Текст книги "The Golden City"

Автор книги: Kathleen Cheney

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CHAPTER 34

Oriana instinctively dove for the floor. She’d been far enough from the door that she wasn’t thrown by the blast itself. The window nearest her was unbroken but shattered a moment later with the building heat in that office, raining glass onto the floor. With a yelp, she scrambled away backward on her bare hands and feet like a crab.

She managed to get off the floor then, and scanned the room wildly. The office was completely afire, but the rest of the workshop was still intact. Where is he?“Duilio?”

A groan reached her ears, and she ran that way. He was alive, at least. She dropped to her knees next to him. The explosion had knocked him backward over one of the houses, sending him sprawling onto the far side, a drop of several feet. His white shirt was darkened with soot. He seemed dazed, but his wide eyes focused on her when she yanked on his good arm. “We have to go,” she yelled at him, her pulse racing. “Now!”

He blinked up at her, dazed. “What happened?”

Oriana grabbed his braces and hauled him to a sitting position. “Come on!”

He got to his feet, stumbling against her. She set one arm about his waist and steered him toward that distant open door, wishing he would go faster. They had to get out.

“The fuses,” Duilio mumbled.

And then his urgency matched hers. He grabbed her wrist and bolted along the center aisle of the workshop in the direction of the water. Fleeter of foot, he dragged her along then. They had almost reached the end of the rows of houses when the first incendiary pile went with a boom louder than the first.

Letting him guide her, Oriana looked over her shoulder. The beam nearest the office fell, dragging the ceiling of the workshop with it. It crashed down right where Duilio had lain dazed after the initial explosion.

“Come on!” He pulled her toward the open door, drawing her out into the night air just as another explosion sounded.

They ran down a rutted pathway that led all the way to the pier. When they stopped, Oriana leaned against one of the posts, her breath embarrassingly ragged. They were alive. She closed her burning eyes for a moment. Now that they’d escaped, she was shaking all over. She clung to the post.

Another explosion shook the air, less terrifying now that they were some distance from the building. They could see another portion of the roof cave in. The contents of the building were starting to burn now, a roar building.

Duilio came to her side and laid one hand on her back. “Are you hurt?”

Oriana turned to face him, shaking her head. Her lungs felt ready to burst and her gills had begun to sting from the smoke drifting their way. “No. I’m fine. You?”

He was breathing hard. The scab on his cheek had begun to bleed again, and his clothes were ruined. She suspected he would be horribly bruised by morning. “I’m well enough,” he said, though, wrapping his hand about her own. “Thanks to you.”

His eyes on hers, he opened his mouth to say something else, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat. Oriana waited, desperate to know what he meant to say. It was as if they were alone in that darkness. The roar of the fire retreated, all sounds fading as if the world waited for those stalled words.

Then a voice forestalled whatever he meant to say. “Well, Ferreira, a thorn in my side until the last. I had hoped that you would be caught in the explosion, but alas it seems the fuses were too long.”

Duilio turned back toward the flames. Maraval strode down the rutted pathway toward them, a gun in one hand and a portmanteau dangling from the other. Oriana’s hands clenched into fists. Maria Melo might have chosen Isabel to die in The City Under the Sea, but he was the one whose mania had started this nightmare in the first place.

Four Special Police officers flanked him, cutting off any chance of retreat into the vineyard. Duilio gave her a gentle push toward the water. She didn’t know if Maraval had seen her standing behind him. Was there enough light coming from the fire? The man must see her skirts, if nothing else.

Maraval came closer, apparently undaunted by the revolver in Duilio’s hand. When he stood a few feet away, he said, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Ferreira? If you’d let the case alone, as ordered, Portugal would once again be the empire it was meant to be. Now I’ll have to start over. Brazil awaits, with as many loyal servants of the empire as this tired old city, perhaps more.”

Start over?Oriana shuddered. Did the man think he was simply going to walk away?

“There’s no point, Maraval. You can’t turn back the clock,” Duilio said.

“Are you going to say next that it’s God’s will?” Maraval asked with a snort. “We have grown beyond letting God decide history for us.”

“And so you decide who lives and who dies?”

“Sacrifices have to be made,” Maraval said with a blasé shrug.

Oriana swallowed, fury rising in her gut. It was exactlywhat Maria Melo had said about choosing Isabel. Was a spy no different from this man, playing at being one of the gods? Perhaps Maria Melo was different in her espoused cause, but both valued their goals above innocent lives.

She laid one hand on Duilio’s back so he would know she was behind him. Keeping her eyes on the four police officers, she backed away. She was in the water then, up to her knees. She turned and dove into the shallows, pushing away toward the edge of the cove.

* * *

Duilio heard a splash behind him; Oriana had fled to the safety of the ocean.

Good.She would be safe, and he could count on her and Erdano to get the pelt back to his mother. He wasn’t going to get out of this alive, not facing five armed men. He could take two, possibly three. He took a deep breath, feeling remarkably calm. “I’m not a religious man, Maraval,” he said, “but don’t you worry you’re inviting divine retribution?”

“God doesn’t concern me,” Maraval said blithely. “Now out of my way, Ferreira. We have a tide to catch. Rios, you lost control of him. You finish him off.”

Duilio tore his eyes away from Maraval long enough to see that one of the four officers was indeed Captain Rios. The captain gestured with his pistol for Duilio to clear the way to the pier for his master. Duilio gazed at the muzzle of the gun, knowing Rios wasn’t going to hesitate. Rios had never liked him.

He was going to die now.

And then a sound made him spin about, eyes drawn toward the sea.

Duilio felt his heart slow as an ethereal song tore his attention away from the fire, from Rios, from Maraval. He tried to quiet his own breathing so he could hear it better. He needed to find the source.

He scanned the dark water with desperate eyes. At the edge of the cove he could see a swimmer, only a dark silhouette of a head above the water. He had to find her. . . .

Then he realized what he was hearing. Wordless, keening, it wasn’t a song after all. Duilio ground his teeth together and jammed fingers into his ears, trying to block it out, trying to concentrate.

His pulse pounded in his shut-off ears and his head buzzed as if a fly were trapped inside. He wanted nothing more than to remove the fingers from his ears and let it out, but if he did he would surely find himself swimming toward that open ocean, unable to help answering Oriana’s call.

CHAPTER 35

It was her only weapon against the man who held a gun on Duilio.

Oriana wove the callfrom memories of childhood longing, from every bit of homesickness she’d felt in the last two years, of the yearning to have her family whole again. She didn’t weave a spell of sexual desire, but of comfort and home and love. It was her only magic, her only way to protect him—to callthem to her.

He stayed on the shore, hands on either side of his head. He recognized what she was doing and didn’t come to her. Thank the gods!

But the others did—all of them, the four police officers and Maraval. The marquis resisted her only for a second before his desire for the comfort of fond memories led him to the edge of the pier. He dropped his bag and leapt into the water. He swam toward her, drawn as straight as an arrow.

Two of the police officers didn’t swim. They were going to drown.

Oriana didn’t let that stop her. She couldn’t let them go and still callMaraval. So she sang on, kicking farther away from the beach as she did so. She swam out to sea, the three of them—no, only two now—following her call. How far out did she need to draw them?

She submerged, skirts buoying about her, and dropped her callto a hum. She spread her hands wide so that her webbing could sense the movement of the two remaining pursuers. There was a disturbance in the water behind her, but with a flash of dismay, she realized one of her pursuers was almost on her. She kicked desperately backward, only to collide with Erdano. Suddenly her arms were full of pelt and he was gone in a flurry of bubbles, the policeman in his grasp. He might not be all that clever on land, but Erdano wasfast in the water.

Oriana turned her attention back to her lone pursuer: a slower swimmer moving doggedly in pursuit. Clutching the pelt to her chest with one arm, she sank lower. Then she started back to the beach, cutting around her adversary with a dozen feet to spare. It was Maraval.

Was this her chance? She could use her callto draw him down in the water, to cause him to follow her deeper to his own death. It would be a proper repayment for what he’d done to Isabel, a death by drowning. She could pull him down and then release her control of him when it was too late for him to make it to the surface but not too late to understand that he was drowning. It would be justice.

She could almost feel the pleasure that watching the terror on his face would hold. Her free hand curled into a fist, nails digging into her palm.

They needed him. If they were going to find everyone involved in this plot, they needed the head of the serpent. So Oriana swam back toward the beach, coming out of the water at the side of the pier.

But Duilio was no longer alone. A petite woman dressed and veiled in black stood near the water’s edge, easily visible on the pale sands.

Duilio grabbed Oriana’s arm and drew her back away from that dark form. “What happened?” he asked, pointing with his chin toward the sodden pelt clutched under her arm.

Oriana could sense the tension in him. “Erdano gave me this. Maraval’s still out there.”

The woman turned her black-veiled head in Oriana’s direction and in accented Portuguese said, “Bring him back.”

Her voice was flat, without emotion. Oriana felt a chill not due to the cold air, until Duilio set a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “She’s on our side. She’s with Gaspar.”

Had Gaspar managed to find them with his compass? She spotted him then, walking along the path toward the beach.

Reassured, Oriana took a deep breath, turned to face the sea, and calledagain. Duilio turned his head, plugging one ear with his free hand; he held his revolver in the other. Apparently her callhad someeffect on him, but Duilio managed to resist her, keeping his gun trained on the waves lapping at the edge of the beach. Gaspar seemed completely unmoved. After only a few minutes Maraval stumbled onto the sands, his fine clothes ruined. Oriana closed her mouth, letting him go.

Duilio kept his gun trained on the man. But upon seeing the woman waiting for him on the shore, Maraval struggled to his feet. Grimacing, he swung one arm toward her. She merely touched him with one slim hand. Maraval whimpered. She said a word in a foreign language, and he collapsed to the sands. His ragged breathing showed he was still alive, but the black-veiled woman knelt down, apparently unconcerned by any threat Maraval might pose. “I can take your life away,” she told him, “bit by bit, drag you down into the waters and hold you there till you drown in my arms. But first you and I have much to talk about.”

Oriana felt ill. Hadn’t she just thought of doing the same thing?

Gaspar strode directly over to the woman’s side and proceeded to put cuffs on the prone Maraval. As if they’d been waiting, Joaquim and Pinheiro appeared at the end of the path, both tugging wads of cotton or wool from their ears.

“Don’t try anything on me, old man,” Gaspar said as he dragged Maraval to his feet. “It won’t work.”

Oriana suspected Maraval was too worn or too terrified to try anything on anyone. He was clearly frightened of the slender woman in black, who walked away toward the burning building without a backward glance.

Gaspar dragged Maraval to his feet. “Pinheiro, take your team and search the area for any others. We’ll send the regulars out to investigate further when there’s light. I’ll take this fellow and Miss Vladimirova back to the city. Mr. Ferreira?”

“Yes?” Duilio said.

“There’s a storm coming in. That flat-bottomed thing you came out here in won’t like that. You should probably tie it off and come back for it in a day or two.”

Duilio looked seaward at the dark sky. No stars were visible through that thick cloud cover. “I think you’re right.”

Two more police officers appeared at the end of the pathway as a carriage drew up to the edge of the beach, its dark sides gilded by the fire’s light. A second carriage drew up behind it. “Tavares, why don’t you head to the city with them? Get some rest,” Gaspar suggested as two of the officers wrestled the marquis into the carriage. “Anjos will want you back on the beach tomorrow.”

Inspector Tavares looked relieved to be joining them instead of heading back in that coach with Maraval and the strange Miss Vladimirova. He volunteered to help Duilio secure the paddleboat while Pinheiro and his crew boarded the moored yacht to look for evidence. Duilio took off his soot-stained coat and settled it around her shoulders, saying, “You must be freezing.”

“Thank you,” Oriana managed without her teeth chattering. She wascold now that she was out of the water. The pelt she clutched against her chest was still wet. Her clothes were sodden, and if they hadn’t been headed back into the city she’d remove them, but she didn’t want to cause further consternation.

So Oriana stood on the sand, her skirts dripping onto her bare feet. She just wanted to leave this place. She didn’t want to be around to watch the bodies of the three police officers she’d lured to their deaths wash in on the tide. It was a cowardly thought, not wanting to face up to what she’d done. But she would do it again if it meant keeping Duilio safe. What sort of person did that make her?

Returning from tying off the paddleboat, Duilio took one of her hands in his. “Let’s get back to the city.”

She had the strongest feeling he knew exactly what was bothering her. She nodded wordlessly.

After walking up to the burning workshop, they transferred the wooden box with its blood compass to the carriage. A handful more of Gaspar and Anjos’ officers had arrived to help with the search. Apparently Tavares knew them already and verified their identities. Then they were finally in the carriage, heading back to the city.

How late was it? Ten? Midnight?

Oriana wearily settled next to Duilio while his cousin took the seat facing backward. He took the pelt from her and arranged it on the empty spot on the bench, allowing some of the water to drain off. She listened while they talked of Anjos’ effort to convince the City Council to allow the floating houses to be pulled up from the river’s grasp. Apparently the inspector had been persuasive, and the effort was scheduled to begin as soon as the storm passed. The police suspected few of the bodies would be identifiable, so they were counting on Joaquim, with his knowledge of the case, to give names to the victims and help contact the families involved. She didn’t envy him that job.

They went on to talk about newspapers and which were sending writers and photographers out to cover it, whether the prince himself would comment on the whole affair, and whether Maraval would be charged or if he would quietly disappear. Just as long as he doesn’t go free,Oriana thought.

And that was the last thought she remembered until Duilio shook her shoulder to wake her.

CHAPTER 36

MONDAY, 6 OCTOBER 1902

Oriana had been sleeping, her head on his shoulder, for most of the trip. When they reached the house Duilio hated to wake her, but she probably didn’t want to sit there in damp clothing any longer than necessary.

Joaquim had been a font of information, mostly about what they’d learned in going through Maraval’s private papers. The papers cleared up any doubt of his having Alessio killed, as he’d kept thorough records of all Alessio’s movements for a few months prior to that date. Maraval had feared that Alessio might—at the infante’s request—seduce the prince out from under Maraval’s thumb. Ironically, it was Alessio’s death that had led the infante to bring in Anjos and his people, ultimately causing Maraval’s downfall.

Over the past few days, Joaquim had also learned a great deal about Anjos and his people. Having spent more time with them, he had several interesting observations. Duilio was most interested in Miss Vladimirova, though, whom Joaquim told him was a Russian water nymph called a rusalka. Camões might have referred to Oriana’s people as sea nymphs, but Duilio suspected the similarity ended there. According to Joaquim, Silva had apparently been correct in calling Miss Vladimirova undead. And while Duilio had read several lurid stories about vampires, he wasn’t sure he believed that something could be both dead and alive.

“All I know,” Joaquim said, “is that I’m glad I’m in this carriage, not the other. Just being around her makes me nervous.”

That Duilio didunderstand. Of course, if Joaquim had been in the other carriage, then he might have had a chance for a private talk with Oriana. He could tell she was shaken after what had happened at the cove. He didn’t know whether she’d ever caused another’s death before, but he suspected not. He understood that. He’d never liked killing, no matter the situation.

But the carriage had been standing for a couple of minutes now, and they should let the driver get his horses back to the police stables. Duilio sighed and gently shook Oriana’s shoulder. She blinked at him but obeyed his instructions when he helped her down onto the cobbles behind the house. He dragged the nearly dry pelt out as well, and then sent the driver on with orders to take Joaquim to his apartment. They could talk more later.

* * *

It was the one thing Duilio didn’t think should wait until morning, so in the early hours of the morning they stood next to his mother’s bed. The lady slept silently, looking almost like a painting in a museum, her braid trailing off the edge of the bed. Oriana touched her shoulder lightly. “Lady Ferreira?”

The lady moved as if in a dream, sitting up and stretching out her arms. Her eyes never saw Oriana there. She looked right past her.

Duilio held out the pelt. “See what we’ve found, Mother?”

He surrendered the damp pelt into her hands . . . or perhaps it moved into Lady Ferreira’s arms; Oriana wasn’t certain which she’d just seen. The lady gathered it close to her chest and curled around it like it was a lost child finally found. Under her fingertips, it seemed almost as though the pelt came alive, the fur shining again. “Mother, there are nail holes in it,” he warned, “so don’t try to wear it immediately.”

“No wonder my fingers always hurt,” Lady Ferreira said under her breath.

Tears stung Oriana’s eyes, and she wiped them away with the side of her hand. Now Lady Ferreira’s life could resume. It must be an incredible relief to be able to move on. Oriana didn’t know when, if ever, her own life would be hers to direct again. She sorely wanted that.

“It’ll be better soon, Mother,” Duilio said, touching her hair lightly. “Rest now.”

The lady breathed in the scent of her pelt as if it were the sweetest perfume. She seemed too enraptured to speak at all.

“I’ll stay with her for a while,” Duilio told Oriana as he dragged over a chair and set it next to the head of the bed. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

She nodded, feeling dull and drained. She left him there and headed to her own bed, only bothering to remove her waterlogged garments before crawling under the warm coverlet. And then it was morning, a dim light piercing the curtains and bidding her to wake. Oriana crawled from her borrowed bed and dressed in her black serge skirt and blue vest. She braided her hair and was relieved when Teresa showed up with her morning coffee tray.

A short time later she left her room, unsure whether anyone would be awake this morning. Before she reached the stairs, Cardenas came up. “Good morning, Miss Paredes,” he said cheerily.

“Is anyone else up?” she asked.

“Mr. Duilio has an early caller,” he said, “but the lady apparently plans to sleep late.”

It wasearly for a caller, but Oriana supposed it might be his cousin, Inspector Tavares. Or Gaspar or Pinheiro. “Very well.”

Cardenas reached into a jacket pocket and produced an envelope. “I have a letter for you, Miss Paredes. It was left last night, but . . .”

Oriana cringed inwardly. She knew what that letter must be. She took the envelope Cardenas handed her and thanked him, and he walked on toward the end of the hallway. This card had a different seal from the other, Oriana noted as she made her way more slowly down the stairs. In fact, it looked like Heriberto’s seal and wax. Oriana stopped halfway down the stairs and popped open the envelope.

There will be a ship waiting for you, south-southwest of the mouth of the river. Be there by noon on Monday, or I will do as I promised. MM

Oriana sighed and closed her eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. Today. She had known this was coming. She had known it would be soon.

She turned to head back up the stairs when she saw Duilio emerging from the front sitting room with his guest. It was Genoveva Carvalho, her companion trailing behind her, clutching a parasol in her hands. Miss Carvalho lifted tear-filled eyes toward Duilio, then leaned up and kissed his cheek, one of her gloved hands lingering on his coat lapel. Oriana couldn’t make out what the young woman said, but the admiration in her eyes was plain to see. Duilio was likely blushing. Then Miss Carvalho turned and led her companion out the front door.

Miss Carvalho was from a wealthy family, an aristocratic one with ties here. And there was an understanding already, was there not? Even if Oriana had the time left, even if she wanted to court Duilio Ferreira, he had other choices for a mate—much better choices than a sereia with no money and no prospects.

Swallowing, Oriana darted back up the stairs, not wanting him to turn and catch her watching. But Felis stopped her at the landing and asked if everything was well. Oriana managed to blurt out something about packing because she had to leave. She edged past the elderly woman to reach the privacy of her bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and rested her back against it.

She was nearly out of time. If she was going to swim the distance from the city out to the mouth of the river and from there to wherever the ship waited for her, she needed to go soon. And she hadn’t swum a long distance since coming to the city. What would have been easy when she was two years younger seemed daunting now. She was already so tired. She covered her face with shaking hands and began to cry in earnest. The note slipped to the table, atop the other, unopened note, forgotten.

* * *

Duilio ached all over. His back hurt now too from when he’d slammed into one of the miniature houses, slid over its top, and then dropped to the floor. His hair was singed on the ends. Fortunately, he hadn’t lost his eyebrows, which would have made him look ridiculous.

He sat back, moaning when his sore back touched the chair. He’d had to endure an uncomfortable interview with Genoveva Carvalho, who seemed to believe he’d saved her sister single-handedly. He told the girl that Miss Paredes had done the difficult part, but she must have mistaken that for modesty on his part.

She’d called at his house far earlier in the morning than was proper, apparently on her way to Mass. Duilio sighed. Apparently she hadtransferred her affections from Alessio to him, which might have been desirable a year ago. Now it only seemed an annoyance. He was going to have to start avoiding her.

He picked up the newspaper Cardenas had left on the table. The Porto Gazettehad run an article on the front page, complete with a photograph of young Tiago Coelho, the footman, taken while he was still bound to the table in the house, blood staining his swollen features. In the photographer’s flash Duilio could make out a few of the now-familiar symbols on that table. Markings ran along the pedestal of the table and across the visible walls of the house as well. The Lady had been correct about that—there was far more to the spell than just the table itself. And despite the scripture binding the edge of the table, it was clear that this was the sort of magical invocation that the Church found unacceptable.

The people of the city wouldn’t permit this to go on, no matter how their prince felt about the work of art. The City Council had recognized that fact. The City Under the Seawouldn’t be growing. According to the paper, the police were making plans to dismantle it. They would bring up the houses and their contents onto the Gaia beach near the breakwater, far from the city, where fewer eyes would witness the grisly sight of bodies that had been in the water too long. Setting aside their usual antagonism, the Jesuits and the Freemasons were set to take possession of the houses to study the spell written on the tables and the walls, determine its intentions, and decide whether it would work at all.

He should be elated. They’d won. No more bodies would be buried in the river, and his mother had her pelt back. He’d even found his missing slippers hidden under his pillow last night, no doubt thanks to Miss Paredes.

Instead he felt a vague worry, as if his gift couldn’t yet define the threat that waited for him. Their actions tonight had unleashed something to wreak havoc on the city. He asked his gift for some guidance but got nothing. He didn’t know what questions to ask. He’d just lifted his glass of brandy to his lips when Felis strode into the library, a militant expression on her face

Duilio wondered what he’d done to offend his mother’s maid. He rose, fully expecting to get his ears boxed.

Felis set her hands on her hips. “Duilinho, Miss Paredes tells me she has to leave. For God’s sake, boy, stop her.”

He had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon, but somehow, given the way things were going, he wasn’t particularly surprised. He wasshocked that Felis had used such strong language. “She needs to return home, Miss Felis. I’ve known for some time she would have to leave. I can’t force her to stay.”

The elderly maid thrust one hand into her apron pocket and drew out a tattered playing card. She held it up in front of Duilio’s face—the king of hearts. “Don’t you know what this means, boy?”

She had never told him the meaning of that card, the one she’d drawn for him the day he’d asked her to help him find Oriana, but he didn’t need her explanation. The import of the card was all too clear in his mind now. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know what it means.”

Felis threw the card on the table. “Then why would you let her go?”

She turned and walked out of the library, leaving the card behind.

Duilio slumped into his chair again.

A book might tell him a dozen different interpretations of that card’s meaning. Whatever Felis had seen in it didn’t matter. Like all fortunes, the only thing that mattered was what he saw in it now, what it meant to him: that Oriana Paredes was the great love of his life.

And he was about to watch her walk away.

Should Oriana simply ignore her orders to return home, she would be in violation of her people’s law. Much like a military man who fled his post. For some that would be acceptable. For her, he didn’t think it would be, and he was not going to attack her resolve. That would only belittle her.

He had to hope that she would return to the Golden City. He didn’t care if she was assigned to spy on his people. He didn’t care if there was a scandal tied to her name, if she was exposed as a sereia. He just had to hope she would come back.

He picked up the card and slid it into his jacket pocket. Then he did take a drink of his brandy, letting it burn down his throat. It didn’t chase away the malaise of victory and despair that clouded his thoughts.

“Mr. Ferreira?” Oriana stood at the door, her expression somber. “How do you feel?”

He’d gone back to being Mr. Ferreira, as if a polite distance would make this easier. Duilio swirled the glass before glancing at her. “I’ll be fine. Just bruised.”

“I suspect that Miss Carvalho has changed her mind about you,” she said then. When he gave her a curious look, she added, “I think you’re no longer her second choice.”

Ah, she must have seen that exchange in the hallway. “It doesn’t signify,” he said. “She would be mysecond choice.”

He waited for her to say something, anything, but she just stood there with her eyes on the floor. “Did you receive orders to go?”

“Yes.” She still didn’t meet his eyes. “I need to leave immediately if I’m to make my rendezvous.”

Immediately?He’d hoped she would be able to rest for a day or two. He’d hoped they would have time to talk, that he would have time to work out all the confused yearnings in his head. He set the glass on the table. She had her hands folded together tightly, knuckles white.

“Must you go?” he asked, even though he knew what she would say. She had never told him whether she was being blackmailed, but he suspected so.

“Yes.”

“Any time you need a safe haven, our house will be open to you. I meant that.”

She closed her eyes, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.

Duilio stepped closer and set his hands on her arms. “Oriana . . .”

“I’m expected to be at my rendezvous by noon,” she said in a tight voice. “I need to leave now.”