She rose to leave, then stopped as if reminded of something. “That ore is veined with iridio, which supplies the spell keeping your transplant heart pumping like your former one. It should be enough iridio for a decade or two. Avoid showing it to anybody. I don’t have to remind you how valuable iridio is, even here in Sadul Fuerte. If it is ever taken out of you and you do not replenish the heart, you will die.”
“So I’m a slave to it.”
Do?a Ursulina ignored the remark. “When that happens, let us hope Do?a Laurel or Celeste is feeling charitable and can supply you with new ore from their mines. But I’m sure by then, you will have become essential to their lives.”
The days in the room passed her by. Reina counted a moon cycle, and her own. Do?a Ursulina came and went every other day for brief moments. She prodded Reina’s heart and patted herself on the back for her own ingenuity. Sometimes Reina would drift in and out of sleep and find a tray of pastelitos on the bedside table or a hot tealike sugarcane drink that she’d never had before coming to ?guila Manor. The person who left her the gifts would spirit away like a shadow shifting in the light, so Reina never had the chance to marvel at their kindness or thank them properly.
One morning, once she was strong enough to walk, Reina decided to see the manor from a different vantage than the bedroom window. She woke up with a renewed sense of hope: She was strong enough to have a second chance, so perhaps Ches had listened to her prayers. For this, she needed to thank him.
She slipped on her old boots and ripped jacket （for the cold）， stuffed a pan de bono from the night before into her jacket pocket （for Ches）， and snuck out before the scullery maid made her usual rounds. Corridors of polished stone floors and tall ceilings accompanied her brief tour. Reina passed a sunroom, a library, a drawing room with a pianoforte and a harp, noting how every detail was gilded or engraved with rich threads.
The sky was overcast when Reina emerged onto the bustling yard, where men descended the gravel path from the mountains, their mules transporting sacks of moras, cassava, and ocumo. She dodged women carrying laundry of embroidered linens and knitted ruanas, and she hugged herself at the shivery reminder that she was unprepared for the perpetual cold of this region. A forest of non-native firs surrounded the estate, and behind them rose the Páramo Mountains, the closest hills draped in colorful squares of farmland, while the tallest summit was cloaked in snow.
The red-clay-roofed servants’ building and adjoined armory were shaded by the imposing height of the manor. With its thick stone walls and corner turrets, it resembled a castle more than anything else. Cabins and homesteads of the common folk loyal to the caudillo sprinkled the hills. Reina circled the yard, avoiding the ruddy children chasing chickens and goats and each other.
She hiked to the forest, searching for a quiet clearing to make her offering to Ches. She wasn’t one for praying every day, like Penitents did to their Virgin and saints, but she did recognize when she owed a debt: She’d promised Ches her devotion in exchange for his help in getting out of dark times. Waking up with her needs met in ?guila Manor felt like divine intervention. It merited leaving him a prayer and a gift.
The clouds didn’t let up as she searched the forest for a sunny clearing, so she merely left the pan de bono by a creek. Juan Vicente had told her how her mother, Beatriz, believed sharing food was the ultimate gesture of hospitality, especially when food was a scarce resource. Sacrificing food created bonds and brought people together. That was why she did it for Ches.
A drizzle kept Reina company as she headed back. The paths twined and twisted, and she lost her way but later emerged into the ascending roads leading to ?guila Manor, where it sat on a hill. The wrought iron gates were wide open, the grounds of the estate shielded by a barrier of hedges and orange-flowering coral trees. A path encased in rosebushes led to the entrance, where the dark wood doors were perched at the apex of stone steps. Rippled stone pillars supported a second-story balcony. The terrace was decorated in potted orchids, their blooms so foreign and exquisite Reina imagined they were constantly spoiled by a gardener.
There was a flurry of steps behind her, and someone yanked her by the tail. Reina stopped, yelping.
The jeering face of a valco met her. She recognized the young man instantly, with his silvery-blond hair loosely tied back, his long face and narrow frame, his valco antlers knotting like an ivory-colored crown. He had been one of her rescuers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a nozariel with a tail before,” he said with his teeth bared in a sneer.
He was accompanied by Celeste, who said, “Javier! You are so rude.” She was dressed in a shirt and trousers dirtied by greenery, much like how Reina remembered her after the fateful day of the tinieblas’ attack. She wielded a scythe with the handle veined by a red glow. Her hair was up in a braided ponytail, and her cheeks and neck were red from the cold, covered in dirt and sweat.
Reina faced them fully while her tail thrashed behind her. She could still feel the phantom sensation of his touch. Shivers ran up her spine.
“Don’t touch my tail.”
Javier squared up, smirking. “Why? What are you going to do about it? You dare challenge the caudillo’s brother?”
Reina glanced away to her muddy boots at the realization.
He laughed. “Just who does this tailed nozariel think she is?” he added, circling her, tugging the tail again so fast she couldn’t step out of his reach in time. “This is my home, my land, and if I feel like grabbing it on a whim, you should just be glad I’m not cutting it off instead—you know, to do you the favor.” He tapped his scabbarded blade to make the point.
“You’re vile!” Celeste said, and Javier only laughed his way into the manor.
Celeste offered Reina an embarrassed grimace.
Reina didn’t need the gesture, for she had grown up having her tail yanked and pulled by the people immediately repelled by its existence. “It’s okay. I’ve endured worse.”
“It’s best to stay out of his way. He doesn’t learn. And no one can shut him up except my parents.” Celeste gave her scythe a shake, and Reina watched with wide eyes as the weapon vanished into thin air, the veined glow of its handle disappearing last.
Her shock was obvious, for Celeste revealed the locket hanging beneath her shirt collar. “I summon it with iridio. That way it’s more reliable than any real steel, because it’ll never break—not if I don’t want it to.”
Reina blinked, surprised to witness what was said about valcos with her own eyes. How they were so attuned to geomancia that it served their life like an everyday tool. The ?guilas owned the source of iridio, so it made sense that Celeste should spend it so carelessly. But the wastefulness was hard to swallow.
Reina followed Celeste into the foyer. There sunlight speared through stained-glass windows and painted the patterned tiles with rainbow light.
“The caudillo’s brother. And you are the caudillo’s daughter.” Saying it made Reina tingly, like she was overreaching and someone would jump out of a corner to beat her for daring to fraternize with the masters of the house. “He is your uncle?”
“By definition only.” Celeste rolled her eyes. “But enough about Javier. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Her gaze flitted down to Reina’s chest.