy smile, gauging Reina’s reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t have a very good time when I went there. It was too hot, and my clothes were more of a sweat-drenched burden than a statement of my good fashion sense,” she finished with good humor.
“I have no love for Segolita. That’s why I came here.”
Do?a Laurel’s gaze surfed Reina’s ridged nose and pointed ears, her lips quivering as if she were reconsidering her questions. “So you are Juan Vicente’s daughter, with Beatriz?”
It surprised Reina that the lady knew both of her parents’ names. She slurped the last of the bowl, set it on the bedside table, and stared at her hands. They were covered in scars from handling lye and boiling water, along with fresh cuts from her tussle in the mountains.
“He was my father, yes,” she said with a nod. “He died when I was just a girl.”
Do?a Laurel’s eyebrows sloped with concern. “So Juan Vicente has passed. I suspected this was the case, but I never wanted the confirmation. Not even from his mother. I suppose the truth cannot be avoided forever.”
“You knew my father?”
After a long pause, Do?a Laurel licked her lips and rose to stand by the window. Her absence left Reina cold.
“Your father was one of my best friends many years ago,” Do?a Laurel said. “I say ‘one of my best friends’ because I only ever had two, and the other is my husband.” She turned her fierce gaze on Reina, piercing straight to her soul. “Juan Vicente was the kindest person I’ve ever met. He was so kind he even had the courage to go live in Segolita, with your mother. He left a life of comfort and riches in Sadul Fuerte behind for her.”