“Welcome to the Monastery-at-Brisadulce. Ours is the first, you know. Built only a few years after God carried our ancestors from the dying world in his righteous right hand.”
I nod. “I hear you have the oldest known copy of the Belleza Guerra .”
“Yes, yes. Several centuries old. Sadly, the vellum cannot last much longer.”
I feel Ximena behind me, watching, but I ignore her. “I’d dearly love to compare it to my own copy. There are a few places where I fear the text may have been altered a bit.”
His smile widens, his pointed features twitch with excitement, and I know I’ve found a friend at last. “Please, come by anytime. I take it you are adept in the Lengua Classica?”
“It’s the most beautiful language in the world.”
I could not have chosen a better response, for he claps me on the back and ushers me into a thorough tour of the monastery and its accompanying library of sacred documents. Ximena and Lord Hector follow behind in silence.
Much later, Lord Hector guides us back to our suite. We thank him and bid him good-bye, then I collapse onto my bed. I haven’t walked so much in years.
Ximena draws a bath while I rest. A breeze flutters the curtain of my balcony and rustles the fronds of a large palm. A palm! I sit straight up and look around the room. Two chairs, simple but sturdy, rest beside the strange, locked door. Several potted plants sit against the opposite wall: another palm, a tree with coin-size leaves, a tiny rose bush with soft pink buds. I lie back, smiling, not at all displeased at the prospect of thanking Cosmé.
My nurse calls me into the atrium. I worry for my new friend, Father Nicandro, and I cannot meet her gaze as I undress. She grabs my arm to support me as I step across slippery tiles into the bath. The water is delightful against my sore feet and smells faintly of cloves.
Ximena begins to knead my shoulders after I settle in, but I stop her.
“Ximena?”
“Yes, my sky?”
“Will you . . .” It’s so hard to ask, and the words feel like stones in my throat. “I mean, are you going to kill Father Nicandro?”
She gasps a little, as if catching on a sob. “Oh, Elisa.” I feel her lips press against my hair. They linger there for a long time. “No, I will not.”
I sigh and close my eyes, able to relax at last. “Thank you.”
Chapter 7
C ANDLES sputter in the breeze from my open balcony, and the words of the Scriptura Sancta blur on their pages. I am reaching over to snuff the flames when someone knocks on the mysterious door.
Ximena tumbles into my room through the atrium, her hair mussed, her face alert. I shrug in answer to her unasked question. The knock sounds again.
“Come,” I call as my nurse sidles close to my bed.
The door opens silently. Alejandro stands in the doorway, straight and tall and wonderful.
“Hello, Lucero-Elisa. Ximena.”
Ximena relaxes into a graceful curtsy. “Your Majesty.” She straightens and smiles. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to bed.”
The king and I haven’t been alone together since our wedding night.
“How was your first day in Brisadulce?” He leans against the wall; the distance between us is disappointing but safe.
“Fine.” I search for something clever to say. “Your kitchen master makes excellent honey and coconut scones.”
At his raised eyebrow, I consider pulling the covers over my head. Queen Rosaura’s delicate face and slender neck swim before me. I doubt she spent much time in the kitchens.
But his pleased smile holds no contempt; he’s taking the compliment to heart. “I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to show you around myself.”
I’m sorry too. I would have liked the excuse to cling to his arm all day. “Lord Hector was pleasant company.”
“Lord Hector is a good friend,” he says carefully. “He became my page when he was a boy. As he grew older, I took him more and more into my confidence.”
I nod politely, wondering what the point is. I haven’t