22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Now, now, my good man, this is no time to be making enemies." Voltaire on his deathbed in response to a priest asking him to renounce Satan."When did Canastra retire?" Pedro Daun asked while working on the door latch.

"One hour. I administered enough chloral hydrate to fell a horse. He should be sound asleep now." Henrique watched both ends of the corridor.

The palace was silent. Moonlight spilled from the mullioned windows, giving a sickly pallor to the slumbering guards. Dio’s chambermaid had delivered the soporific wine to the duke’s minions. Now both slept, their boots casting shadows on the hall.

He eyed Pedro’s black-gloved hands as they coaxed the lock into revealing its secrets. For the tenth time this night, he wondered why Pedro bothered with the king’s letters. Call him a cynic, but he didn’t buy the whole ´the country’s stability is at risk’ speech. Henrique wouldn’t be in Spain if not for the king’s coercion. But Pedro? He knew his friend well. Ambitious? Always. Patriotic? When it suited him.

The door gave in with a startled click. While Dio stayed outside guarding the corridor, Henrique and Pedro invaded the dimly lit chamber. A single lamp burned in the corner, giving a phantasmagoric sheen to the life-sized paintings. The air was as still as it was stale. While the four-poster curtains were drawn, the heavy drapery couldn’t shield them from Canastra’s loud snores.

Chests, an escritoire, bookshelves, two tallboys, and a Chinese commode cramped the space. Henrique shuddered at the infinite number of drawers, nooks, and crannies the deranged duke could have used to hide the letters.

After a silent exchange, Pedro took the shelves, and Henrique dragged himself to the Chinese monstrosity. Silently, he opened the first of the dozens of tiny compartments, half expecting to see another Priapus statue. Only the dregs of a lifetime collecting knick-knacks stared back at him.

Even now, ears assaulted by the duke’s vibrating uvula, he could not stop thinking about his perfect princess. Somewhere inside the palace, she slept. Did she feel cold during the night? Would she kick her covers and curl her hands near her cheek? He would give up the right to name a new species just to open her door and nudge her aside. When she protested, and knowing Isabel, she would protest, he would tell her he always slept on the right side. That settled, he would pillow her face on his chest and—

"You didn’t tell me Canastra was a collector," Pedro said, startling him from his awakened dreams. "He has three El Grecos and two Goyas decorating his bedchamber walls." A hint of bitterness colored his voice.

Henrique chuckled. "I forgot you enjoyed art in between training your horses and conquering the world."

"That’s in the past."

When the clock struck one in the morning, Henrique closed the last drawer and paced away from the ornery piece of furniture. How futile. Since Canastra hoarded everything, they would find only moths and dust.

The duke moaned. Then, guttural words escaped his mouth, the Spanish too fast for him to understand.

Henrique stopped pacing. Perhaps finding the letters was one of the herculean jobs requiring more wit than physical exertion. If the duke was a night speaker… "I will ask him."

Pedro cocked his head.

"Canastra is drugged, but his subconscious is still working. If given the right incentive, he might disclose the location."

Pedro nodded. "He can recognize you. I’ll do it."

Henrique walked to the bedside, his steps muffled by a tiger’s skin.

Pedro covered his head with his mantle. Dressed all in black, feral eyes flashing through the hood’s shadows, he could make Hades vacate the underworld.

Grinning, Henrique whistled under his breath. "You might succeed if you wish to kill him in fright."

"You said he was religious. A glimpse of the Devil will give him the right incentive to pray."

Pedro unsheathed his saber. Moonlight glinted off the steel. Countless men had seen the same shine seconds before their lives were snuffed. Henrique shuddered, glad his army days were long gone.

Pedro poised the sword above Canastra’s head. "Awake, vermin, or be forever falling."

A quote from Milton’s Paradise Lost? Clever touch, Henrique thought.

"Now."

Pedro’s voice commanded—a general haranguing a lazy corporal. Canastra’s eyelids shot open and then rounded with terror.

Clutching the sheets, the duke scrambled backward until the bed rail curtailed his escape. "I’m not ready to die."

"Prepare for the final judgment."

The duke scrunched his face as if readying for a blow. "No, no! So much to do. She… she needs me."

Pedro touched the duke’s chin with the steel. "Say your last prayers."

"Please, not yet, my lord." The duke placed both his palms in front of his chest. "Spain needs me."

“Does she now?” Pedro sheathed the saber. “Never say the Devil is not a patriot.”

The scent of hanging game and anchovies permeated the crowded tavern. A Flamenco musician, his bald head reflecting the crude gas lights, played his guitar while a dancer clapped her castanets. Henrique clinked his glass with Pedro’s. Canastra had revealed the letters’ location, and now the proof of Dom Luis’ indiscretion lay inside Henrique’s pocket. Not bad for a clandestine night’s work.

If the king had been coerced to send Isabel here, they eliminated Canastra’s leverage. Henrique had half a mind to haul Isabel and take her back to Lisbon tomorrow. Canastra’s face when he spoke about his plans for Spain had been too devious for Henrique’s peace of mind.

Dio clapped his hands when the couple finished their performance, his eyes admiring the woman’s legs. On cue, a trio of doxies approached the table.

Pedro waved tersely, dismissing the company. Henrique smiled at the heavily painted girl but shook his head in denial. His hands had only yesterday touched a princess… He wondered if they would ever settle for anyone else.

Eyeing Henrique with shock, Dio rose. "Ignore my friends’ rudeness.” After flinging his arms over the girl’s shoulders, he steered them to the private rooms in the back. "I’m enough to entertain a crowd."

Henrique cleared his throat. "Santiago should have been there. And Gabriel. They would’ve enjoyed your Lucifer impression. Your Latin is still top form."

“I had the best tutor.” A shadow fell over Pedro’s features, and he extended his hand. “The letters.”

Henrique opened his coat but hesitated. What would Pedro do with them? More blackmail? Would it somehow threaten Isabel? "You are making a lot of effort for Dom Luis. I did not know you were close to him." As far as Henrique knew, Pedro had been Fernando’s best friend, the king’s deceased younger brother.

"I’m not." Pedro kept his arm extended, waiting.

Henrique closed his jacket and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why the hurry? The night is still young."

Pedro narrowed his eyes. "These letters are a threat to the country’s political stability. People don’t realize how close we could be to the turmoil lived by the Spanish."

"You are curtailing your summer holidays with Anne for patriotism? Tell me another tale. I know you too well."

Pedro’s jaw locked, and his gaze flicked to the saber. The same that had hovered over Canastra’s head and forced the man to spill his secrets. Henrique wasn’t surprised. The Pedro he knew considered all options to get what he wanted, including violence.

The castanets resumed, their incessant clatter pounding on his skull.

Henrique would not back down, damn it. Either Pedro told him why he wanted the letters, or he would burn them. He tensed to stand.

Pedro clasped his shoulder, and their gazes locked. A second passed, two. The murderous glint left Pedro’s gaze. Whatever battle he had raged inside his head, the peaceful side won.

"Anne loves Portugal," Pedro said between gritted teeth.

And Pedro Daun loved the British girl. “So naturally, you will save it for her.” Henrique leaned back in the chair.

"I will do that and much more." Pedro’s eyes hardened, and the grip on the glass turned his knuckles white. "She placed a knife against her own throat for me. In the arena last year, she thought my life was worthier than hers. She was wrong. But I won’t let her change her mind."

Pedro would wear the shiny armor, not because he cared about old Portugal, with its rugged cliffs and rustic vineyards, but because of one person who lived in it. Wordlessly, Henrique removed the sheath of letters from his breast pocket. They still smelled of cheap perfume. Before, Luis’s peccadilloes would have entertained him. Now he felt disgusted.

He passed the pile to Pedro. "You have the letters. I will take Isabel back to Lisbon."

"Not yet." Pedro stared at his glass. "Canastra has plans for Spain. You will stay here until we understand what those entail."

"You are insane. What of Isabel’s security?"

"I think she would agree there is a time for sacrifices—"

"Bullshit. If it is not safe for Isabel here, I will—"

"Until we know Canastra’s plans, it isn’t safe for her anywhere. The border garrisons are active. If you wish to protect her, you must be vigilant. The duke’s correspondence, his private talks—suspect everything." Pedro stored the letters inside his coat and stood. "I’ll be close by."

The tavern crowd opened to let Pedro pass. Henrique cursed under his breath. His trip to Comillas had indeed turned into a Hydra of Lerne. No matter how many heads he chopped off, they returned to bite his ass. Dio strolled back to the table, a grin splitting his face.

Why was it so hot in here? Angrily, Henrique tugged at his cravat and removed the coat. A sheet fell from the inner pocket and landed near Dio’s feet.

"You should have joined us. The girls were better company than the brooding Count of Almoster," Dio said, bending down to collect the paper. "What’s this?"

Henrique rolled his shoulders. "It must have been among the letters."

"A death certificate?" Dio scrunched his face, and then his eyes widened. "I can’t believe it." He lowered it slowly. "The date, the location, the name. This belongs to the friar. The one who cursed the Braganzas. For at least a century, kings and queens have been searching for his resting place."

Henrique took the paper from Dio’s hand. It looked frail and ancient. Could it be true? The curse had been haunting the royal family for decades. He didn’t like to believe in such nonsense, but the fact was, no firstborn of the royal house survived to assume the throne. Why had Canastra been keeping this?