The jab didn’t touch her. Eva had grown a mineral armor to it.
When she looked up with a smile as fake as her acceptance of the Silvas, her grandmother and Pura beamed, and the mood changed entirely. They squeezed Eva’s hands and herded her back into her room, coaching her on how to approach the queen mother and how to charm the royal family’s youngest son, to make the whole transaction pleasant for all parties. All the while Eva brimmed with satisfaction. They never questioned her letter.
Do?a Antonia left them, tittering about how she had to convey the marvelous news to the Silva matriarch. And Pura lingered for only so long. Her babe began to stink, so she scurried away to clean him up. They left Eva alone in the company of her reflection in her mirror, her hands clutching the wrinkled envelope. Maybe she did look like a witch, with her bachaco hair frizzy and growing out of control, her curly bangs concealing the stunted antlers sprouting from the crown of her head.
Her fingers trembled as she ripped open the golden seal of the soaring eagle. Her chest pounded, aching in anticipation for the crossroads holding her future prisoner. When she finally read the message within, she collapsed on the folds of her dress skirt with a sob of relief.
19
To Plot with a Valco
After the ceremony in Galeno’s cathedral, the glowing bride and her husband rode on horseback to the Serrano hacienda for the wedding party, as was the tradition in the Llanos. Waiting for them in the Serranos’ vast patio was a large crowd of people dressed in what was probably a significant fraction of the country’s wealth. There were so many guests: Friends of the Serranos, and the sons and daughters and cousins of those friends, and the friends and neighbors of those sons and daughters and cousins. People who ruled over capitals and towns and haciendas too small to exist on the map. Eva didn’t think there was a single person capable of naming every guest. Not even Do?a Antonia herself.
The wedding was the event of the year, and with the queen mother attending, the Serranos had spared no expense. Eva and the family were already gathered in their tables when the bride and groom arrived on mares wearing fuchsia and araguaney flowers in their braided manes. The guests sat on chairs dressed in colorful woven skirts. Laurels and wildflowers wrapped around the gates and supporting patio columns. Trained macaws and toucans flew freely over their heads. The birds perched on posts strategically placed around the patio, where they ate off platters loaded with chopped mango, guava, and topocho. The large centerpieces brightened the space with their saturated sunflower-and-pepper arrangements.
Eva did some drinking herself; otherwise she would have no patience for the crowd. Pura and her babies sat beside Eva on one side, and another niece, daughter of Do?a Antonia’s second son, sat to her other side. In short, Eva had been assigned to the youngin table, which was a slight she didn’t overlook. They were served multiple courses of grilled quail swimming in honeyed pineapple sauce, lamb stew, fine cuts of beef raised on Serrano pastures, and if that wasn’t enough, the spit-roasted pigs were being cut up to be served as the heavy final course.
The upbeat melodies of a harp, drums, maracas, and a four-stringed guitar carried the guests to the dance floor, where the men stomped the flagstones and twirled the women so the ruffles of their dresses surfed the air. Eva forked the last cold tendrils of her lamb to the bone as she watched the guests dancing joropo. Her gaze followed the crowd of people who left their family tables and began the joyful crisscross walk across the dance floor to meet with old friends or acquaintances from the war, or to meet new people. She grew anxious, but not at the throngs of people.
“By the grace of the Virgin, Eva, go enjoy yourself already!” Pura said as she rocked her youngest back and forth on her seat. The baby was fussy, likely because the music was so loud it was impossible he would ever have a rest tonight.
“Take my wine if you must,” Pura said, sliding her filled goblet to Eva’s side. She was breastfeeding.
Eva stirred the goblet and nursed it for a while. In truth, she was biding her time. So she gave her sister a mild lie. “But I don’t know anyone.”
“No one knows anyone until they go out and talk to each other. That’s what weddings are for.”
“They all think I’m a witch.”
Pura clicked her tongue. “And they’ll think it even more if you stay brooding here all night.”
Eva’s gaze surfed the heads of people, from left to right, until a peculiar sight gave her pause. Far at the end of the patio stood a slim man kissing the hand of a lady thrice his age. He had blond hair so light it looked like starlight and the palest skin Eva had ever seen. Like most other men in the party, he wore the high-necked and long-sleeved liqui liqui jacket worn by Llaneros for special occasions. His was black and tight-fitting and made of a thick fabric, with a small gold chain hooking his collar together. But the most striking feature of all, which sent Eva’s heart into a frenzy, were the two antlers curling from the crown of his head, thick and strong and much more developed than hers.
“Who is that?” Eva’s voice broke. She had a guess, but she wanted to be surer than sure.
Pura followed Eva’s gaze and said, “Oh—that’s—uh… Don Enrique ?guila’s youngest brother. He’s an ?guila, from Sadul Fuerte.”
Eva took a long drink of her wine.
“Mi abuela invited him, don’t you remember?”
“Pura, I made hundreds of invitations. Do you really think I was paying attention?”
Pura giggled. “Yes, well, of course they had to be invited. They might’ve been revolutionaries, but they’re still the richest family in the country. All that geomancia you obsess over? They own the iridio mines for it.”
Eva watched the young man go from one table to the next, smiling, kissing hands or cheeks, introducing himself to strangers and reacquainting himself with old faces. The thought of him eventually making his way to her table made her chest flutter.
But she couldn’t let it happen. They couldn’t be seen together. Not yet.
“Is he married?” Eva said as the curiosity sparked in her, for she genuinely didn’t know.
Pura laughed, long and hearty. “Who cares? Grandmother hates revolutionaries. She hates that they took away all the plantations under our name and that they cut off all our influences in Segol. She said we were earning thrice as much as we’re earning now when we could keep nozariels working in the plantations. Our grandmother would never, ever let us fraternize with an ?guila.” Pura leaned closer to Eva conspiratorially. “They’re friends with Samón the Liberator, who’s also a valco. Didn’t you hear the tale of how our grandfather banished Samón from Galeno? It was the juiciest gossip of the time. Trust me, if Segol had beaten Samón Bravo and Feleva ?guila during the war, the king of Segol would have granted those iridio mines to our family. It might have happened before you were born, but that kind of bad blood doesn’t just go away in one generation.”
“Then why was he invited?” It was too perfect. The Serranos had handed her this opportunity on a silver platter.
“We invited the family out of formality. The country’s supposed to be united now. We lose more by angering them with bad manners. And don’t you worry for them, Eva. They don’t like us either.”