He freezes, inhaling sharply.
We regard each other for a long moment. His jaw is warm in my palms. My right ring finger trails into his soft hairline. I watch carefully as the mania fades from his eyes.
“I need you to be clear-headed, Hector. I need that from you more than anyone.”
He whispers, “I can’t fail to protect you too.” With gentle fingers, he peels my hands from his face. They’re so much bigger, rough with calluses. “He was my best friend. I let him die. I dream . . .” His voice trails off.
“That’s your nightmare, isn’t it? The one you wouldn’t tell me about? You dream of Alejandro’s death.”
“No. Not him.”
I expect him to drop my hands, to put distance between us the way he always does. But he merely changes the subject. “Elisa, you take too many risks. Every day. Like just now, interviewing the Invierno yourself. The animagus who burned himself alive could have hurt you if he wanted to. We were helpless to stop him. You almost died in the catacombs. And the poison . . .”
“You saved my life in the catacombs.”
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
No, he shouldn’t have. My face grows hot with shame. Hector is the most honorable man I know, devoted to his country, to his duty, to me. And I have prevented him from doing what is most important to him. “You advised me to cancel the birthday parade. You advised me not to go to the catacombs alone. You can’t be blamed for my stubbornness.”
He looks down at our entwined hands and mumbles, “And yet I like your stubbornness.”
And abruptly, he releases them. I let them fall to my sides, where they ache coldly.
He says, “Dismiss me.”
“No.”
“I’ve failed to protect you. Someone else should—”
“I don’t want anyone else.” My own words echo in the air around me, hammering me with their truth, and I can’t contain my slight gasp. I don’t want anyone else.
He runs a hand through his hair, looks everywhere but at me. Silence stretches between us.
“I’ve been a fool,” I admit finally. “I’ve been so afraid of seeming weak. Of being like . . . like Alejandro. I’ve made bad decisions. Hector, you are the person I trust most in the world. I would do better to heed your counsel. And from now on, I will. But I promise you . . .” I force a smile. “If I die? You are definitely dismissed.” I hold my breath and await his response. I know the morbid joke will either infuriate him or put him at ease.
After a moment he shakes his head ruefully. He returns my forced smile with his own feeble attempt and says, “In that case, today I will teach you nothing more than the warm-up series practiced by the Royal Guard. In addition to strengthening and stretching your muscles, I think you’ll find it meditative and calming.”
I exhale my relief. “Good. I could use ‘meditative and calming’ right now.”
“Turn around.” From behind, he reaches for my right arm and gently lifts it to shoulder level. “I’ll guide your movements.”
But something in the air has changed. I am too deeply aware of the warmth of his nearness, the scents of mink oil and aloe shaving gel, the touch of his callused but gentle fingers. And I am forced to conclude that doing the slow, dancelike warm-up exercises of the Royal Guard with Hector as my partner is not calming at all.
Chapter 13
That evening, I send Mara to bed early for some healing rest. Ximena helps me don my nightgown, then leaves for a late night of poring over musty documents with Fathers Nicandro and Alentín.
In spite of everything that has happened, in spite of my doubts about God and his will and his words, I still find the Scriptura Sancta to be a soothing balm to the day’s stresses, and I look forward to reading each night by candlelight before sleeping.
But I am too restless tonight. The words blur on the page. After I’ve read the same sentence several times without comprehending, I toss the manuscript onto the quilt and swing my legs over the edge of my bed. I grab the candle and its brass holder from my bedside table and carry it toward the atrium.
In the archway, I say to the guards, “I would like some privacy, please.” They oblige by turning their backs as I enter.
The water in my ever-circulating bathing pool shimmers blue, and I don’t have to look up at the skylight to know that the moon is full or near to it. As I approach with my candle, shards of reflected flame-light dance on the surface.
I set the candle on the tiled edge of the pool.
Before me is my vanity mirror—and my own reflection. I wear a silk nightgown of pale lavender edged in delicate lace. The looseness of the gown drapes pleasantly, flatteringly, and my thick sleeping braid snakes around one shoulder almost to my waist. My skin glows in the candlelight. I feel almost beautiful.