The Shadow Cats

4




ZITO, Elisa, Ximena, and I follow the conde and his mayordomo to the audience hall, which is dimly lit by grimy clerestory windows. The dry air smells faintly of incense. Dusty tables are scattered haphazardly throughout, covered with cold candles in various states of melt. It feels like a place that suffers human company rarely—a good place for secrets, perhaps.

Zito leans over and whispers, “You shamed Lady Calla’s father.”

“He shamed himself,” I whisper back. “But I don’t care about him. Unless he is the reason everyone seems so anxious? Or is it the blight on the land that has the castle on edge?”

“Maybe His Grace will tell us.”

“His Grace will tell you what?” We turn at the sound of the conde’s voice. He has edged closer to us, using his cane for support.

Zito says, “I observed that your father-in-law seems tense and unhappy, and Her Highness asked me why this might be.”

“It’s a complicated situation,” Paxón says.

The mayordomo leads us all to a mahogany table with matching chairs that creak their age as we sit.

Paxón asks the mayordomo to fetch refreshments. He stretches out his bad leg, then takes a deep breath and says, “This wedding was intended as a bold stroke, princess, a way of strengthening my countship’s border. With the Perditos to the south and the Inviernos to the east both growing audacious, I hoped to acquire a strong ally in the Hinders. I had also hoped . . .” His face turns sheepish. “That such a bold move would gain the attention and interest of your father. I want him to understand that we continue to take our duty of guarding Orovalle’s border quite seriously.”

A surge of triumph fills me, but I tamp it down. Such a gesture will require something in return from the crown, something to assure Paxón that he remains a valued vassal. One thing is certain: I will see this wedding done. It fits so neatly into my plans to shore up the region in preparation for my own reign.

The conde has fallen silent and thoughtful. “But?” I prompt.

“But . . . ever since Lady Calla and her family have arrived here, so that we might get to know one another before we wed, we have been cursed. We have lost God’s favor.”

I try not to gape at him. “Strong words. The Scriptura Sancta says, ‘It is not for man to know the intent of God.’” I glance over at Elisa to see if she notices my thinly veiled message, but if she does, she hides it well.

“And yet the signs are there,” the conde says. “We’ve plowed our fields and planted our seeds, but nothing sprouts. The trees refuse to blossom.”

Elisa leans forward. “Many things affect the arrival of God’s bounty,” she says. “Rain, cold, and so on.”

Paxón shakes his head. “We have been touched by neither late frost nor early drought. Indeed, the weather this year has been just short of perfect. But nothing grows. Almost everything that sustains this castle comes from within a league of its walls, but everything within a league is dead, save for the wild, uncultivated jungle that abuts our southern wall.”

“It does seem unnatural,” I concede.

Paxón winces at the word, but he does not deny it. “Lord Jorán has expressed doubts about going through with the wedding. He fears God’s wrath. Thus far Isodel remains untouched, but if it is some kind of blight, it is bound to spread. Besides that, all these extra guests have depleted our stores, which we expected to replenish with early crops. Fights have broken out between Lord Jorán’s soldiers and my own. And then . . .” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair.

I exchange a worried look with Zito. “And then?” I say.

“There is Espiritu,” he says.

“Espiritu?” Elisa asks. “What is that?”

“He appeared about a month ago,” Paxón says. “They call him Espiritu for the way he slips into sheep pens and chicken coops and melts away with his prey. He makes no sound, leaves no mark save for an occasional drop of blood or a scattering of feathers. But they hear him in the night, screaming at the moon in rage and heartbreak. Our soldiers have searched the hills for him, but they find only empty cottages, marked with signs of blood and violence.”

“A jaguar, maybe?” Elisa says. “Man-eaters are rare, but not unknown. There was a pair that worked together, terrorizing the northern holdings for several years before they were hunted down and killed.”

“How do you know about the shadow cats, Your Highness?” says Paxón, and I don’t appreciate the mockery in his tone. “Have you hunted them yourself?”

“I . . . I’ve read about them. I read a lot.”

“Then let me tell you some things that you will not find in books. Our seamstress was working just the other night, sewing a flounce onto Lady Calla’s wedding terno by candlelight. Espiritu screamed, sending shivers through her heart. When she awoke in the morning, she discovered the flounce’s seam had gone crooked, the stitches slipped, as if even the terno could not bear Espiritu’s jagged grief.”

“Well, perhaps she should not sew by candlelight,” Elisa says. But my skin prickles.

Paxón continues, undeterred. “And two nights ago, when the ostler was oiling the tack for my mount, the one I’ll ride in the wedding procession, the great cat screamed again and panicked the horses. It took half the night to soothe them. In the morning, the ostler discovered that rats had fouled the last of the oats and the barrel of apples had gone to rot.”

“How can the cry of a great cat do that?” Elisa says. “It is more likely caused by the same thing that poisoned your fields.”

I wince. Elisa possesses all the subtlety of a cudgel. “My dear sister,” I say. “Let us respect their wisdom in these matters. Perhaps Espiritu is the instrument of God’s judgment.”

Ximena lays a hand on Elisa’s arm, but my sister ignores her. “But what is being done here that God would wish to cast judgment on?” she says.

“The wedding, maybe?” says the conde. “Though why—”

The door cracks open, and Lady Calla and Lupita enter, followed by the little girl’s nurse, who is anxiously wringing her hands.

“Please join us, Lady Calla,” I say, indicating an empty chair.

Calla pushes the little girl ahead of her. She has donned a clean dress, and most of the wildness has been brushed from her hair, though she still wears the mud-covered slippers. I smile to think of the many times Zito or my attendants tried to clean me up in a hurry, only to discover later that they had missed a bit of bramble or a pair of slippers.

“We are sorry for interrupting you,” Calla says. “Guadalupe-Esteva, go on now. Apologize to the princess.”

I fold my hands in front of me, bemused. Maybe I will ask her to serve as my personal page while I am here.

She walks over to Elisa and drops into a curtsy.

“I’m very sorry that I asked you personal questions, Your Highness,” Lupita says. “It was . . .” She looks up at Lady Calla and gets a nod of encouragement. “It was disrespectful and inappropriate,” she finishes.

“You are forgiven,” Elisa tells her graciously, with no reprimand and no instruction.

Just like that. My jaw clenches. It is well and good to be so indulgent, to never demand recriminations or consequences, when one does not have to consider the responsibilities of ruling.

“Are you excited about the wedding?” Elisa asks the little girl.

“I was supposed to be a flower girl, but there are no flowers.”

“We’ll find some dried flowers for you to carry,” Calla says, resting her hand on the girl’s head.

“They aren’t the same,” Lupita says.

“No, they aren’t,” Elisa says, pulling something from the little girl’s hair. “Where did this nettle come from?”

“By the creek,” Lupita says.

“And I bet there were red flowers on those stems,” Elisa says. “Scarlet hedge nettle is so tough that nothing can stop it from blooming. I saw huge clumps of it on our way here.”

“It’s just a weed,” Lupita says.

“It’s a beautiful weed,” Elisa answers. “And the perfect flower for you to carry, for it is like the people of Khelia, strong and unstoppable, capable of blooming and thriving where nothing else can grow.”

I study my sister thoughtfully. I didn’t even notice the flowers she speaks of.

“You may gather some tomorrow,” Calla says. “Now it is time for bed.”

She gestures for the nurse to lead Lupita away. The girl practically bounces out the door, listing all the places she has seen scarlet hedge nettle.

“Thank you for your kindness to my niece,” Calla says, addressing both of us. “Her mother, my sister, died several years ago. Lupita has become very special to me.”

“To both of us,” Paxón says softly. The look they exchange is one of understanding and affection. Rulers rarely get to marry those they care for. There is certainly no love match in my future, and I am a bit envious of them. It leaves me feeling even more determined to see this wedding through.

The mayordomo returns with a tray of savory pastries: small puffs filled with diced mushrooms, cheese and chive scones, and tiny quiches with red pepper. Elisa downs a handful of the mushroom puffs before I’ve made my first selection, and I glance around, a bit embarrassed, but no one else seemed to notice.

We speak of small, safe topics for a while, such as last winter’s unusually low snowline, the growing price of lumber, and whether or not Ventierra wine is the finest in the world. I’m glad for the opportunity to ignore the tension around us and be merely pleasant together. As a child, I found such exchanges tedious and awful, but lately I’ve come to appreciate the power of a seemingly senseless conversation to establish trust and heal relationships. I’m about to ask how Paxón and Calla first met when Elisa rises from her chair.

“I’d like to spend some time praying tonight,” she says. “If you’ll all excuse me . . .” Everyone stands when she does, and I’m torn between frustration at her gracelessness and relief that she will soon be gone, leaving me to finesse everything without her interference.

I’m leaning forward to give her a formal kiss on the cheek when the cat screams.

It’s high-pitched and wild, like breaking glass and deepest anguish. My whole body turns to gooseflesh, and my heart kicks at my ribs like a panicked horse trying to break from its stall. I’m not the only one so affected. We all stand frozen for the span of several heartbeats.

Paxón is the first to collect himself, and his face is pale as a ghost’s as he says, “It came from the eastern garden. Inside the—”

A woman screams.