“Indeed. So it was a natural decision to make Tierra’e Sol my home,” Don Samón added, his tone mild again. “Everything I need to know to end the magic of iridio is within that tomb, and it has been my dedication all these years since. If there is no invocation, the seal will not break. And if there is no iridio, there will be no opportunity for chaos and the dissolution of everything I fought and bled for.”
“How can you want to end iridio?” Eva blurted out suddenly, the query at the tip of her tongue since he’d first mentioned it. For how could he seek to end something so incredible?
He was unfazed by the reaction. Rather, he smiled at her passion. “The bad far outweighs the good.”
Eva vehemently disagreed. It was not iridio’s fault that humans were uncreative and backward about their perception and use of it. Everyone in Galeno had assumed Eva was possessed by a demon, when they were just ignorant. She shot a look at Ludivina, who had boasted earlier about her own prowess with the dining hall lanterns. Ludivina shriveled, perhaps afraid to contradict her father on the matter.
The girl faked a yawn and stretched her thin arms. “I should go back and find me a dancing partner,” she said.
Don Samón smiled at his daughter, nodding. “You do that. Don’t forget, hosts are supposed to win over their guests.”
“I learned from the best,” Ludivina said, winking at Eva before exiting to the darkness of the garden passageway.
Eva nearly sucked in a breath, missing her opportunity to make an exit. On one hand, she felt thoroughly charmed by the Liberator. On the other, she wasn’t sure for how long she could keep her knowledge of Javier’s and Reina’s intentions secret, if he prodded her enough.
Don Samón plopped himself on his seat behind the desk, his ash-blond lashes shading his gaze. “I am glad the claw’s journey will be over soon, and with it the threat will pass, at least for another forty-two years, or until I figure out a counter or a cancellation to iridio.”
Eva hated the conviction, even if she couldn’t hate the man. Sooner or later he would be successful, and it saddened her. “I wish I could change your mind on it,” she muttered with her gaze to the illustrations of the tinieblas pinned to the board.
“Are you sure that’s not just Rahmagut’s influence talking?” he said, and she joined in on his small chuckling laugh.
“So what’s needed to invoke Rahmagut, besides, you know, the nine wives? I’m assuming you know everything on the matter,” Eva said. Her conniving husband was planning to betray Don Samón’s trust, using her to achieve his goals. It would be better if she knew what she was getting into beforehand rather than blindly trust his command.
Don Samón’s reply was a finger pointed at the board.
“There are plots to make it happen,” he said. “I have endless correspondence and accounts from my colleagues in Segolita who have heard talk of Enrique and his witch, Ursulina Duvianos, kidnapping women. When Celeste sent me her letter, I knew those two were pursuing Rahmagut’s legend. This was confirmed when a sentry spotted a small host flying ?guila colors crossing Río’e Marle just south of El Carmín. If they were en route to Segolita, why wouldn’t they just cross near La Cochinilla?”
He said something about spending his nights in fear of having to face Don Enrique, who was once an ally. Eva just muttered a noncommittal reply, for her attention was locked on the journal passage beneath the illustration.
“I know your marriage to Javier is new, but I’m curious if you know of any rifts between the brothers? Have you met Enrique? Is it true that he has been consumed by madness?”
The passage spoke of bringing the damas to the final chamber in the tomb while Rahmagut’s Claw still marked the sky.
“I just can’t fathom how a father—let alone a valco—would be willing to offer up his own daughter as sacrifice. Because that is what Celeste is, no, a Dama del Vacío?”
Eva squinted at the fading calligraphy of the journal entry. The instructions to split open the women’s throats as the quickest and most dignified way of offering, drawing their stored power through their blood, letting it all pool at the center of the chamber.
Her breath left her then. She whipped around to face Don Samón, who watched her curiously with that red gaze loaded with meaning she couldn’t understand.
“This is not real, right?” she said, hoping for another lecture on the nuances of the legend. Perhaps for the possibility of a workaround.
“We just talked about it. It’s all real. Rahmagut’s seal will break if he’s invoked one more time. And to do so, the lives of all nine women must be sacrificed.”
37
Love of Friendship
Reina knew she was the luckiest woman alive.
She watched Celeste laugh, marveling at eyes that were glossy from the touch of wine. Celeste looked like the girl she had been before the death of her mother, at the pinnacle of her father’s power. Like she was back to wearing the skin of someone with good fortune calligraphied all over her destiny.
The music carried them to one of the many interconnected gardens, where hedges brimming with jasmine or hibiscus created pockets of privacy for Don Samón’s guests. They passed one section where a small group had settled on benches near the ground to bet on Calamity, and another where two bulky men had snuck away to whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears under the moonlight.
Reina beckoned Celeste farther into the garden maze, and Celeste followed, smiling with lips moist from the amapolas. She’d had three. They’d shared three. One at the mouth of the tomb and two from Don Samón’s dessert platters where they were abundantly offered, as if all his guests would inevitably end up becoming pieces of each other’s fates.
Reina’s belly burned from the possibilities of this game they played. She didn’t have the strength to end it. The wine had banished that ounce of self-restraint. And Celeste’s eyes were content, finally, after spending so many days in a state of constant flight.
This was a game every inch of Reina’s core screamed at her not to end.
Earlier, soon after returning from the tomb, Don Samón had graciously gifted the group some geomancia reagents, including iridio, allowing Eva to refill her pendant and Reina her heart. But the solution felt watered-down, weak. Reina could tell she’d burned through most of it just from the dancing. Her chest fluttered meekly, yet she ignored the sensation. Nothing else mattered but this moment with Celeste.
Their strides lingered near an elevated balcony-like perch devoid of any activity. The music was far and mild, the harp dominating a song best danced to in close proximity. Far in the distance, a lone heron sliced the sky, and Celeste rushed to the railing to watch it fly. Reina followed her. There a full moon made her acquaintance, then kept them company. Rahmagut’s Claw was hidden behind the manse’s roofs and palms across the opposite side, making it easy to forget what had brought them here in the first place.
“I didn’t know you could dance joropo,” Celeste said, fanning her chest.
“I didn’t know it either.” All that watching others dance it had actually taught her a thing or two.