Los Cielos

Los Cielos by Michelle L. Levigne Published by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc. Copyright © 2008 ISBN: 978-1-58749-654-7 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Chapter One "I don’t really want to be a queen." Lita concentrated on tying bunches of Queen’s Crown with cotton thread, to hang upside down to dry. "Stuff and nonsense." Charles Van Worton snorted and traded amused glances with his widowed sister, Ermengarde St. Just. The little family had just settled in for another quiet, studious winter Sunday afternoon in the front parlor of their brownstone on the edge of the fashionable quarter of Manhattan. Van Worton, referred to by all who knew him as the Professor, spent Sundays reading from the week’s accumulation of newspapers, occasionally sharing something with his sister and their ward. Ermengarde sewed and studied whatever new educational pamphlet had come during the week. Lita had her own studies to pursue, along with tending the row of pots of the herb, Queen’s Crown, that was her sole province. When she finished those weekly tasks, she took up the papers the Professor had finished with and scanned them, making notes for herself about current world events. The quiet life suited them, though they were never loathe to accept an invitation to a friend’s house for an evening of chess or bridge or music. Charles Van Worton was wealthy enough that his peers tolerated his scholarly pursuits and vocal support of the Suffragist movement. Not a few were of the opinion that his support was mostly to placate charmingly outspoken Ermengarde. Still more of their acquaintances, both friends and detractors, decided that the two slightly eccentric, elderly folks were admitted into the best society solely for the sake of their ward, Miss Elizabeth Seal-Croft. Society matrons found her charming, despite being far too well educated for a proper young lady. Her wealth, quiet manners and dark, exotic good looks made up for the mystery of her parentage, which Van Worton and his sister declined to reveal. "You are destined to be a queen, my dear. It is a waste of energy to wish for something that will not happen," the Professor continued. "What will not happen is Prince Esteban sending for me." Lita tucked an ebony curl back into her comfortable Gibson Girl twist and picked up the bundles of flowers she had finished tying. "He does not want to marry me, any more than I wish to marry him." "How can you be sure of that?" Ermengarde murmured, most of her attention caught in the pamphlet reporting abuse suffered by women who attempted to vote the previous fall in Chicago. "It has been nearly a year since you heard from him." "Exactly. I write to him regularly, sharing what I have learned in my studies, asking

questions about the histories of our families and the geography of Los Cielos, and he barely responds to anything, when he deigns to write to me at all. He does not want to marry me. We should have considered the betrothal void when Emmanuel died. It is undignified for a man to inherit his brother’s intended bride, just as it is undignified for me to be treated like chattel and passed from one brother to another." She punctuated her pronouncement with a sharp nod and headed for the door. "You adored Emmanuel," the Professor observed placidly, folding the current newspaper onto his lap. "That could be part of it. You still have a broken heart." "I was a child." Lita blinked back a few tears and forced a careless smile onto her lips. "Emmanuel visited me twice a year since we were betrothed. He sent me presents and wrote me letters once a month. He treated me as an adult, despite fifteen years between us. He promised he would take me to Italy and France and Switzerland on our wedding trip. When I turned eighteen. I am twenty now. I am tired of waiting for a man who does not want to marry me. A man I have never met." She took a deep breath, visibly fighting for her usual serenity. "Most of all, I am tired of feeling like a disgruntled, spoiled child. Living in limbo as I do is not good for anyone’s nerves." "You? Nerves?" Ermengarde put down her pamphlet and indulged in a delicate snort. "Nervy, rather. And I’m proud of you for being able to speak your mind and analyze exactly what it is you feel. And I am sorry, my dearest child. As archaic as it is, with all the superstitions and un-provable history and phenomena associated with it, you must marry Prince Esteban. The future of the nation of Los Cielos depends on you." "Primitive pagan fertility rituals," the Professor said with a louder, deeper snort. "Rejoining two branches of one family, breaking a curse, bringing life back to a desert valley. Stuff and nonsense. It went out with a belief in faeries and witches. This is the dawn of the twentieth century, the age of reason." "Then you’ll write to Prince Esteban and tell him the betrothal is null and void?" Lita said, with no real hope of a positive answer. She wasn’t quite sure why she argued, because she believed, deep in her soul, in the history and heritage and destiny that had wrapped around her since the day she was born. What girl didn’t want to be a princess from a faerie tale, born in exile, raised in hiding, awaiting the day her betrothed prince came to claim her, to break the curse on an enchanted kingdom hidden in the mountains of the Pyrenees? Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and a dozen other princesses never knew the faces of their princes until they broke the curse imprisoning them and claimed them as brides, so why did the lack of communication with Prince Esteban bother her so much? "I’m sorry, my dear. I made a promise to your father. It was his last wish that you reclaim the throne of your ancestors." The Professor tossed aside his newspaper.

"Come, finish your task, and when you return, suppose we have a rousing game of chess?" Lita agreed, and hurried away to the dry, shadowed room where she hung the Queen’s Crown to dry. The sweet-sour aromatic flower, tiny golden buds on black stalks, only grew in the mountains around the valley of Los Cielos. She had no way of knowing if that was for sure, or just another story among many her father told her when she was a child. Botanist friends of the Professor’s had studied the flower and proclaimed it a totally unknown species, so Lita thought it could be true. She had grown Queen’s Crown all her life, drying it to use in tea or put the powder in cuts or make into a poultice to put on bruises, to speed healing. It soothed headaches and stomachaches and fevers. She imagined it was something like the legendary plants that healed deadly wounds when applied by royal hands. According to the Professor’s friends, she was the only one who could get it to grow. Despite the hundreds of seeds she gave them over the years, the plants never grew anywhere but in the tiny parlor garden under her care. Her chore took only a few minutes, but instead of returning immediately to the front parlor, she climbed the stairs to her suite of rooms. In her study, she settled down on the chaise set in front of the window for the best reading light, and opened the small trunk where she stored her treasures. Two framed portraits, miniatures painted in the old style, sat on top of the pile of letters and favorite books, dried flowers, maps and theater programs. She picked them up, one in each hand, and settled back on the chaise. In the right hand she held the portrait of her father, so elegant with his thick mass of blue-black curls, impossible to tame to the current fashions. His goatee framed a mouth that hovered between somber concentration and laughter. He looked off into the distance. During the torturous years of her adolescence, she had imagined her father’s gaze focused on the lost kingdom of Los Cielos. Lita had inherited her large black eyes, thick blue-black curls and her square, stubborn chin from him. The other portrait was of Prince Emmanuel, the heir to the other royal family that laid claim to the throne of Los Cielos. He smiled, just slightly, and she imagined she saw laughter in his big dark eyes. Square face, stern jaw, wide cheekbones, and a tangle of wind-tossed hair. He was a prince out of faerie tales. She remembered meeting him when she was only five years old. He was so tall, so broad-shouldered, so elegant. He quite won her heart when he bowed to her and didn’t get down on one knee and talk baby talk to her, like other adults did. He kissed her hand, like she had seen men do to grown women. They were betrothed when she was eight, when her father judged she was old enough to understand exactly what it meant. For a betrothal present, Emmanuel gave her a box of maps of the Pyrenees and sketches of Los Cielos, both the present arid wasteland, and the lush, fertile valley it had once been. Lita found that far more satisfying than the emerald earrings and necklace that came with the maps and sketches, and Emmanuel laughed when she told him so. He made her

promise that she wouldn’t dance with anyone but dancing teachers until he came to claim her first official dance when she turned fifteen. He sent her long letters and souvenirs from all the places where he traveled, and shared his ideas for how to reclaim the valley of Los Cielos, so it would once again be world-renowned for its lush vineyards and excellent wines. Emmanuel died when she was fourteen. Lita shuddered, remembering the telegram that came from Prince Esteban, so curtly announcing the death of his brother. No words of sympathy, no details. Five months later, a frustratingly short letter came with the details. Emmanuel had been set upon by thugs in Paris, murdered for his elegant evening clothes and his purse. His body had never been retrieved, thrown into the river and most likely devoured by fishes before it could wash up on a beach somewhere. Just as her father’s body had never been retrieved. She supposed it still lay under the pile of rocks from the avalanche that had killed him during his third attempt to find an entrance into Los Cielos. When she entered the valley, if she ever went to Los Cielos, Lita vowed to find the place where her father had died and retrieve his body for a proper burial. Until she could bury his remains, she supposed her dreams of her father, gray-haired and earnest, would continue to haunt her. He wore black like a priest, and tried to tell her something, but she could never hear his voice and his face was always blurred, so she couldn’t read his lips. In some ways, she supposed she refused to accept the deaths of either man. Lita had received a letter from Emmanuel, two months after his reported death, with no date on it, and so many postmarks from foreign countries she couldn’t track the route it had taken to reach her. She had been lucky enough to be home alone when the post was delivered, and never shared the contents with anyone, not even the Professor and Ermengarde. Angry tears tried to blur her eyes, and she blinked them away as she slipped the precious letter from the pocket she fashioned on the back of the tiny portrait. Lita hadn’t read the letter in nearly three months. She wondered how many more times she could read it before it fell to pieces in her hands. Mi Preciosa Infanta. My dearest Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos. I fear that we shall not see each other again for a very long time. Longer than even you, so clever and wise, can imagine. The dangers that threaten our united throne grow closer as the weeks and months go by and our pending marriage approaches.

Dearest Lita, I cannot emphasize enough times, or strongly enough, that you must hold fast and refuse to believe the cruel things that you might hear in the weeks and months to come. Do not doubt me. I will come for you and make you a queen. You are already the queen of my heart, my inspiration to be the best king any kingdom could ever desire. I know I need not remind you to continue in your studies of agriculture and architecture and all the things our people will need, to emerge from the Dark Ages and join the twentieth century. You and I must lead them, their examples in all things. We will not be like other kings and queens, lording it over our people, dressing in silk and jewels earned by the sweat and pain and poverty of our people. We will be rather like benevolent landlords, devoted to their welfare. Thinking otherwise was the downfall of our ancestors. The royal sisters who destroyed and cursed Los Cielos were proud and cruel. They had been ordained to rule together, commanded before witnesses on the day the queen, their mother, died. But the older declared herself the heir and the younger created lies to prove her sister was illegitimate and unworthy to inherit. I have often asked myself, what did it matter? They were not inheriting from their father, but from their mother. It was her blood that determined their inheritance, not his. Be that as it may, the people were divided because the sisters were divided and there was little love in the people for the royal family, even before that argument began. The sisters fought and schemed and destroyed the vineyards so one would not profit if she succeeded in destroying the other. And when your ancestress realized what she had done and repented of her sins, her sister would not reconcile. My ancestress caused avalanches to fill and destroy the passages into the valley, and your ancestress led the people to safety through underground tunnels. She was the last to leave, and when she pulled the stone doors closed, she prayed to Heaven that no life would touch the valley of Los Cielos until the two sisters had reconciled and the divided family was united again. You and I must unite our divided family and bring life back to Los Cielos. We will see the valley green with vineyards again, and hear the music of water flowing from all the springs that are now dry. We will break the curse. I swear my life, my soul, my eternal destiny, to that task. Our destiny, my princess, will not permit us to die until it is fulfilled. Always remember that, and remember that I remain your adoring, faithful servant and guard, Prince Emmanuel Alberto Carlos de Veritas.

Chapter Two One lighting bolt struck ground at the tail end of the vicious spring storm. The power from the sky hit with a deafening crack, making sparks and shards of rock and moss spatter like shrapnel from a fractured cannon. The soldiers caught in the middle of the storm were painfully familiar with malfunctioning cannons and other weapons. Several of the older, scarred foot soldiers crossed themselves and muttered in the patois that was a mix of Spanish and French, prevalent here in the Pyrenees. The captain standing at the head of the troop, daring the turbulent winds to knock him off the plateau and the driving rain to blind him, only sneered and considered their reaction weakness. He marked the spot where the lighting bolt had struck ground, and when the rain slowed enough to allow the patrol to move forward again, he led the way. The narrow, steep-sided ravine would have been invisible at any other time, but the weird half-light of the storm cast shadows at odd angles and made it easy to see. Despite the captain’s usual cynicism, his mind churned with possibilities. His imagination conjured up visions of what he might find at the end of that lighting strike. His master would be pleased, and reward him greatly, if he finally succeeded in his quest. The lighting strike had cut a swath in the hard-baked clay, stripped away the tenuous moss that clung to the sides of the ravine, and revealed a hollow in the rock itself. The captain snapped his fingers. His lieutenant struck flint and lit the sealed lantern that hung from his saddle. The object of the captain’s mission was too important to leave in the hands of mere foot soldiers, or even his junior officers. He dismounted and climbed through the rubble torn out of the steep side of the ravine. It formed a rough staircase, letting him climb up to the gash cut through the rock. He ignored the mud and water smearing the pristine gray of his precisely creased uniform. He barely reacted when he slipped and fell, tearing his sleeve. The older soldiers crossed themselves again when the captain disappeared into the mouth of the small cave. His lantern illuminated the interior just long enough to give tantalizing glimpses of scarlet, azure and the glimmer of gold. Then the captain turned, blocking the opening with his back. He snapped orders, and his lieutenant and sergeant scurried to climb up and stand with their backs to the entrance, blocking it from everyone’s sight. When he came out more than an hour later, the captain’s jacket bulged with something rectangular, longer than his hand, tucked inside and held in place with his belt. He mounted his horse and rode away, leaving his lieutenant with orders.

The foot soldiers labored to cover the opening, dragging tree branches up to jam into the gaps between the boulders. Others brought handfuls of clay to plaster over the rubble, and strips of moss and weeds. A few dared to look inside and described a room cut from the rock, with glorious, holy paintings full of beautiful colors, edged with gold. The lieutenant didn’t bark orders to stop looking or be silent. A few of the older soldiers gave each other fearful looks, because such tolerance was unusual from an officer. When they finished, the lieutenant had them line up with their backs to the opening they had just hidden. He thanked them for their hard work, for their loyalty to the throne of Los Cielos. Then he and the sergeant opened fire. Before the echoes of the last shots faded, every man lay on the ground, either crippled by shots to the legs or felled by bullets to the head. The lieutenant and sergeant calmly walked through the sprawl of bleeding, weeping, cursing men and slit the throat of anyone who moved. Then they mounted their horses and followed their captain. Before the echoes of the horses’ hooves faded, shadows split from the darkness filling the ravine with the fall of night. Figures in black robes and hoods surrounded the dead and dying. They examined each man. All but two they left where they lay. The black-robed figures bound those two men with bandages torn from their robes and carried them away. *** An ancient Roman villa sat on a high plateau overlooking a wide, desolate valley where the beds of dead rivers writhed across the landscape. Lavishness and luxury filled the villa, in contrast to the devastated landscape that was once lush and greener than emeralds, while the winds moaned where the songs of vineyard workers once filled the air. The captain stood waiting on the wide balcony extending from the lip of the plateau, feeling like a vulture looking down on the dead landscape. Despite the rain that had fallen in torrents outside the valley, everything was parched and dusty inside, as it had been for the last two centuries. When he let himself think about that anomaly, whispers of legends insisted on striding through his mind. He didn’t put any more stock in the stories of the glory days of Los Cielos than he did tales of the Black Monks who guarded the valley and hid it from the eyes of the world. His only faith lay in his master, Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas. "You must have found something amazing, to come here in less than pristine condition," a rich, amused voice drawled from behind him. The captain went down on one knee and immediately dug inside his coat. "Majesty. Please honor me by taking this token of devotion and service from my humble hands."

His gloved hands supported a key carved of silver stone, streaked with veins of gold. It had the shape of a skeleton key, old-fashioned and simplistic, too big for any lock either captain or prince had ever seen. Despite its size, it felt as light as air in the captain’s hands, so he wondered if it were hollow inside. "The Key of Earth," Prince Esteban breathed. He raked a ring-encrusted, muscular hand through his raven curls, heavy with macassar oil, and stared at the mythical treasure resting on the captain’s filthy gloves. Not so mythical any longer, he realized a moment later. Tugging his crimson silk smoking jacket straight, he crossed the pavement and reached out his hand. The scars from old dueling wounds glimmered white in the fading afternoon light. His fingertips brushed the surface of the key and silver light illuminated those scars, making them look like ice. The key glowed softly like phosphorescent mold in deep, damp caves. Prince Esteban slid his fingers around the key and the light grew stronger. He laughed, a triumphant rasp, and clenched his fingers around the stone shaft. "Proof!" He raised it over his head, and the setting sun’s crimson rays fractured on the bars of the key and spilled like blood over his head. "I am the true heir to Los Cielos. I am the one who will make it a treasure again. The legends..." He growled and lowered his arm. "The legends are right, because the key does exist, but that doesn’t mean they’re totally right. Eh, my friend?" "The legends, Majesty, say the princess will unlock the prison that holds the heart of the rivers. If you now hold the key, then the legend lies." The captain stayed kneeling, but he raised his head and his black eyes glittered in satisfaction like his prince’s. "Indeed, if I hold the key, then what need do I have for the princess?" "She is now a liability," the captain offered. Prince Esteban nodded and took a step closer, to rest his heavy, scarred hand on the captain’s shoulder. "You are my friend because you battle the barriers that stand between me and my rightful throne. Continue in your loyal service, and you will have my eternal gratitude." "Majesty." The captain rose to his feet and bowed deeply. He strode up the steps from the balcony, putting the drought-stricken, abandoned valley of Los Cielos far behind him. Esteban turned to the valley and held the key out, as if the ghosts of ten generations could see his triumph. He shook his clenched fist.

"The key is mine. The throne is mine. Los Cielos is mine," he called, and his voice died in the rising moan of the winds rising up from the valley floor. *** When the moon climbed through the shreds of clouds and spilled down watery silver light, more soldiers crept through the ravine filled with death. They wore black uniforms, with the flower called Queen’s Crown embroidered on their shoulders and cuffs. A scar-faced man with black hair and eyes led them. They uncovered the cave the dead soldiers had buried, and their leader climbed inside. He said nothing, but the sternness of his expression when he climbed out of the cave made the men tremble. They crossed themselves as they re-buried the cave, and several of them paused to sprinkle the dead bodies with holy water and to whisper prayers over them. Then they followed their leader into the night.

Chapter Three Lita woke with her heart in her throat. The terror that turned her blood to ice water made her furious. She refused to be a trembling, teary child, dependent on the protection and guidance of others. "Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos," she chanted through gritted teeth. Four times, she chanted, until her heart slowed and she could hear the night song of insects through the rapid thudding in her ears. Around her, the brownstone mansion seemed to sigh and go back to sleep. Lita closed her eyes and listened, imagining invisible roots streaming out through her body, going through the imported rugs and floorboards and brick walls, penetrating the sidewalks and other barriers, until she could hear every sound, sense every movement in the neighborhood. Ermengarde might sigh and roll her eyes and mutter about Lita’s potent imagination. The Professor would nod, his gaze turning inward, and he would ask her probing questions about what she sensed when she sent her consciousness roaming. Lita knew better than to tell either of her guardians about this night’s awakening. Neither the recurring nightmare nor her need to assure herself the neighborhood was indeed safe was anyone’s business but her own. After all, she was twenty years old, only four months away from twenty-one, independently wealthy, a crack shot and expert horsewoman and qualified to work as a pharmacist, surgeon, midwife and lawyer, if she had been allowed to go beyond theory into actual hands-on practice. All her life, she had prepared herself for the harsh, heavy work involved in bringing a devastated nation back to life. All her life, it had seemed like little more than a particularly fascinating, sometimes infuriating and troublesome faerie tale. She had taken all the Professor’s lessons to heart, devouring every bit of knowledge, eagerly tackling every challenge. Why had she never fully accepted her destiny? It had certainly accepted her. Sighing, Lita climbed out of bed. She ignored her satin slippers sitting primly next to her bedside and padded across the Turkish rug in her bare feet, to her study in the other room and the desk overflowing with books and papers. The telegram had been folded and unfolded, rolled and flattened and turned into paper boats a dozen times since it came three days ago. The print was faded, the paper ready to tear in a dozen places. She could still read it.

Key found stop bring infant stop Lita snorted, imagining the telegraph operator deliberately dropping the ‘a’ at the end of ‘infant.’ It was infanta, meaning princess. Meaning Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita, heir to the abandoned throne of Los Cielos. Why couldn’t the throne stay abandoned? Her father had visited the valley exactly four times in his life, trying to find a way to break the alleged curse that stole all the water and turned a fruitful, lush valley into a plain of dust and rock and heat. Supposedly, a member of the royal family was destined to find the mystical key, hidden for safekeeping by the Black Monks, then unlock the doors that would release the water and undo the great evil that had brought the curse down on the hidden valley two centuries ago. Lita’s father had died on his fourth visit to the valley, when she was twelve, and no one had any idea in this modern era of 1912 what great evil had caused the curse. Not that Lita believed in curses. She was sure with enough study and the Professor’s help, she could decipher the geological damage that had blocked the water tables and sent the rivers of the valley underground, or perhaps blocked them at their source. That was a far more logical explanation than someone inserting a mystical key into an equally mystical lock. According to Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas, now there was an actual key. According to Prince Emmanuel, the great evil had been the splitting of the royal house into two warring factions. The only way to heal the rift was to bring the two divisions back into one. Lita’s father had believed enough to betroth her to Emmanuel. The time had come to marry her prince, find the supposed lock that waited for the key, and bring life back to Los Cielos. Lita wondered if it was too ridiculous to consider running away to join the circus. According to the Professor, the inhabitants of that particular section of Spain still had to make their way into the nineteenth century--forget the twentieth. Lita thought she could do without the lovely conveniences of indoor plumbing, coal fires and gaslights. What she dreaded was the medieval mentality that likely awaited her as Esteban’s bride. Emmanuel had been a man of the world. He traveled and studied. He attended salons in Paris, studied philosophy in Germany, explored the wilds of Africa, invested in manufacturing plants and sponsored inventors in the United States, all for the purpose of making Los Cielos a rich and modern country someday. Lita

had adored him as the man who showered her with sweets and books, told her fantastic tales, bought her a pony against her governess’s wishes, encouraged her in unladylike scholarship, and wrote her long, detailed letters. Esteban had written Lita four letters since stating, without any inquiry into her wishes, that the betrothal would continue. He never left the mountains that sheltered the ruins of Los Cielos, and seemed dedicated to keeping the lost nation hidden from the world after it came back to life. If it ever came back to life. He had accepted his brother’s affianced bride out of duty and made no attempt to become familiar or even friendly with Lita. From the little bit of information the Professor had gleaned about the prince, he harkened back to the mindset prevalent when Spain was dominated by the Muslims: women were to be kept silent, secluded, with no say in the course of their lives, subject to the whims of their husbands, fathers and brothers. Lita, Ermengarde and the Professor supported the Suffragist Movement and education for all women. Lita shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of her life battling with Esteban. Her father should have put a codicil in the betrothal agreement, so she wouldn’t have been passed down like a family heirloom from one brother to another. She dearly loved her father, who had encouraged her education and had the wisdom to leave her as the ward of the Professor and Ermengarde when he returned to Spain, but in too many other things, he had been sorely lacking in foresight and basic common sense. After all, he believed in the prophecy strongly enough to commit her to marriage for the sake of a kingdom he would never rule. "Please, Papa, if you have any influence in Heaven, could you influence some of the saints to take a hand in things?" Lita whispered, as she picked up the tintype portrait of her father that had been taken just a month before he left on his final journey. In answer, the glass covering the tintype cracked. She gasped and dropped the frame. It made a dull thud on the carpet. Movement from the corner of her eye drew Lita to the window. There, on the moonlit grass of the park across the street, four dark shapes slowly drifted through the fog. She shivered and her heart picked up its pace. The four people were too far away for her to make out details, but she knew there would be nothing to see. They wore black masks and hooded cloaks over robes that covered them down to their shoes. All in black. The Black Monks had been in the shadows of her life since her birth. Lita trusted them to protect her. They had taught her to defend herself, and sometimes, if she was quite alone, spoke to her in whispers of Los Cielos and her destiny. She just wished she could trust them to give her some answers.

Her heart skipped a beat when she blinked and the Black Monks vanished, swallowed into the mist between one beat of her pulse and the next. *** Eduardo Mateo Carlos de Veritas crumpled the telegram in his fist and opened his mouth to swear, then stopped with a guilty start. He was inside a church, after all. He nodded apologetically to the draped figure behind the altar, then dipped his finger in the font of holy water and crossed himself before hurrying out of the church. The pouring rain did little to cool the heat that tore through him. Reynaldo, his manservant, followed close behind. The older man’s distress over the contents of the telegram kept him from fussing and raising the umbrella he constantly carried, no matter what the weather promised. "Watch the princess," Eduardo muttered. "How?" "If you must, introduce yourself to her," Reynaldo offered. "If I had known she was this close, I would have moved to the other side of the country," he snapped. He instantly regretted his tone, and opened his mouth to apologize. Reynaldo was more like a favorite uncle than a servant. He was certainly more of a father than Emmanuel, Esteban and Eduardo’s sire had ever been to them. "Understandable," the older man said. "Your brother said details would follow. Prepare to leave school and wait until that information comes. Then you will know how to act." "How to act." Eduardo nodded and continued down the street. Acting was easy. It was thinking and reasoning things through and doing the right thing that was hard. Becoming a student at Harvard had seemed like a good step in breaking free of his wild, dissolute and useless past. If he had known Princess Elizabelita lived in New York, would he have stayed in Cambridge? San Francisco seemed a far more sensible choice now. Not that he was a coward, but Eduardo knew he had a weakness for pretty faces and a tendency to damage innocence, rather than protect it. Emmanuel was dead now, and he wished to avoid the princess to honor his elder brother’s memory. "Such a lovely child. So innocent, but clever. So alive and alert and eager to learn. Independent. She absorbs books instead of reading them. And she’ll be a beauty, when she’s grown up. Sure to make half the men who meet her burn with hunger.

And she’ll be all mine. She adores me already," Emmanuel had boasted. Then his proud grin dimmed and his eyes turned introspective. "I must try to become worthy of her, before she realizes what a scoundrel I am. Yes, I must become worthy of my clever angel, so she can love me when she is a woman grown. She is the key to saving our kingdom. She will be the heart of our kingdom. I must protect her." He had uttered a bark of harsh laughter. "First, I must protect her from myself." Emmanuel had tried to change his life and died in the quest to revitalize Los Cielos. Eduardo had tried to reform his life, because someone needed to stand with Emmanuel, and he knew Esteban was more likely to slide a knife between their older brother’s ribs than support him. Seducing the innocent, scholarly princess now, even if it would frustrate Esteban, wouldn’t please Emmanuel’s ghost. How could he avoid temptation, if Esteban sent him now to watch over the princess? Why, Eduardo wondered for the hundredth time since receiving the telegram, did Esteban suddenly trust him with such a delicate assignment? As far as he knew, Esteban had no idea that he had reformed, leaving behind the drinking and brothels and gambling to pursue a life of scholarship and sobriety. Why would Esteban trust him within five hundred miles of his betrothed bride? "You realize, Reynaldo, this assignment of mine proves that virtue is not its own reward?" Eduardo said, punctuated with a single bark of laughter. "What good is strength, unless it is tested and exercised?" his companion countered. "I don’t want to go home to that vulture’s nest." Eduardo finally conceded to the increasing downpour and stepped under the awning of a fashionable storefront. "My grandfather should have given up and built his fortress somewhere else. Staying there, brooding over the wasteland, waiting for a miracle to change it back into a paradise, only proves insanity flows in our bloodline." "Your grandfather and his grandfather didn’t want to concede that the Los Cielos family has the right to hold the throne. Leaving their post would have been conceding that the curse was your ancestor’s fault, and not her sister’s." Eduardo snorted, but he nodded and bowed his head to study his drenched boots. "I don’t want to know what disaster will strike the world when the two branches of our miserable family are finally brought back together again. If the princess’s ancestors weren’t trying to kill mine, my predecessors were trying to kill hers." "High time there was peace and healing, then." *** "Anyone home?" The smooth baritone drifted up the four flights of stairs through the center of the house.

"Up here, Professor." Lita wiped her sweaty, dusty face with her sleeve because her hands were filthy with grime. "Ready, dear?" Ermengarde stepped back, pivoting her corpulent frame out of the way, and held her hands up to catch the battered green steamer trunk the girl slid off the top of the pile of trunks and valises and crates. "Step back, Aunt Ermie," she warned, and gave a good shove. The pile creaked and swayed. Lita skipped around the side of the pile, arms up in the air, and caught the leading edge of the trunk as it tipped downward. Lita ignored her guardian’s remonstrations to be careful, to wait until the Professor could bring in a few hired men, and not to tear her shirt. The Professor could have come home with one of his associates from the library. While the other elderly scholars might have the good breeding to ignore the sight of Lita in trousers, wearing a filthy shirt in front of guests could not be tolerated by anyone. Lita caught the trunk and eased it down to the gritty floorboards of the attic. It amazed her to consider that she would need two such things for her voyage to France, and Ermengarde might require at least four, to contain all her fresh undergarments, walking clothes, formal gowns for dinner at the captain’s table, and her hats. Lots of hats. At least three for everyday wear, and four for special occasions. Some women lived for their jewelry, others for their shoes. Ermengarde St. Just lived to wear hats. "There you are, my dears." The Professor paused in the attic doorway and surveyed the scene. "Excited about your voyage now, are we?" "I’m excited. Lita, of course, sees it as another unpleasant task. The sooner she faces it and gets it out of the way, the sooner she can arrange her life to suit her." Ermengarde beamed fondly at the girl she and her brother had raised to be an example to all modern women. "Quite right. Sensible." He stopped fussing with his pipe, which he constantly filled and trimmed but never lit. A frown brought clarity to his usually unfocussed, mild brown eyes. "Are you sure you won’t wait until I’ve delivered my paper to the symposium?" "The philological society of yours will take two months just to decide how they want to proceed and where to hold the banquet," Lita said. She wiped her face again and realized she had indeed torn the inside seam of her shirtsleeve. With a shrug, she stepped around the pile of valises and dug out the three that matched the trunk. "By the time they let you present your paper, the traveling season will be over. I don’t relish ocean travel at the start of winter. If I can find a ship to take me."

"There’s such a thing as being too devoted to duty." The crash came in the pause when Lita tried to come up with an answer that wasn’t sarcastic or downright petulant. Before either of her guardians could react, she slid past the Professor and flew down the stairs. She leaned over the banisters as she went, putting all her weight on the outer edge of the treads so they wouldn’t creak and give away her approach. The crash had come from a tall man falling face-first down the stairs leading from the front door into the entryway. The Professor had dropped his umbrella, hat, and portmanteau in a heap in front of the door, as usual. Ermengarde had sent the two household servants home for the evening already, so there had been no one to pick up after the absentminded gentleman. No one had lit the gaslights, leaving the entryway awash in shadows. All to the good, Lita decided. She paused at the first landing to assess the situation. A second man leaped from the shadows and snatched at her. She twisted sideways, grasped the banister and vaulted over it. She landed on Ermengarde’s potted tree, nearly toppling the enormous metal pot full of soil when she hit it square with her heels. Lita tucked and rolled and slammed square into the legs of a third man, who had been standing in the shadows. He cuffed her hard against the back of her head and yanked her to her feet. "Boy, where’s the princess?" he growled. Lita muffled a gasp of pique and gave him an elbow in the gut. He didn’t let go, and hit her harder, impacting with her temple to make her head ring. They didn’t realize who she was, and this buffoon thought she was a boy! She nearly laughed aloud, despite her dizzy feelings, when she realized Ermengarde was right. No one expected her to dress in boy’s clothes, so no one realized she was a girl. How could she use that to her advantage? The shadows around her suddenly split and turned solid. Lita stumbled backwards when one shadow leaped on the man holding her and wrenched her out of his grasp. She barely caught herself before her face hit the wall. When she turned, two shadows engulfed the man. Another shadow took the first man who had leaped at her. A fourth shadow knelt on the fallen man and bound his hands and feet, trussing him like she had seen calves handled during that one glorious, dusty, rustic trip out West when she was sixteen. The Black Monks had come to her rescue, far more literally than they ever had before.

As abruptly as it began, the battle ended. One shadow stepped into the spill of light coming down the stairwell, transforming into a figure in draping black robes, hood and mask. Blue-silver eyes peered at Lita through the eyeholes, and winked. "Thank you," she said, and crossed her arms over her chest before she bowed. The figure mirrored the gesture, then the four Black Monks bent and dragged away the three men. "Well, that was interesting," the Professor said, his words emphasized by the creak of the stairs. He carried the lantern Lita had taken upstairs to the attic, what felt like hours ago. "You must tell me everything that happened, my dear. I always have the bad luck of coming in at the very end. All I ever see are your guardians cleaning up after the crisis. Very disappointing." "Disappointing!" Ermengarde sniffed, her only concession to dismay. The shadowy people who had protected Lita all her life made Mrs. St. Just uneasy, even though she understood their presence was necessary. It wouldn’t do to advertise the fact that an exiled princess lived with the elderly, eccentric scholar and his widowed Suffragist sister. Lita needed bodyguards, and hiring them would have advertised her presence, as well as strained the pocketbooks of her guardians. The Black Monks, dedicated to the welfare of Los Cielos, filled the purpose conveniently. Lita bit her lip against grinning. It wouldn’t do to let Ermengarde know that sometimes the Black Monks crept into the house in the dead of night and spirited her away, to train her in their ancient skills, fighting hand-to-hand, with knives, clubs, and ropes, and how to move in silence and stealth. Even if she did reveal that particular secret to her guardians, she would never let them know that some of the Black Monks were women. Ermengarde was a Suffragist and permitted Lita to wear trousers when the occasion made it sensible, but even she would draw the line at some of the things the Black Monks did, labeling them as quite unladylike. *** It had taken all Lita’s skill in misdirection and subterfuge to keep Ermengarde from hearing about the Titanic disaster. Living in New York, that had taken some doing, but Ermengarde St. Just avoided gossip and spent her time in worthwhile pursuits and charities, and her friends were like-minded people with more important things on their minds. Still, Lita knew her grace period had ended when she and her guardian went to the ticketing office to obtain passage on the next ship crossing the ocean. Someone had made an effort to provide information to reassure people who were understandably nervous about the ocean crossing. A table had been filled with

brochures, pamphlets and copies of reports on the Titanic catastrophe for perusal. Lita privately thought the overemphasis on safety had the exact opposite effect. She had her ocean route planned down to the last detail before she and Ermengarde climbed into the hansom cab to go to the ticketing office, persuading her guardian that she understood such things would be another test of her diplomatic skills. "My dear..." Ermengarde came back from studying the wealth of information, misinformation and hyperbole displayed throughout the ticketing office, an entire fifteen minutes sooner than Lita anticipated. Wrinkles marred her soft, smooth forehead. "Must you cross this particular ocean? Couldn’t you take a longer route, say, by train to San Francisco and then to the Orient, and go overland from there? The Pacific is so named because it is ever so much safer, I believe." "That would take three times longer than I can afford. Esteban has sent for me. Time is of the essence." Lita knew the ticketing agent was listening avidly. She had nearly tripped over calling her unseen betrothed by name instead of title, but she knew better than to mention the word ‘prince’ where listening ears and strangers could hear. "Yes, but I simply don’t feel safe crossing the Atlantic." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it. That was a danger sign if Lita had ever seen one. "We won’t be going to England, Aunt Ermie. France is south of that route." Not very far south, but enough, Lita hoped, to reassure the woman. "And we won’t be taking the White Star line, but a much more established, reliable shipping line. We won’t go anywhere near the northern sea. No icebergs at all. My destiny won’t allow disaster to stop me." "Yes, dear, but your destiny doesn’t guarantee that I will arrive with you, or that either of us will be unharmed or unpleasantly detained along the way." Lita suspected Ermengarde enjoyed the argument. Well, that took away some of her guilt about playing her trump card. "If you really feel nervous, I can travel alone. You needn’t make the effort and inconvenience yourself for me." "Not on your life!" Ermengarde fanned her face with her gloved hand, as if fighting off vapors. A crinkle of mischief narrowed her eyes. "Nothing in this world can convince me to allow you to travel sans chaperon." A sigh of laughter escaped her. "Besides, this might be my only chance to leave the country and see something else of the world." "If you insist." Lita sighed dramatically and turned around to face the ticketing agent. He winked at her. She took it as a good sign that he wasn’t offended or agog by the discussion he had just witnessed. Lita hoped he wasn’t the meddling

kind of man who would repeat the story to the next dozen people who came in. "We’ll need a stateroom, please, on a lower deck for stability, but close enough to the stairways so we have fresh air. The next available ship bound for France." *** "Unfaithful?" Eduardo snorted at the irony of his brother’s paramount concern and the reason Esteban had asked him to stand guard over the princess. No one walking the Boston street past him reacted. Civilized people had the courtesy not to react when someone talked to himself. He liked that. He hadn’t seen Esteban in nine years, but he doubted his brother had changed his ways, his tastes or his privileged attitude. It would serve him right if Princess Elizabelita had grown weary of being made to wait for their wedding, and had decided to follow her heart instead of her duty. Esteban had two mistresses, the last time Eduardo thought to ask for news of home. Why did it matter to him if the princess wasn’t a virgin on their wedding night? Eduardo had been exposed to the modern thinking of the university long enough to believe that men and women had equal rights when it came to matters of the heart. If a man strayed from his marriage vows, then his wife had no obligation to honor hers. If the princess had a sweetheart or two, or had even taken a lover, Esteban had no right to complain. It wasn’t as if he had made any effort to secure her affections or loyalty, and certainly didn’t care if she looked like a hag or a horse or had remained the delightful, lovely child Emmanuel had worshiped. The sudden change in attitude in his older brother assured Eduardo that something was disastrously amiss. Esteban had instructed him to find the princess and watch her for three weeks, to discern her habits and friends, before approaching and introducing himself. Any men of marriageable age were to be investigated. Any time she left the house, especially if she left without suitable escort, she was to be followed. "And I must challenge and discourage any young man who appears to have more than a polite social connection to her," Eduardo murmured. He nearly crumpled his brother’s thick letter of instructions and doubts about the princess in his fist and slammed it down on the surface of his favorite café table. Duels were fine and admirable in Spain and France and the mountains surrounding Los Cielos, but not in modern-day, civilized New York. "Eddie." Jason Hopkins, who gladly told any stranger who asked that he was descended from the Mayflower’s passengers, settled down at the café table opposite Eduardo. "Why the gloomy face? Don’t tell me you didn’t get invited to the Ladies Guild tea?" "Just the opposite. They can’t survive without my impeccable manners and

exquisite tailoring." Eduardo leaped up from his chair and executed a bow, showing off his two-day-new frock coat. Unfortunately, the move left his letter from Esteban sitting unguarded on the table. Jason picked it up. "Heavens above--what in the world is that scrawl?" "Orders from my elder brother." "How can you obey him if you can’t read it? And what language is that?" Jason laughed and tossed the papers back at Eduardo. "Our estate is in the mountains between France and Spain. Therefore, so is the language." "Ah, no wonder you’re such a wonder with languages. You even have Monsieur Philipe dumbfounded with your skill." Jason lounged in his chair, pretending a wastrel attitude that only his closest friends didn’t believe. "You have very little accent, you know. It’s exceedingly unfair to the rest of us." "How?" Eduardo grinned, despite the fury at Esteban that still seethed in his veins. Leave it to Jason to be amusing, and yet highly informative and introspective at the same time. "That little touch of accent sets the girls’ hearts aflutter. It’s a good thing you’re a paragon of a gentleman, or you’d cut a swath through society that none of us could dare match." "Hmm. Yes. A gentleman." Eduardo knew Jason could never guess what a reprobate he had been only a few short years ago. Emmanuel’s death had shocked him enough to bring about an abrupt change in his goals, values, and behavior. That, and the deaths of Christine and Magnolia. Did his renovated and remade character require him to spy on Princess Elizabelita and ensure she hadn’t taken a lover? Did it require him to challenge any suitors, to protect his brother’s claim to the girl’s affections? Did Esteban even care about the girl’s loyalty and friendship, or did he only care that she didn’t bring a bastard to their marriage, to inherit the reunited throne of Los Cielos? After all, that was what had split the kingdom centuries ago. The two daughters of the queen were to share the throne between them, but the elder tried to displace the younger, and the younger claimed the elder was illegitimate. Their struggle for power, for the loyalty of the vinedressers and peasants of Los Cielos, had

destroyed the once-plentiful valley. Some legends said that magic had stolen the rivers, and only healing magic could restore them. Other legends said that only a daughter could bring healing, because a daughter had destroyed the prosperity of Los Cielos. Until this generation, only sons had been born to the two branches claiming exclusive rights to the throne. Marrying Princess Elizabelita and rejoining the two lines of the family into one was the only way to heal the land. Emmanuel had believed it enough to betroth himself to a child. Esteban had obviously believed it, because he demanded the right to inherit the betrothal when Emmanuel died. Eduardo wasn’t sure he believed in much of anything, except perhaps the doom levied on those who betrayed their duty to their family. "My duty as a gentleman tears me away." Eduardo grinned when Jason responded to his jibe with a mere snort. "How long will you be gone?" "I have no idea. It depends on the princess, I suppose." "Princess?" Jason sat up straight. "As in?" "A princess with no throne, descended from a prince with no throne, and on and on through history. My brother plans to marry her, so I have to dance attendance on her and keep the lines of communication open between our two families." He shrugged. Ironic, how easily the lie slipped from his lips. Old habits died hard. "We have more than enough landless, fortune-less princesses around." Jason subsided back into his chair again, dismissing Elizabelita with a wave of his hand. "Finish your duty and hurry back, will you? I want you to lead our fox hunts this year, and there’s no one who can mach your style as a marksman, or on the debate team." "Oh, yes, definitely. The end of civilization if the debate team doesn’t continue its relentless pace." Eduardo wondered what his elegant, rich friend would say if he knew the truth about him. Would his status as the younger brother of the prince and de facto ruler of a destitute kingdom cover over his other sins? Would Jason scorn him, or welcome him as a curiosity piece, if he knew Eduardo had been a drunkard and thief, had tried his hand at piracy and owned a bordello for two years? Would he applaud the reforms in his life, his attempt to become something worthwhile, a scholar? Or would Jason turn his back on Eduardo because his sins, his stupidity, had brought

about the deaths of his mistress and their innocent child, just days after he swore to reform? *** A cab pulled up in front of Professor Charles Van Worton’s brownstone, when Eduardo finally untangled the directions and arrived at the proper address. He settled down on a bench in the park across the street and watched the activity. The driver and his helper immediately got out and knocked on the front door. A red-haired girl in a gray maid’s uniform opened the door within seconds, meaning the cab was expected, and the two men went inside. They came out, carrying out valises and steamer trunks, and went back in again. Eduardo didn’t realize he had stood and started crossing the street toward the house until he heard a shout and looked around to see a hansom cab bearing down on him. When the second cab departed, Eduardo saw a white-haired, plump woman standing on the steps, wearing a long bottle green coat over her black dress, and an outrageous hat full of feathers and veils. She pulled on her gloves while she carried on a conversation with the driver, and his assistant secured the luggage to the outside of the cab. Eduardo relaxed and grinned at his foolishness. He had thought the princess-A young woman stepped outside, dressed all in dove gray that made her abundant mass of hair seem blue-black by comparison. Eduardo watched, his heart coming up in his throat, while she fixed a sensible gray, flat pancake of a hat in place with hatpins long enough to be seen from across the street. He didn’t pull free of the daze enfolding him until she pulled a veil down over her face with gray-gloved hands, obscuring her large, liquid dark eyes. That had to be Princess Elizabelita. And she was dressed for travel. Some of that load of luggage had to be hers. Where was she going? No wonder Esteban wanted the girl watched. Eduardo wondered if the princess had grown tired of waiting for her prince to marry her, and she had decided to take matters into her own hands. The creak of springs as the two women climbed into the cab woke him from the swirl of his thoughts. Eduardo muffled a string of curses and started across the street. The maid scurried out the front door and handed a package up into the cab. Eduardo heard a musical bubble of laughter and something jolted inside him. A girl who could laugh like that... He scolded himself to use his brain instead of his groin and slowed to a stop when

the cab pulled away from the curb. Fortunately for him, the maid stayed on the front steps, waving. Her smile looked excited, not relief that two difficult mistresses were gone, he noted. That said something for what things were like inside the household. "Where are they off to now?" he said. He offered his most harmless grin and jammed his hands into his pants pockets like a much younger man. "France." The maid folded her mouth tight shut and turned to go back into the house. Eduardo grinned. So, his attempt at making her think he was acquainted with the two ladies hadn’t worked. He liked this girl, who didn’t seize every opportunity to gossip. "I thought for sure she’d be going to Spain. What’s in France besides dressmakers and hat makers and cuisine?" "You know Miss Lita, then?" "Not half as much as I’d like to. I thought I’d come by and surprise her with a visit--I just came up from Princeton," he added, hoping to impress the girl. "Haven’t seen her since she...oh, was this tall." He measured up from the ground, estimating how tall the princess had been in the childish portrait Emmanuel had shown him. "She wore sapphire earrings and matching ribbons in her hair, and she had a locket with her parents’ portraits in it. Does she still wear the locket?" "Won’t take it off." The maid nodded and tugged her mobcap a little more securely down on her curls. "What makes you think Spain, instead of France?" "She still speaks fluent Spanish, doesn’t she?" "If that’s what you call it. A Spanish gent is courting my sister, and what I hear when I go home on my days off doesn’t sound like what Miss Lita spills when she’s--" Her eyes sparkled, despite her grimace. "Mustn’t gossip. It’s not nice at all." "Where Miss Lita is from, they speak Spanish and French. That’s probably what you heard." Eduardo filed that bit of information away for later. He had imagined the princess as an elitist, insisting on either pure French or pure Spanish. For her to practice her ancestors’ language had to mean something. What, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He nodded his thanks. "I’ll just have to come by when she returns. Do you know when that will be?" "Mrs. St. Just hopes to be home in the spring. If Miss Lita comes at all, well," the maid shrugged, and grinned delightedly, "it’ll be on her honeymoon trip."

"Ah, then I’m too late after all." Eduardo sighed dramatically, which earned a giggle from the maid. She blushed, stricken silent when he caught up her hand and kissed it gallantly. "If you get a chance to write to Miss Lita, please give her my good wishes, won’t you?" He left the maid nodding, her eyes bright as stars. Eduardo strolled down the street, fighting the desperate urge to run. In this upper-class neighborhood, anyone seen running would be immediately suspected of mischief. Decorum demanded a dignified pace. At the first opportunity, he hailed a cab and headed for the docks. With any luck, Princess Elizabelita’s ship would still be there. With any luck, he might even see her strolling the deck, delaying the moment when she had to settle into her stateroom. It would save him much time and trouble if he could follow her to her quarters instead of having to ask multitudes of discreet questions. He hoped his luck held, giving him time to purchase tickets and send for Reynaldo and his luggage. Eduardo could make do with borrowed clothes, or even stolen ones. He had certainly been reduced to that before. But if he wanted to get near the princess on this ocean voyage, he had to appear as uppercrust as she and her companion. He also had to be able to provide some competition, if she intended this voyage to meet or find or even run away with her lover. It had been several years since he had changed the course of his life, but Eduardo was confident in his ability to dazzle and distract a girl, and even sweep her off her feet, if necessary. Even princesses had weak points. He would find Elizabelita’s weaknesses and exploit them, and make sure she arrived in Los Cielos as unsullied as possible. Not that Esteban deserved a virginal, innocent bride, but Eduardo took this mission for Emmanuel’s sake. His oldest brother had adored the princess. She would still be innocent and pure, and madly in love with Emmanuel if he had lived. Eduardo wondered what it was like to be in love. He had been amused by Emmanuel’s infatuation with the princess and his resolve to become worthy of her. His amusement had been touched with just enough envy to realize that was the source of the sour note in his laughter. Eduardo knew that despite the solid, reputable, scholarly man he had become, there was still enough filth in his past, he would never deserve a pure, devoted love. That depressed him more than he wanted to admit. Almost enough to drive him back to the bottle. But Christine’s and Magnolia’s ghosts called when alcohol soaked his mind and body, and he couldn’t stand that. ***

The ship bound for France wasn’t due to leave until the next morning. Eduardo said his first thankful prayer in years, and with some judicious questioning, found the hotel where Mrs. Ermengarde St. Just and her young traveling companion, Miss Elizabeth Seal-Croft, had taken rooms for the night. He obtained a room, lied about his luggage still coming from the train station, and went to fetch Reynaldo. His manservant was loyal to a fault, brutally honest, and had stayed with Eduardo through his years of rehabilitation. Strange and sad to say, Eduardo had no idea if Reynaldo liked ocean voyages or hated them. He hoped Reynaldo wasn’t the iron constitution type who took one look at the rolling waves and turned green. He would need the man’s help, if only to distract the old woman so he could get close to the princess.

Chapter Four "Somewhere down there is your princess," Reynaldo said. "Yes. Somewhere." Eduardo sighed. He rested his well-muscled arms on the railing of the top deck of the ocean liner and wished he were back at Princeton. "You still think she's running away?" "What other answer could it be? " A bitter laugh escaped his strong lips. "Do you think she's traveling to meet Esteban? I can’t imagine him writing love letters to the girl, so either she’s decided to confront him and demand he follow through on the promise to marry her, or she has a lover and she’s running away to meet him. The maid did mention a honeymoon trip." "It's ironic you've been so close all this time. I wonder why Prince Esteban hasn’t asked you to check on her before this." Reynaldo waited, but Eduardo continued gazing down on the passengers milling around the lower deck. "I haven’t informed him that you’ve reformed, so unless he has another spy watching you, he still believes you a scoundrel. Maybe he didn’t trust you with his betrothed until now." He offered a crooked smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Maybe he feared you would seduce her, marry her, and try to steal the throne from him." "Steal what throne? Los Cielos is a wasteland. I don’t believe in a magical key and underground chambers. Or doors that must be unlocked by one specific, royal hand, to release the rivers to flow through our valley again. And why would he change his mind about me now, so he wants me to have contact with his princess? That is what worries me. What does he want?" Eduardo continued scanning the passengers milling the deck below him and shook his head, his face creasing even deeper with the weight of his thoughts. "Esteban isn’t the kind of man who cares about farmers and vineyards. He wants a quick return for his money, not something that will take years before there is any profit from his effort." "Sounds like you understand vineyards." "I’ve done some research. It must have been a lovely, peaceful, simple life." Eduardo flinched when he heard his voice turn soft and wistful. "A farmer’s life. Who’d want to be king of a valley full of farmers, treading grapes in the fall, pruning in the spring, waiting for the juice to rot into wine that people might want to buy?" He shook his head. "Not for me, any more than it’s for Esteban. So, what does he want from the valley, and why does he suddenly care what the princess does?" "He’s found some use for the valley, obviously, and needs to consolidate his claim

through her." "Obviously." Eduardo thought of that glimpse he had of Princess Elizabelita. "I wonder how many of her sweethearts know she's a princess?" "The question is, does she?" "Why wouldn’t she?" "To protect her. If she doesn’t know, if her guardians don’t know, if the only thing any of them knows is that she has been betrothed since childhood...it could have been much safer for her. If no one knows the truth, no one can spill the secret and endanger her." "True." Eduardo nodded. A crooked grin cracked the somber line of his mouth. He was grateful once again for Reynaldo’s wisdom and insight, and his loyalty. Only a year after the man came into his service, he revealed that Esteban had sent him as a spy, and swore loyalty to Eduardo, instead. "Yes, indeed. What if she doesn’t know who she really is?" But if she didn't know she was Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos, why did she flee? Why was she even now preparing to cross the ocean, when she should be waiting for her royal betrothed to fetch her home? *** Lita sighed and sank down into the closest available chair the moment the stateroom door closed behind the porter. What relief, to be able to just sit; no more decisions, no more holding back her curiosity, fighting not to gawk at all the fascinating sights on the way from the hotel to the docks. Now, for just a little, she could sit and be quiet and not think. Not worry that her father’s enemies knew she had been summoned home to Los Cielos and were even now closing in to kill her. Watching her from the shadows, around the next corner. Or rather, she thought with a tight, smug little smile, they could try to kill her. Between her self-defense lessons and the Black Monks, Lita suspected the Dissenters, who wanted Los Cielos to stay a wasteland and its people scattered, would have a hard time attaining their goal. "I'm starting to have my doubts about this plan, my dear." Ermengarde stepped through the door from the bedroom to the sitting room of their cabin. She didn't look a day over fifty, but she was nearly seventy and no closer to relaxing into graceful old age than the girl posing as her assistant. Her snowy hair and decorous jet black traveling suit were perfect foil to her sparkling sky blue eyes. She perched on the arm of the closest chair and studied the girl who had been her charge since childhood.

"You think I should stay at home, barricade myself in the Professor's study and hope Prince Esteban stirs himself to come fetch me before one of the Dissenters tries to kidnap me? He's proven he has no more interest in this marriage than I do. He only sent for me because events have proven he needs me. The legends do specify a princess." Lita fought not to sigh. Was it vanity to be wanted for something more than her heritage? Couldn’t Esteban at least lust after her a little? For all she knew, he had no idea what she even looked like, and didn’t care. "That sounds rather bitter. Doesn't every girl dream of marrying a prince?" Ermengarde slipped open the last latches on her traveling boots and sighed in delight. "You really are a faerie tale princess. Try to enjoy it." Lita gave a most unladylike snort, but still smiled, putting a sparkle in her midnight eyes. Her sensible dove gray traveling hat couldn't hide the glossy abundance of her raven curls, bursting to be set free of pins and clips and braids. Hidden in gray gloves, her hands could deal cards with lightning speed, whip together the most delicate soufflé or control the most spirited horse available to the uppercrust riding clubs of New York. She could tend the wounded with compassion and an iron stomach, man or beast, and then run upstairs to her guardian's library and find obscure references to support a philosophical debate carried on during the bandaging operation. When the Professor had been charged with the safety and education of a princess, he had vowed to make her a Renaissance woman-sensible, intelligent, and independent, as well as gracious and beautiful. He was an oddity in society: a man who thought women had brains to equal men. So now, Elizabeth Seal-Croft and her Aunt Ermengarde St. Just were about to cross the ocean, ostensibly for the elder lady to take a long-delayed tour of Europe. If the journey took longer than intended, and they didn’t go through Spain as Prince Esteban expected, and the hazards of fall travel postponed the moment that Lita met her intended husband, that would be a benefit, wouldn’t it? Lita knew better than to hope for infatuation, to be swept off her feet, and even more important, to capture Prince Esteban’s heart the moment they met. It would be nice, she knew, but why make an inescapable situation unpleasant, perhaps even unbearable, by hoping for something she might never have? It was far more sensible to prepare for a partnership than to hope for oneness with a man who could make her heart sing. Why make herself miserable, after all, married to one type of man and wanting another? "I do hate making you play the role of a servant, my dear," Ermengarde said, breaking into Lita’s thoughts. "If anyone is looking for me, they'll expect a helpless rich girl with a gaggle of servants, headed for Spain. Not a lady traveling to Paris and then Vienna with her

maid. This way, I get to move so much more freely--and pamper you for a change, dear Aunt Ermie." Lita smiled with a little more of her usual liveliness. "I wish the Professor could have come with us. It would be such fun, the three of us like always." "Poor Charles gets seasick. He won't admit it. He went out on the water in Boston when we were children and promptly lost his breakfast over the rail before we'd even cast off the mooring lines. No, dear, we're all three better off this way." A low, mournful blast filtered through the walls. The ship had left the docks. The two smiled at each other and hurried to get up and leave the room. They both wanted to see the Statue of Liberty as they passed it in the harbor. Lita vowed she would do and see and experience everything possible on this voyage and the overland trip through France and the Pyrenees. All too soon, she would be married and bound to the valley kingdom of Los Cielos, and her adventuring days would be over. *** Lita and Ermengarde had lunch in their cabin, that first day of the voyage, avoiding the noise and confusion that would prevail on board ship until the passengers had settled into the ship’s routine. Lita studied maps to plan the second leg of their journey, while her guardian read a French novel. While she made notes and drew on the various maps the Professor’s friends had obtained for her, she recited names and dates and figures under her breath. This was both to help her memory, and to practice speaking her father’s language, French and Spanish combined in an unpredictable patchwork that resembled neither parent tongue. She literally had no way of knowing if she spoke it correctly. Only her father and Prince Emmanuel had ever spoken it in her hearing. Her mother had been the sheltered daughter of an Italian scholar who knew more about the De Medici family than he did about the world around him. Until she met Prince Emmanuel, Lita had considered her father’s stories about their ancestral home as something just a little more solid than a faerie tale. Now, approaching the spinsterish age of twenty-one, she found her duties and heritage less like a faerie tale every time she considered them. Who honestly wanted to be a princess and make a marriage of state, to a man who had written her less than once a year since they had been betrothed? A man who likely had several mistresses, and who enjoyed battles and politics instead of working to make the secluded valley of Los Cielos a prosperous, fruitful place again. Why hadn’t he spent his time investigating the loss of water throughout the valley and the blight that destroyed the vineyards that had been Los Cielos’ livelihood? Why did he insist on living in the mountains that overshadowed the valley, instead of in the valley?

"Well," she muttered in her father’s tongue, "soon I shall find all my answers. I doubt I will like a single one of them." "You don’t sound happy, my dear," Ermengarde said without raising her head. "Are you sure you should be thinking such heavy thoughts? Maybe you should leave some things for your husband to consider." "You aren’t going to turn me into a useless bit of fluff to decorate the throne at this late date, are you?" Lita retorted. That earned a bubble of low laughter from her guardian. "I merely thought your betrothed might realize that the journey through France would be far more civilized and safe, and send someone to meet us. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about finding your way from the port to the mountains." "Considering Prince Esteban sent neither tickets nor instructions how to contact him, I seriously doubt he will have men waiting to meet us." And that suited Lita perfectly. She intended to learn everything she could about the countryside that surrounded her ancestral kingdom, first-hand. Traveling with an escort who treated her as a princess could raise a barrier that would effectively blind and deafen her. Lita didn’t want that. Every bit of information meant a little more power and freedom in her marriage. "He might. He could have been in such a hurry to send for you, that he didn’t even think about such things as schedules. It could even be that he has had men watching and guarding you all these years, and they know where you are right this moment. Perhaps he is the master of your mysterious guardians." "Aunt Ermie..." Lita sighed and kept her smile steady, when in reality the thought of the Black Monks reporting to Esteban made her shudder. She had mentioned her guards to Emmanuel during one of his first visits, and he admitted he only knew about the Black Monks as legends, not as reality. They had never shown themselves to him, in all the visits he paid her before his death. "What, my dear?" The lady tipped her head to one side, managing to look studious and serious instead of the vacuous expression the gesture gave to many of her friends. "You’re a romantic at heart. That’s all there is to it." Lita folded up the map on top of the pile. "I think Prince Esteban will have men watching the passes through the Pyrenees, but not the ports. And that means we must find our own way. I intend to astonish him with my intellectual skills, to ensure he doesn’t try to put me on a shelf once we’re married. After all, the throne is as much mine as it is his."

"The only difference being, you don’t want the wretched thing, and he does," Ermengarde murmured. "True. But just because I don’t want it doesn’t mean I can just hand everything over to him. I have responsibilities. You and the Professor ensured that was embroidered inside my heart and mind." The conversation stayed with Lita when she took a short walk along the upper deck. She thought with longing of the first class reserved deck, where she could walk without worrying about being accosted by unattached young men. Walking was for exercise. She found nothing romantic about miles and miles of shimmering ocean stretching out around her, but she imagined some young men would try to spill poetry on her, to convince her they were romantics and harmless. She wished she had chosen first class accommodations, with all the privacy, security and privileges that came with them. However, she had her limited purse to consider, and the knowledge that if someone were trying to catch or harm a princess, first class was where he would expect to find her. Most people were either napping after lunch, or occupied in the lounges or music room or other occupations the ship offered. Lita let herself relax as she made her way toward the prow. She thought of Los Cielos. When she married Prince Esteban, she might never see the ocean again. According to the little she knew of her betrothed, he never left the mountains surrounding the devastated valley. Lita imagined trying to convince him to take a journey, just for the excitement of it. He was probably as dry, dusty and hard as the valley their mutual ancestors had destroyed. "I wish I didn’t need him," she told the brisk ocean breeze. Lita paused to cross her arms on the railing and gaze out at the rolling water. It amused her a little to realize there was something tranquil and soothing about the vast expanse of bluegreen-brown reaching up to the white horizon line. "The truth is...healing will only come through true partnership and unity." Lita shook her head. The pressure of the task ahead of her apparently caused problems with her mind. She hardly ever talked to herself, and never aloud before this. At least she was alone in her musings, whether silent or spoken. She allowed herself to lean against the rail and look out over the ocean. Definitely, all that expanse of water didn’t strike her as romantic, but it was greatly soothing. She suspected she would miss the ocean, once she went inland to the mountains. Hairs stirred on the nape of her neck. She turned, half-expecting to see one of her black-robed protectors appear from the shadows. Instead, a man leaned against the railing perhaps ten yards to the right. He watched her.

When their gazes met, he stood up straight and tipped his hat to her. Lita hesitated a moment, barely long enough to consider what to do. She didn’t have cause to snub him, but if she was too welcoming, he might attach himself to her. She decided a slight inclining of the head would be polite, acknowledging his presence. Then she turned back to contemplating the water, and hoped he was sensitive enough to understand the signal that she wanted to be alone. "Pardon me, Madam, but why does your husband allow you to roam about without him to protect you?" "Protect?" Lita muffled a bubble of laughter that caught in her throat. She turned, and the man now stood only two yards away, watching her, lost in shadows. She swallowed her retort, that she needed no protection from a mere man. "Have we been introduced, sir?" The last words caught in her throat when he took a step closer, leaving the shade of the deck above them. The brilliant sunshine cast his dark curls in a blue-black sheen and revealed the bronze cast of his skin. She knew those wide, liquid black eyes, that Roman nose, the square jaw neatly trimmed with a fashionably short beard, and the thin line of moustache framing his generous, smiling mouth. She knew those wide shoulders, she knew the warmth of those long-fingered hands clasping her fingers, resting on her waist in a slow, decorous waltz. Emmanuel had danced with her, getting down on his knees to make her laugh, and fumbled through a short waltz with her on her twelfth birthday. He had apologized for not wearing gloves, because a gentleman always wore gloves when dancing with a lady. Her heart wanted to say this was Emmanuel, who had made her feel so grown up and elegant. Her mind knew Emmanuel was dead. This had to be Esteban. No one could look so much like Emmanuel as to be his mirror image, unless he was his brother. What was Esteban doing here? "Edward Fitzroy, Ma’am." He bowed, making an elegant sweeping gesture with the hand holding his hat. "Your accent doesn’t match your Anglo-Saxon surname." Lita silently blessed the Professor for filling her lessons with so much interesting trivia. "Caught out. It is my traveling name, to avoid...complications." He winked at her, shrugged, and turned to look over the railing again. Edward was Eduardo, Esteban’s second name. Fitzroy meant he was of royalty.

Lita thought of all the games, the puzzles and tests she and the Professor had enjoyed tossing at each other. Could this be a test? Esteban had come after her, and now he tested her. Should she play along, pretend to be blind to his resemblance to Emmanuel? Or could he possibly not know who she was? She hadn’t sat for a portrait since she was ten, and the Professor wanted to wait until photography had developed more as an art form before entrusting their likenesses to posterity. Perhaps Esteban didn’t know whom he addressed. In that case, he was only being friendly to a fellow traveler. She had a false name, just as he did. "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Fitzroy. I am Elizabeth Seal-Croft." "Mr. Seal-Croft is a very lucky man." He bowed to her. "There is no such creature. And before you ask, I am betrothed." "Again, I must say, a very lucky man." "You, sir, are too familiar." She answered him with a slightly sharper tone than the laughter in his eyes warranted. Lita didn’t know what it was about him that made her feel unbalanced, as if the heel of her shoe threatened to snap off. "It is a failing." He shrugged again, making interesting ripples in the sleek cloth of his coat. "I have been dutifully warned, Miss Seal-Croft. I am a widower, myself. Don’t fear I will be an unwanted suitor. Perhaps we could be allies? You will protect me from marriage-minded young ladies and their mamas, and I will protect you from gentlemen who aren’t gentlemen?" "That sounds like a wise and fortuitous plan." Lita smiled and didn’t hesitate when he offered her the crook of his arm. She slid her hand into place and let him lead her down the deck, back toward the more populated portion of the ship. "I don’t suppose you play poker?" "Miss Seal-Croft, I’m shocked." He spoke with an affected British accent, earning a bubble of laughter from her. "Not for me. My aunt. Mrs. Ermengarde St. Just. She loves a good evening of poker. She despises men who play below their ability, just because she’s a lady." "I am duly warned." This can’t possibly be Prince Esteban. Lita let him lead her down the deck. They nodded and smiled to the few people they passed, who were only now venturing out into the sunshine and fresh air. He doesn’t leave Los Cielos. So who is this? And why does he wear Emmanuel’s face?

*** "She’s not fleeing to meet a lover," Eduardo said, the moment Reynaldo closed the door of their stateroom. "The maid said she would be returning on her honeymoon trip, if at all. Why would she say that?" "Perhaps the princess is traveling to meet your brother and force his hand, as you theorized," his servant offered, settling down in his chair again and putting his feet up. "Force Esteban? She’s pretty, but she’s not an empty-headed little dressmaker’s doll. A scholar raised her. Emmanuel said her father specifically asked that family to foster her, so she would have a superior education, to prepare her to hold the throne." "Then, something has happened back in Los Cielos, prompting the princess to act." Reynaldo picked up his whiskey and soda but didn’t sip. He watched Eduardo pace the length of their cabin. "I’ve been an idiot." He stopped short and his lips twisted as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or snarl. "I actually believed Esteban trusted me. Did I destroy my brain, with all those years of drinking and gambling and whoring?" "Some diseases have been shown--" Reynaldo grinned cheekily when his words earned a groan from his employer. "You are reforming your life, sir. You have been associating with people who, on the whole, are honorable. You have fallen out of the practice of expecting your closest blood-kin to destroy you." "Emmanuel was never a danger or threat to me," Eduardo muttered. He sank down on the end of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. "It’s entirely possible Esteban sent for the princess, or told her to do something, and said not a word to me." "Or his telegram instructing you to escort the princess did not reach you." "He used to do this all the time when we were children." He raked his fingers through his hair and sat up again. "He would tell me one thing, when we had been instructed to do something else. Then, when I had trespassed against our tutors or whoever our father had set over us that month, Esteban was injured innocence, protesting he had given me my instructions but I refused to obey." He pounded his fist against his thigh. "What do you want to wager, he told me to do one thing and told the princess to do another? He’s just waiting for me to fall short, so he can punish me." "How? He has no access to your funds, he has no control over your life."

"And when he regains the throne of Los Cielos, after marrying the princess and uniting the two opposing claims to the valley? He will be a recognized monarch. He will have authority over the Black Monks." Reynaldo snorted and lifted his tumbler to take a large swallow of his drink. "The Black Monks are faerie tales. Stories to frighten naughty little children. Creatures of the night who protect the throne, with the power to be invisible, move without sound, strike without warning." "Prince Miguel was murdered, but the men who triggered the avalanche that killed him were caught and hanged before the dust had settled in the valley. No one saw who did it, no one heard anything. One witness saw shadows step away from the walls and swallow the fleeing murderers, but that is all." Eduardo shuddered. "I’ve seen things and done things I am ashamed of now. When you’ve been to the brink of Hell and returned, and you have doubts of Heaven ever being within your grasp...the Black Monks are more real than they were when I was a child, shivering in my nursery bed." "And if these Black Monks do exist, when Esteban takes the throne, he will send them to destroy you, to make his throne that much more secure?" Reynaldo nodded. He let his feet drop to the floor with a thud, and leaned forward to offer the glass to Eduardo. The prince saluted him with a nod and a lift of the glass before taking only a small mouthful of the amber liquid. It was all he allowed himself. He couldn’t trust himself to take more than a glass of wine in an evening of socializing. He choked, shook his head, then handed the tumbler back. "I wouldn’t put it past Esteban to order you to tell me you had been sent by him, so I would trust you, so you could be close for the right moment. You could have poisoned that glass, tossed me overboard, and pretended to be me for the remainder of the journey." "Sir--" "I trust you as much as if Emmanuel had sent you to watch over me, rather than Esteban." Eduardo stood and began pacing again. "I remember a day when that mouthful wouldn’t have affected me any more than warm water. Strange, how the things you adore turn into poison when you refuse to let them control you." He paused a moment, his back to Reynaldo, then nodded. "Esteban either thinks I can be a useful tool and asked me to watch the princess to test me, perhaps to test her. Or, he thinks to frustrate me and trap me and make it seem I am a faithless, lazy fool. Well, I shall take the weapon out of his hand. We are going to send a telegram to my dear brother."

"Rather expensive, telegrams at sea," Reynaldo murmured. He nodded, giving tacit support to the plan. "More expensive not to send one." He offered a wicked smile. "Just think how upset he’ll be, to know I actually talked with the princess. Perhaps more shocked to know she is crossing the ocean. Unless he did send for her. But he won’t dare be upset, because I’ll assure him she is as honorable and demure as she is lovely." "A very expensive telegram." The older man thought a moment. "Save that good news for your response to whatever he sends back to you. Reserve some ammunition once you have a better idea of your enemy’s position and resources."

Chapter Five Lita, as a rule, avoided poker games. Not because of the gambling, because Ermengarde only allowed pennies and pins when she gambled. Not because of the language, because the roughest souls restrained themselves when Ermengarde St. Just sat down at the table. She avoided poker because she hated the deception and the flaws in strategy that she saw displayed on so many occasions, and because destiny rested on the uncontrollable fall of the cards. She preferred chess because she could see all her opponent’s pieces and the playing board was limited, and everything rested on her wits. That made up for the utter boredom of sitting for hours at a time staring at carved marble figures on a red and white marble board. Lita never played poker, but Ermengarde and the Professor liked to have her sit on the sidelines and talk. They believed that observing people was an education in itself. Lita loathed embroidery and other frilly little feminine tasks. Usually she armed herself with a book and practiced her patience, because questions from her guardians and their guests usually interrupted the most interesting parts of the books. Tonight, sitting in the salon Ermengarde had reserved, Lita brought a book but never opened it. Edward Fitzroy’s conversation and his handsome face demanded all her attention. Most unsettling of all, every time she looked at him, he seemed to be watching her. Please, oh, please, be my prince. Lita sat up straight and nearly dropped her book as she realized no one had spoken those words--she had thought them. She hardly recognized the hungry need in her own voice. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she already decided this handsome man couldn’t possibly be Prince Esteban? Despite his striking resemblance to Emmanuel and the odd coincidence in names, how could he be her betrothed? All the information the Professor gleaned from his many scholarly contacts in international circles confirmed that Prince Esteban never left the vicinity of the valley that was once Los Cielos. So how could this man be her prince, her betrothed? Unless he had come specifically looking for her? Had he decided to come meet her, perhaps spend the voyage getting to know her, at last? Had he perhaps arrived as they were leaving, and decided to follow rather than make himself

known? What did he think of her leaving New York without a proper escort? Was he scandalized or amused? Did he think her clever, pretending to be an ordinary girl, companion to an elderly lady? Lita felt Edward’s gaze on her and looked up. She forced herself to meet his eyes instead of looking away. Her face felt warm, but she prayed it wasn’t going pink with a blush. After all, she didn’t want him to think he affected her that much. She couldn’t afford maidenly vapors and delicacy. She couldn’t afford to let her future husband--if this was her future husband--think she was a bit of fluff who would meekly obey whatever plans he made for their shared kingdom. The key to unlock the ancient springs and bring life back to Los Cielos would turn only for her hand, because the prophecies all agreed that a princess would do it. No other. To bring prosperity back to her ancestors’ kingdom, she had to be strong. She had to be a worthy queen. No matter how handsome and refined Edward appeared, she couldn’t let him touch her heart or guide her thoughts in anything. If he was Prince Esteban in disguise, testing her. "Would you care to accompany me to the dancing salon?" Lita blinked and looked up, and her face burned with blush she knew everyone could see in the dimly lit corner of the poker parlor. Edward stood over her, his hand outstretched. She had been so lost in her thoughts she had completely ignored the conversation at the table and the fact that several players had stood up to leave. "Aunt Ermengarde?" Thankfully, her voice didn’t waver. "Run along and have a good time, dear. I trust Mr. Fitzroy to escort you decently. Three dances, sir," Ermengarde said, raising an admonishing eyebrow, "and no more." "If I had beaten you, Ma’am, would you have allowed me four or five?" Edward asked, bowing to Ermengarde with a flourish of an imaginary feathered cap. "I, sir, would be so miffed at your lack of gallantry in depriving an old lady of one of her few pleasures, I would refuse you even a single dance with my niece." Ermengarde chuckled, the sound low and rumbling like a sated, fat cat. "Mrs. St. Just, I’ll have you know you had me sweating the entire time we played. It wasn’t gallantry that made me the loser. My...my father taught me that when it comes to poker, there are no gentlemen and ladies." "Oh, go on with you. Have a good time and stay in well-lighted places. I’m sure if you’re too forward, my dear Lita will put you in your place. My brother scandalized our neighbors by teaching her the fine art of pugilism."

"Really?" Edward lifted one eyebrow as he turned back to Lita. She was hard pressed not to burst out laughing. "Consider me suitably warned." He bowed again and offered his bent elbow. "Miss Lita?" Lita fumbled to tug her gloves back on and wrap her shawl around her shoulders before standing and tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. How long had it been since a gentleman had escorted her this way? Since the last interminable dancing lesson she had taken? She couldn’t remember. Edward was certainly a change from the sweaty, gawky, brandy-breathed young society buck who had led her in a stumbling swirl around the ballroom floor. "I’m sorry, if this is an imposition," Edward said when they were outside, wreathed in a slight fog off the water. It muffled their footsteps and the voices of the passengers strolling the deck around them, and turned the lanterns into waterfalls of golden light spilling down into wide pools. "No. No imposition. You simply startled me. I wasn’t paying attention." "Yes, so I noticed. Interesting book?" "Hmm?" Lita glanced at the slim volume, tucked under her free arm. She chuckled and paused to slip it into her reticule. It didn’t quite fit, but at least it wouldn’t be in the way when she and Edward danced. "To be truthful, sir, I read only a few pages. It was much more interesting to watch the game and follow the talk among all my aunt’s opponents. And, I must admit, I was lost in thought." "Hmm, that makes me think you grew bored with us." He frowned, but laughter sparkled in his eyes. "Not bored. Have you ever experienced the way one thought leads to another, then to another, until you’ve landed on something totally opposite of where you started, and no idea how you arrived?" She waited until he nodded. "Somehow, I traveled from the poker game to...well, I was wondering about my betrothed." She watched him, hoping for a flicker of emotion, a guilty start, something to confirm her suspicions about him. "Your betrothed. Yes. A lucky man, if I may be so bold." "Thank you, sir." She decided to mimic his slightly overdone formality, and made a small curtsey. The maneuver wasn’t so easy, with their arms locked together. "It would be nice to know if he thought so." "How does he look at you when you’re together?" Edward didn’t look at her as he asked his question, but Lita felt a slight tension in the arm she held, and that made her think he cared very much about her answer.

"We have never met. It is an arranged marriage." "Ah. Yes. Did I ask that before, or did you tell me such information before? No matter." He finally glanced down at her. "Do you know what he looks like?" "I have some ideas. I have a portrait of his elder brother. A miniature." "Why would you have a miniature of his brother?" Edward stiffened up at her admission. Why? What did her words mean to him? Lita wondered if he hadn’t known she had a miniature of Emmanuel. But for him to worry, to react in surprise to that, he would indeed have to be Esteban. "I met him long ago, when I was a silly little girl who thought he was exotic and fascinating. He had commissioned several portraits and miniatures for...well, I’m not sure for what reason, but my childish fascination with him must have charmed him greatly, because he gave me one. Emmanuel used to write to me every month, and I would write him long letters full of my childish scribbles and petty concerns. Such a kind man, Emmanuel." "Did he arrange the marriage with his brother?" Edward’s voice softened and he rested his other hand over hers, caught in the crook of his arm. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose he did." Lita blinked hard and quickly, trying to fight back the need for tears. How much different would her life be, if Emmanuel had not died? Would she be married to him now? Would they have found the mystical key and freed the captive rivers and springs of Los Cielos? Would their valley kingdom be rich and green, full of happy people tending the once-famous vineyards? Edward respected her need for silence, as if he understood the mood of sad speculation that settled on her like a gauzy veil. They continued their leisurely walk along the railing, stepping into and out of puddles of lantern light and the spill of light from open windows. Ahead of them, she heard the sweet, sweeping rhythm of the shipboard orchestra playing a waltz. "It’s a lovely night, and from what I overheard at dinner, we won’t have many more nights like this. If you would like to keep walking, rather than dance, I would be very glad to accompany you." He slid her arm free, managing to keep hold of her hand, and bowed over it. I don’t want him to be my prince, Lita decided in that moment. I want him to be this nice because he wants to be, not because he has to be. If he hasn’t introduced himself by his true name, then he’s playing games with me, spying on me, maybe testing me, and I don’t want that. Her spirits sank a little lower, despite the

pleasantness of his gallantry. Lita shook her head. "I should really return to my aunt. Lovely as it is, walking in the moonlight with a man who is neither family nor close acquaintance--" "Or betrothed?" he murmured with a flash of white, even teeth. "It just isn’t done." "Oh, but it is, Miss Lita. All the world over, people are throwing off the shackles of false manners and ridiculous restraints and claiming a new innocence. Why can’t two people simply be friends? Why does every encounter between men and women have to have such ugly overtones and implications?" "You and I can be friends quite nicely with a chaperone. We may have the most innocent of intentions, Mr. Fitzroy, but the world will not see our actions as innocent." Lita sighed, but smiled when he turned to go back the way they had come, bowed, and offered her his bent arm. "I would dearly like to find a world where we don’t have to constantly worry about what other people say," he muttered. "Please do find it, and come back to show me the way." Edward laughed. The sound vibrated up her arm and sent a sad little thrill through her. Lita could wish a thousand things, but knew it would be a waste of time. Her destiny had been set for her, and she refused to fail her father’s dreams and hopes. She refused to fail her ancestors and the innocents who had suffered because two sisters had fought so long ago. Whenever she met and married Prince Esteban, Lita vowed she would not let him rule her mind or her heart. The salvation and life of the kingdom rested in her hands, after all, and she would not relinquish that responsibility after everything had been set right again. *** The next evening, in the ballroom that did double duty as a salon for talk, Eduardo watched Lita chat with an elderly couple draped all in silver, jewelry as well as hair. He hadn’t liked their scent of medicines and fancy clothes stored in cedar and the faint, sour perfume of old age. He kept away from it, because it reminded him of the stink of impinging death. Lita, however, either knew how to ignore it or didn’t catch the scent. She didn’t seem to mind entertaining the elderly folks. That, he supposed, was a mark of a true princess. Enduring the unpleasant and making the onerous look easy and enjoyable.

He lounged against the wall of the ballroom and sighed. At least he had found out one thing, which made his job easier and yet more difficult. Reynaldo’s theory seemed to be true. The princess had been sent for, rather than her choosing to cross the ocean and force her unwilling betrothed’s hand. So why had his brother lied to him and sent him on a fool’s errand? To test him? To test his loyalty? To make him look like a fool? To give him a reason to punish, perhaps finally kill his brother? Eduardo knew better than to haunt the telegraph room on the ship, trying to mentally speed up Esteban’s response. His brother would answer when it suited him. All he could do was keep watch on Lita and prepare himself for whatever his brother ordered him to do, or not do, next. The song came to an end. He glanced at Lita and saw a flicker of something on her face when she looked at the small shipboard orchestra. Was that wistfulness? Did she want to dance? More important question, where was her escort? Formidable yet jolly Mrs. St. Just would have to give her permission before he could ask the princess to dance. Then again, nobody else knew she was a princess, and social restrictions weren’t quite so tight on board ship. They were in a brightly lit room with plenty of people. Who could see any harm in a single dance? The harm, Eduardo suspected, was that he wouldn’t want to leave it at a single dance. Warning shivers raced up his spine as he realized the direction his thoughts headed. He had trained himself never to look at a woman with desire, beyond that first glance and shock of hunger. Desire led to pursuit. Just like indulging in more than half a glass of whiskey in a fortnight could lead to that long slide back to his shameful, dissolute past, longing for a woman could lead to her destruction. He refused to risk the loss of the good, calm, respectable life he led now. Eduardo liked the man he had made of himself. He would lose it, if Esteban thought he had done anything to try to capture Lita’s affections. Even if the princess were totally innocent, Esteban wouldn’t see it that way. Esteban had never been innocent, so he couldn’t believe it of anyone else. "Miss Seal-Croft." Eduardo blinked, startled to find himself standing three feet away from the cozy corner where Lita and the elderly couple chatted. He bowed and gestured across the long room at the orchestra, which looked ready to begin another song. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?" She hesitated, and that just made the longing in her eyes brighter. The elderly man, little more than a gnome, sat up straight and tapped his cane on the floor.

"Go on, missy. You might never get another chance. This young buck has been watching you all night." He leaned closer, put his hand up against his mouth as if to shield his words, and continued in only a slighter softer voice. "And if you don’t like him, you just step on his toes a few times and he’ll never ask you to dance again." He met Eduardo’s eyes for a moment and winked. Now Eduardo understood why Lita stayed with the elderly couple for so long. There was a spry wit and lively sense of humor under those wrinkles and silver hair. He felt slightly ashamed that he had avoided these people. When he returned Lita to her seat, Eduardo decided, he would settle here in the corner and make up for his earlier stupidity. "I don’t know," Lita began. She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment. An answering jolt cut through Eduardo’s belly. Such a simple, innocent, thoughtless gesture, but suddenly he wanted to kiss that lip. Forget her lip, he wanted to kiss her entire mouth. He wondered if Lita had ever been properly kissed. Then again, the reformed scoundrel he was, Eduardo wasn’t sure he had ever kissed anyone properly. "Oh, go ahead and enjoy yourself, my dear," the elderly lady said with a whispery little chuckle. "There’s no harm in dancing. Just don’t let him sweet talk you into going out onto the deck." She nodded for emphasis to her words and turned to Eduardo. "We’ll be watching you, young man." "Edward Fitzroy, ma’am," he said, and executed a stiff, precise bow. When her lips quirked up, he caught hold of her gloved hand and kissed it. That earned a few peals of laughter from her. She tugged her hand free and waved it in a shooing motion at Lita. "Go on, the two of you, before the song is half over and you’ve done nothing but talk. Too much time spent on talking and planning, and not enough time doing." "Shall we?" Eduardo bowed and offered his bent arm to Lita. She blushed just enough to be noticeable, when he stood close enough to catch her fresh, clean perfume. Nodding, Lita let him tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. She matched her stride to his as they stepped onto the open floor, before he could shorten his steps to hers. Eduardo had never had that happen before. Usually when he escorted well-bred young ladies onto the dance floor, they took mincing little steps to force him to adapt to them. Socially timid young ladies, he had learned long ago, were false masks. The more retiring and delicate a lady appeared, the more likely she was a virago in private. Princess Elizabelita, however, was turning out to be an entirely new breed.

Eduardo made a mental note to set Reynaldo investigating the backgrounds of her two guardians, and figure out what they must have done to raise her so differently. Lita was a refreshing change, but surprises usually turned out to be deadly. "You’re very graceful," he said dutifully, after they had taken a few steps. Then he had to swallow a laugh as he realized for once, it was true. "Thank you, kind sir." She nodded her thanks with a grave expression, her mouth folded small and demure. Laughter sparkled in her eyes. Eduardo wanted to dive into her eyes and never emerge. The waltz and their fellow-dancers slowly spun them around the dance floor, until they were nearly back where they started when the song ended. Eduardo knew better than to follow impulse and beg her for another dance. He tucked her hand into his arm again, allowed his hand to linger on hers just a moment too long, and escorted her back to the elderly couple. Her aunt, Mrs. St. Just, joined them a few moments later. Eduardo knew he could have excused himself then, but he liked the woman and her plainspoken manner. Besides, he needed to learn more about both women. The more witnesses he had, the less suspicion he would generate when he stayed in Lita’s company. For a moment, a heavy wave of resentment toward Emmanuel flooded him. If only his brother hadn’t died, everything would be so much easier, simpler. Lita would be married already, happy with Emmanuel, who would worship her. Eduardo had no idea if he would still be a drunkard and scoundrel, an embarrassment to his family, but he knew he wouldn’t be in this position, enchanted by the girl his brother would marry soon. He strangled on a strange sense of envy and pity, choked by the need to warn her to flee from his brother’s plans as soon as she possibly could. His thoughts swam so thickly through his mind, Eduardo had a hard time yanking free to follow the conversation. He had to, however. He had a mission. And he had to tread carefully to avoid giving Esteban the excuse he wanted to destroy him. The elderly couple were Mr. and Mrs. Byron Hardcastle. They had gone by ship to Europe for their wedding trip fifty years ago this month. Their son and daughter had given them another world tour as an anniversary present, and to allow them to come to France to visit their granddaughter and new great-grandson. Their granddaughter had married a quite successful importer and lived just outside of Paris. What was it like, Eduardo wondered, to spend so many years with one person and look so happy to still be there? He could barely remember his parents, but he knew their marriage had held no happiness. His father had forced his mother to

marry him, and when she didn’t produce more than one son, his third, he grew tired of her and turned abusive. Eduardo was only eight when his mother had vanished, and the servants whispered that his father had killed her. He could find out little more than that, because the servants who did the whispering vanished as well. Eduardo thought rather that his mother had run away. She was too strong to let herself be hurt any longer, but he wondered to this day why she hadn’t taken him with her. All he really knew was that his father seemed unaffected by the loss. Mr. Hardcastle, Eduardo felt certain, would be devastated by the loss of his wife, no matter the cause. Eduardo’s father hadn’t had much affection for anyone or anything. All his passion, his energy, had been invested in controlling and revitalizing Los Cielos. He had seen his sons as an investment and little more, and entrusted their care to governesses and tutors. Would Esteban treat Lita the same way? Eduardo surprised himself with the depth of his anger at that thought. She was nothing to him but a responsibility, a duty that could turn into a snare if he didn’t properly decipher what Esteban really wanted to accomplish. The harsh hooting of the ship’s alarm shredded his thoughts before he could follow that new, painful suspicion. Eduardo stood and gestured for the others to stay seated. He spotted a ship’s officer in his dark blue uniform and hurried through the dispersing dancers before a current could form in the traffic. He reached the lieutenant in time for the man to cup his hands around his mouth and order everyone to the lifeboats. He neglected to say it was a drill, and that chilled Eduardo more than an admission something was wrong with the ship. He turned around and hurried back to join Lita, Mrs. St. Just, and the Hardcastles. "Sir, if you’ll lean on me, we’ll be able to go fast and break a path through the crowds for the ladies," Eduardo offered, and held out a hand to Mr. Hardcastle. To his relief, the elderly gentleman didn’t take the suggestion as in insult. He got to his feet with only minimal shaking in his legs and balanced with his cane before holding out his arm for Eduardo to grasp. "Are you in the military, by any chance?" the elderly man asked as the five stepped into the current now sweeping everyone out of the ballroom and onto the deck. "No." Eduardo muffled a smile at the absurdity of the thought. Esteban commanded a small army, made up of mercenaries, the desperate and angry, men who thrived on butchery, or those who had nowhere else to go and fought for anyone who would give them a sense of home or belonging. His brother enjoyed

such things, the sense of power and utter control and loyalty. Eduardo had surprised himself with the discipline and dedication he had dredged up from inside himself when he began his reform. Scholarship and social regimentation were as far as he could go. He couldn’t stomach the responsibility of commanding anyone, much less holding their lives and minds and souls in his hands. "Ah. Pity. You’ve a fine, commanding presence," Mr. Hardcastle said. He struggled to triple his pace and leaned into Eduardo for support as they forged a path through the crowds. He looked back every few steps, to make sure the ladies were directly behind them. Lita and Mrs. St. Just were on either side of Mrs. Hardcastle, their arms linked through hers, nearly carrying the frail little woman between them. One time when Eduardo looked back, he saw Lita ward off a man in rough clothes, likely a passenger from steerage, who tried to shoulder his way in ahead of her. She didn’t look either angry or afraid, merely stuck out her arm, her elbow close to his gut, effectively stopping him without slowing her pace. Eduardo hoped she had the wit and courage to do that to Esteban, when his brother tried such tactics with her. Twice, he felt a hand on his back and looked over his shoulder to see Lita gripping his jacket. It was necessary, to keep their little group together when the current shifted and split as the crowds reached the lifeboat racks. Eduardo was only four steps away from the crewmen helping ladies, children and elderly into the nearest lifeboat, when Mrs. St. Just screamed. "Lita!" His heart raced and tried to come up his throat. Eduardo turned, shoving Mr. Hardcastle into Mrs. St. Just’s support before he even saw what had happened. Two roughly dressed men had Lita around the waist, holding her off the ground. One had his hand over Lita’s mouth and the other tried to get control of her flailing arms as they moved backwards through the flow of people. Lita twisted and struggled, her efforts hampered by the press of people around her. Eduardo dove into the crowd. She managed to twist an arm free and reached up and over, behind herself, to scratch at one man’s face. "Good girl," he snarled, and bared his teeth in a fierce grin. What was wrong with the people around them, that no one noticed a girl being kidnapped right before their eyes? Lita flung up her legs, giving Eduardo a tantalizing glimpse of her crisp white petticoats. She bent her knees as she swung her legs down again. He was almost ready for it when her heels connected square with her abductor’s knees. Down the three went, one collapsed by the blow, the other man pulled down by his weight, and Lita on top of them. Eduardo cursed and tried to climb over the dozen people

between him and Lita. The crowd parted just in time for him to see one man raise his fist and slam it down into her face. Eduardo roared and leaped over the last few people in his way. He might have hit someone in the face with his knee, stepped on someone’s shoulder, but he didn’t care. He grabbed one man and tried to fling him away. The other man went after Lita, who tried to crawl away. The disconnected movements of her arms and legs revealed the blow had dazed her. The second man caught her up around the waist and resumed dragging her away. Then, as if a door had closed, the four were alone. Eduardo knocked his man backwards, so he stumbled four steps before hitting the wall behind him. He turned around to go after the man dragging Lita with her heels scraping the deck. Shadows emerged from all around him, seemingly from the deck itself. They converged on the two men. One knocked Eduardo to the deck, revealing a very solid fist among all the amorphous black. He scrambled to get to his feet, watching the shadows. Lita pushed herself upright, leaning against the wall behind her, still unsure and wobbling, and she stared as the black shadows surrounded the men. Through the roar of the people scrambling into the lifeboats, Eduardo heard the distinct screams of terror from the two attackers. The shadows lifted them up and hauled them to the railing. His stomach dropped down around his knees when he guessed what was about to happen. And something soared hot and fierce inside him at the same moment. He held his breath for the three seconds it took for the shadows to fling both men over the railing, into the darkness and the ocean waves. "Thank you," Lita croaked, and held out a hand to the shadows. They faded back into the darkness. Eduardo shuddered, even as he said a rare prayer of gratitude for their presence. "Are you all right, Princess?" He hurried to cross the gap between them and grasped her arms. "Princess?" Shock and hope warred in her face for a few heartbeats. That settled that, Eduardo decided. She did know she was royalty. But was she glad he knew, or worried? "Come on. We can worry about that later." He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her back to the shrinking crowds gathered along the railing further down the deck. "Something is wrong." She swung her arm out, taking in the writhing, seething mass of humanity struggling to get onto the lifeboats.

Eduardo shook his head, wondering what she could mean. There was nothing wrong--it was the usual panic of people who thought the ship would submerge in the next five seconds, even though the engines still rumbled smoothly and the ship didn’t list to one side in the slightest. He choked as he realized that was exactly what Lita meant. There was nothing wrong with the ship, from what he could tell. Surely in the time that passed since the alarm started howling, the ship’s condition would have worsened enough for an inexperienced man to notice. Then he realized the ship’s crew now blocked people from the lifeboats, and were trying to unload them. "False alarm?" he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear. "I think the Dissenters are still trying to take me." Eduardo stopped short. That calm little declaration answered most of his questions about the princess and her awareness of the situation. They rejoined Mrs. St. Just and the Hardcastles. Eduardo admired Lita’s chaperone for her calmness and ability to take care of the two frail elderly folks in the midst of the ship-wide panic. The three got the Hardcastles back to their cabin and made sure a steward was available to check on them and bring the hot milk Mrs. Hardcastle requested to calm her. Then, Eduardo escorted Lita and Mrs. St. Just to their cabin. He insisted on searching it before letting them close the door, just in case the Dissenters had someone hiding in the closets or under the bed. Eduardo shook his head, amused and strangely sickened by the memories that simple word aroused. He had grown complacent, he supposed, dismissing the Dissenters as a folk tale meant to frighten children of the royal blood into behaving and staying where their guardians put them. Just like the tales of the Black Monks-and hadn’t they proved they were more than legends just a short time ago? Many legends sprang up in the generations since Los Cielos became a wasteland, to explain what had happened and to promise a return to the prosperity the people of the valley had known. The worst of all the odd stories, and perhaps the most frightening, had spawned the Dissenters. That particular legend said that Los Cielos would not become fertile again, the water would not return, until royal blood filled the place where the water was born. The Dissenters intended to destroy both royal houses, to kill as many nobles as they could, slicing their throats and letting them bleed to death in the rocky wastes where the deepest river once flowed. Eduardo had heard horror stories of his grandmother and others further back, kidnapped by the Dissenters and laid out for the sacrifice before rescue came. For Lita to be the target of such madmen made him shudder. Yet she spoke of the Dissenters so calmly.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy, for your help," Mrs. St. Just said. She sank down at the small table in the sitting room and gave Lita a smile of thanks when the girl handed her a tumbler of whiskey, neat. Her smile froze when Eduardo pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat down so he straddled the back. He rested his crossed arms across the back of the chair and made himself comfortable. It was, he feared, going to be a long evening. "Lita?" "He knows, Aunt Ermie," the girl said. She poured herself a finger of brandy and took such a small sip, Eduardo wondered if she even tasted it. "Knows?" Her tone turned frosty, imperious. Eduardo had to grin, recognizing the trick. He admired her for rising to Lita’s defense, even if the princess was quite capable of defending herself. That comforted him a little more intensely than he cared to admit. "Knows how much?" "I’m not sure." Lita sank down in another chair and tucked her legs up under herself in a quite unladylike, yet graceful pose. "He knows enough to call me Princess." "Ah." Mrs. St. Just took a healthy swallow of her whiskey. "Did anyone say what happened, with the alarm and the lifeboats?" Eduardo asked, to cut off the inquisition he saw building in her eyes. "False alarm is the gist of what I heard." She turned to Lita. "To get their hands on you?" "I’m afraid so. Unless white slavery has decided to hunt on ocean liners." Lita took another tiny sip of her brandy and put the glass down on the floor. "Now, sir, suppose you begin by telling us your real name?" "Are you asking, or commanding me as Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos?" Eduardo nodded, pleased, and silently awarded her points when she didn’t react at all to her full, formal name. "Asking, sir. A princess without a throne or country is no more powerful than any other woman." "Powerful enough to change the world, if you wish," he retorted. That earned a slight relaxing of the stern line of her mouth. He nodded and bowed his head in salute. "I am Eduardo Mateo Carlos de Veritas." "Eduardo, not Esteban?" She sat up a little straighter and for a moment, there was a stillness about her that came close to worrying Eduardo. "My older brother."

"Emmanuel--" "Was the oldest of we three." He cocked his head to one side and tried to read the struggle, the flashing thoughts hidden in her dark eyes. "You didn’t know there were three of us? Hmm, and how shall I prove my identity to you, if you never knew I existed?" "Your proof is your face, sir. The moment we met, I thought Emmanuel had returned from the dead," she almost whispered. "Did you like my brother, Princess?" "I adored him. I was still child enough to equate our situation with a faerie tale of the best kind. He was a magician who gave me all sorts of wonderful treats, and yet talked to me as if I were an adult." Lita shuddered a little and visibly pulled herself out of memories that made her eyes shine. If it was with fondness or tears, Eduardo wasn’t certain he wanted to know. "Did anyone ever learn who killed him?" "The first time, his own men, to keep our brother’s men from killing him. The second time..." He shrugged. "There was no body, so who can be sure?" "The second time, sir?" Ermengarde asked, all her attention focused on Lita, who stared at Eduardo as if he had struck her. "We were told Prince Emmanuel died in Paris at the hands of street thugs." "Six years ago, our brother decided that Emmanuel had reformed his life entirely too much, and the only way to be sure he would inherit the throne was to kill the heir." Eduardo offered a smile to Lita, whose mouth pursed as if she fought nausea. "You were his inspiration. He became a man of purpose and integrity, because he wanted to be worthy of you. With the help of some loyal friends, he faked his death. I was distraught when I learned, and furious enough to..." He sighed. No good would come of relating how he had almost fallen into the cesspool of drinking and debauchery he had dragged himself out of, when he learned more than a year later than Emmanuel was still alive. "You said, the first time?" Lita whispered. "Perhaps six months ago, Emmanuel was investigating a series of caves that he thought would lead underground to the hidden springs that once fed Los Cielos. He wrote to me and said it would be a long time until I heard from him again, because he would be away from his command post for several months. Just two months ago, our friend in Seville telegraphed to say all the members of the expedition were dead, crushed in a cave-in. Because Esteban’s men have been dynamiting all around the borders of the valley, trying to find a way to those same

springs, it could have been an accident or intentional, and no way to know." "Emmanuel has been alive all this time?" Lita whispered. She sagged a little in her chair. Eduardo slid off his chair and hurried to pick up the tumbler of brandy and offer it to her. "It was necessary to deceive everyone, Princess. To protect you." "And what if Prince Esteban decided to claim his bride before your brother was ready to come out of hiding?" Ermengarde snapped. "Esteban never liked to share. He would only send for the princess as a last resort." The words tasted foul in Eduardo’s mouth. "Something has happened, obviously, to force him to send for you. He did send for you, did he not?" "Unfortunately, yes." Lita nodded, staring at a spot on the carpet, ignoring the glass in her hand. "Well...I must assume, sir, that you are here to..." She shook her head. "I must assume the worst. You are here to spy on me. Prince Esteban does not trust me, perhaps?" "The other option is that my brother has sent me to watch over you," Eduardo offered. "My betrothed has shown no concern for me in six years. Why change now?" "Because the key has been found, my dear," Mrs. St. Just said. "He needs you. The legend says that a daughter of the royal house is the only one who can open the door." "One of many legends, Aunt Ermie." Lita shook her head. "I’m sure there are many which tell Prince Esteban he has no need of me. Please tell me the truth, sir." "That’s one thing we have in common." Eduardo got up to pace slowly as he talked. He needed to move. The somber light in Lita’s eyes made him want to hit something. Or someone. "Esteban is playing games with us, I think. He asked me to watch over you because he says he fears you are unfaithful." "Scheming to take the throne from him?" Her little smile was bitter. Eduardo could have sworn she gave a tiny, unladylike snort. "Unfaithful, as in having lovers. Esteban won’t risk you bringing a bastard to him as his heir. He lies constantly, but heaven forbid someone should deceive him." His mouth watered for the whiskey Mrs. St. Just sipped, but he knew better than to even taste it, much less drink. Not tonight. This moment was too important, a watershed in all their lives. "How can I know you are telling me the truth? Perhaps those men who tried to

kidnap me are in your employ--or at least, they were in your employ. I wonder if anyone realized they went overboard." "Overboard?" Mrs. St. Just put down her glass. "Your friendly shadows at work, my dear?" "Perhaps." She shrugged. "I have always thought of the Black Monks as just another legend of the valley," Eduardo offered. "This voyage is making me rethink many things." "The Black Monks are very real. They have been with me all my life. I trust them, but I need some reason to trust you, sir," Lita countered. "Esteban is lying to both of us, I think. Something has happened in the valley, to make him act after all this time. For all we know, those men were sent to kill me, to take me out of the line of succession, and you are bait. Why are you here on this ship, Princess? You said you were traveling to meet your betrothed, but Esteban said nothing about travel when he sent me to you." "He summoned me, and said the key has been found. Nothing more." Eduardo shook his head and braced his arms on the back of his chair before slowly sliding down onto the seat. "Summoned, perhaps, to lure you away from familiar surroundings to your death. Ladies, I believe we must join forces if we are to survive this." "We have the element of surprise in our favor," Mrs. St. Just offered. "Certainly your brother didn’t expect Lita to move so quickly. My brother and I raised her to be sensible, to think for herself, and to travel lightly," she added with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Eduardo muffled a snort of laughter. Lita might travel lightly, but her chaperone had enough luggage for three women.

Chapter Six "Suppose..." Lita gnawed on her bottom lip. She caught Eduardo giving her an odd glance, his gaze fastened on her mouth, and a strange, twisting, warm sensation went through her belly. She made a mental note never to do that again. "What, dear?" Ermengarde glanced into her empty tumbler and got up to fill it. She smiled, nodding her thanks when Eduardo hurried to do it for her. "What if the Dissenters sent that telegram, and not Esteban? What if he sent Eduardo to guard me, because he caught wind of some plot?" "Prince Esteban told Prince Eduardo that he feared you were unfaithful to him. That you had taken a lover. That does not sound like a man who fears for your safety. He cares more about his reputation than your welfare. Of all the nerve," she fumed. "Aunt Ermie, please." Lita felt an unreasonable need to laugh. She couldn’t quite understand it. After all, what Esteban had written to his brother in his instructions cast an unforgivable slur on her reputation and honor. Unforgivable enough to refuse to marry him? But what was she to do? Go to the captain of this ship, identify herself as a princess of a kingdom he had never heard of, and demand he turn around and head back to New York? What disturbed her the most was how little surprise she felt. As if she had expected just such an action from Esteban. If the Professor and Ermengarde hadn’t raised her with an honest view of her own abilities and worth, she might have been crushed. Did she really need Esteban to feel worthwhile? Of course not. Her value in the world didn’t depend on making one man happy. Did it depend on her actually marrying the man? "You don’t look as surprised as I expected," Eduardo said slowly. "A lady tries to be prepared for any circumstance," Ermengarde said, her tone frosty. "Stunned doesn’t require much expression," Lita said, almost on the tail end of those words. "But no, after a little thought, I am not surprised. A man who all but ignored me for six years is not a man I expect to trust or to trust me. I would like to know, however, where he found the basis for his accusations." Her hand tightened around the tumbler of brandy, and she fought the urge to smash the innocent glass against the wall.

"No basis." Eduardo sighed and offered them both a crooked smile. Lita didn’t like the brief flicker of pain she saw in his eyes. "I believe my brother is setting a trap for me, and using you as bait. I regret telling him about your actions, but at the time, I was more concerned with ensuring he couldn’t accuse me of anything that could be considered treacherous." "Such as?" Ermengarde’s tone warmed. "Convincing the princess to deny the betrothal and flee where he can’t find her, perhaps." "My duty doesn’t allow for consideration of such paltry things as emotions," she drawled, and was delighted when his lips quirked up in response. So, he did have a sense of humor, and he didn’t blame her for the current difficult situation. What was wrong with her, that such considerations mattered? It mattered, she decided, because if Esteban had decided she was an adversary to be defeated, when she had done nothing wrong, then Eduardo might just be her only ally. "I have studied the maps my father made, everything he ever recorded, about the valley and our people’s history. My guardians did an admirable job of gleaning every bit of information currently available. Certainly you have more current and personal information? Observations about the valley, the people?" "I think that we should face the obstacle of actually getting to your valley before we worry about the climate, my dear," Ermengarde said. She raised her refilled tumbler. "To the task ahead of us." "To partnership, Highness?" Lita glanced at Eduardo. "To partnership, Princess." His eyes darkened, somber with purpose and promises. Lita felt something shiver, deep inside, heavy with a longing she had never experienced before. She wasn’t sure she liked it. But neither did she dislike it. Distractions, she scolded silently as she took a sip of her brandy, to seal the pledge they had made. I can’t afford distractions. ***

Lita felt wide awake at only five in the morning, with less than four hours of sleep behind her. She needed to exercise, to work out the last dregs of shock from last night’s events. Perhaps it was scandalous to wear boy clothes, but she certainly couldn’t fence and work through the tumbling routine the Professor had devised for her while wearing a skirt, could she? Besides, she rather looked forward to seeing how much she could shock and surprise Prince Eduardo. Her stomach gave a funny little flip when she thought of him. She hadn’t been totally wrong, insisting to herself that he couldn’t be Esteban. But why hadn’t she known about Eduardo? Why had Emmanuel never mentioned him to her? "It doesn’t matter," she whispered, hoping the sound of her voice in the early morning quiet would add weight to her words. Then she reached the gymnasium. Of course, the shipboard staff never dreamed that a lady would want to use the facilities, so there were no rules keeping females out. Lita didn’t doubt that if someone caught her in here and was suitably offended, there would be rules posted before lunch was served. Offending the elitist sensibilities of the small-minded had become the Professor’s hobby. Lita knew it was fortunate her guardian wasn’t mean-spirited, but rather forward-thinking enough to know when to stop pushing, and when to turn his forays into equality between the sexes into something humorous. He had learned long ago that humor often worked better at making people think, rather than humiliating or infuriating them. Still, the Professor wasn’t here onboard the ship, and she had perhaps two hours until the male patrons of the gymnasium decided to exercise away their excesses of the night before. Eduardo waited for her. Lita thoroughly enjoyed the annoyed frown that crossed his face when she stepped into the gymnasium, emphasized by the sharp taps of his heels as he started across the polished wood floor to meet her. He obviously saw her as a mere boy, an intruder, and intended to keep her out. She bit her lip against laughing aloud and pulled the cap off her head, letting her ponytail fall free. Eduardo stopped short, his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened almost as large as his mouth. Lita pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Then, to her delight, Eduardo grinned and executed a fancy bow to her. She didn’t miss the way his gaze traveled over her, noting the lines of her legs in her baggy pants. As she followed him to the cabinet holding the fencing equipment, she decided she rather liked his appraisal, and that had never happened before. "Esteban will be disappointed you can take care of yourself so well," Eduardo remarked, once they had chosen their weapons and picked through the padded jackets and face guards to find something that fit. "Why?" She laughed, then felt that dropping sensation in her belly. There was

always a dark side to every humorous remark, she had learned. She was heading into a totally new, unknown situation, after all. She could trust no one and nothing until they had proven themselves. Until she had proven herself capable. Until she had proven herself worthy. Until the people of Los Cielos had sworn loyalty to her. Why did she have to marry Esteban? Why couldn’t she pick from the remaining brothers? Lita would take Eduardo in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t her heart that had to be satisfied. It was the needs of the valley, its people, and the heritage her father had entrusted to her. "He will want to show off the efficiency of his soldiers, of course," Eduardo said with a grin, unaware of the turmoil of thoughts spinning through her head. "He has a decidedly twelfth-century view of how noble women should behave, how they should be treated. They do not include a woman who wears trousers and can fight off her attackers instead of swooning--a real lady never screams." "Not even to summon help before she swoons?" Lita chose to take his words as he seemed to offer them--humorously. "It’s not delicate." He sighed and took a few lunging steps forward, sighting down the length of the foil. "I’m afraid my brother equates physical delicacy with mental delicacy, too." "He won’t be happy at all with me, will he?" "No. Ah, but I pity him. You’re going to turn his world upside down and inside out." Another lunge, then he saluted her with the blade. "Call on me for whatever help you need to make him totally miserable, Princess." Lita laughed and saluted him back. By unspoken consent, they settled into the standard posture and routine for fencing practice. To her delight, Eduardo was her match and didn’t hold back anything as they proceeded through warm-ups, then slid into a true duel of skill. She licked her lips, tasting sweat, and muffled laughter that threatened to steal her breath. Eduardo presented the perfect test of her skill, and her stamina. Too bad he hadn’t asked her to dance at the beginning of the evening last night. They could have danced all night without a glimmer of fatigue. She said so, when he grunted the command to halt and stepped back. Lita slid off her faceguard, wiped her face with her cuff, and grinned. Eduardo laughed at her words. "Now, that’s something I’ve tried to avoid. Mustn’t appear a coward, however. Princess Elizabelita, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on the dance floor this evening?" He bowed, pretending to sweep a hat off his head.

"I would be honored and delighted, kind sir." She pretended to catch up voluminous skirts and curtseyed. They laughed together, a little weary, a little breathless, their clothes dark splotched with sweat. It occurred to her, she hadn’t had this much fun in quite a long time. *** Over the remainder of their voyage, they conducted a school, with Lita as both student and inquisitor, and Eduardo answering every question to the best of his ability. They walked the deck for hours, conversing in the patois of Los Cielos, and laughed together at the mistakes they both made. Eduardo confessed it had been nine years since he last went home, and Lita had last conversed with a native of Los Cielos when her nurse was alive. The elderly woman, who had been her father’s nurse, died when she was twelve. As it was, the differences in their vocabularies led to blank spots in their knowledge. Lita knew the vernacular of the upper class, the nobility. Her nurse had been determined to raise her as a true princess, focusing on manners, etiquette and deportment, how to converse with ambassadors, artists and the wealthy. Eduardo knew the company and the vernacular of soldiers and peasants. Between them, they were a well-rounded individual who could talk to anyone. Or would, if there was anyone of Los Cielos to talk to. Lita became the teacher, however, when their discussions turned to the future of the valley. Eduardo knew little about vineyards. He knew the vineyards and wines of Los Cielos had been the wonder of the Pyrenees. The wealth of the tiny country had come from the rich quality and variety of their wines. It would take years, after the restoration of the water, before the valley could again take its place as a source of fine wines. Lita asked Eduardo whether the farmers of Los Cielos should even try to return to the crop of their ancestors. Was there anyone left who retained loyalty to the history and tradition of the valley? Should they go on to some other crop? And how would they do it? Eduardo’s long silence, his bemused expression, and then his confession that he knew little about farming or the winemaking process, stunned her. Lita didn’t like the disappointment that twisted through her. It indicated she placed a great deal more trust and respect on Eduardo than was perhaps wise. She expected him to know everything, and to have answers to her questions. That was not wise. The Professor had counseled her never to trust anyone as the sole authority in anything. So, she taught him what she knew, and it gratified her that Eduardo was suitably impressed with her vast store of knowledge about fertilization, irrigation, harvesting and pressing grapes, and the best wood to use for the aging casks. They were still talking about wine, a lighthearted discussion of an emblem for the

restored vineyards, when their ship reached France. *** No response came from Esteban by the time their ship docked in France. That worried Eduardo. He was glad he hadn’t told his brother their exact schedule, or even where the ship was to dock. He could only hope Esteban assumed they were coming up from a Spanish port. Should he look for an unfriendly reception on the docks, when the ship reached port? Maybe the Dissenters had managed to get past Esteban’s guards, and his brother’s blood already watered the sterile ground of Los Cielos? Eduardo closed his eyes, feeling sick and guilty with the relief such a mental image gave him. If Esteban was gone, that left him, the youngest son, as heir to the de Veritas half of the throne. He could marry Lita. Eduardo shook his head, and tried to shake such ideas from his head. Why raise his hopes? He wasn’t worthy of a pure, intelligent, clever girl like Lita. Besides, Esteban was more likely to be the leader of the Dissenters. Even if he did lose his life to the rebels, Esteban was likely to rise from the dead just to prevent his younger brother from assuming the throne. If only Emmanuel could rise from the dead a second time. But then, Lita would likely throw herself into Emmanuel’s arms, and Eduardo would be no better off than he was now. "No, worse off. I would hate Emmanuel, and die every time he kissed her. There’s no guilt in hating Esteban, but..." Eduardo snatched up his coat and went for a long walk around the deck. If he stayed in his cabin, he might be tempted to empty both decanters of whiskey. *** For safety’s sake, Eduardo left the ship before Lita, in case the worst had happened and Esteban had sent men to watch for the princess. In case Esteban truly believed Lita had betrayed him and fled their betrothal to marry another. Just in case she was right, and the Dissenters had sent the telegram bidding her come to Los Cielos. It was conceivable, after all, that for the first time in his life, Esteban was marginally innocent. Eduardo played the role of the idle rich, ignoring the beggars who waited for travelers to disembark. He strolled down the gangway, leaving Reynaldo to handle the baggage. Most important of all, he didn’t look back over his shoulder to watch for Lita to leave the ship. He placed himself where he could see her, once he was

down on the docks and waiting for the port officials to come greet him and examine his papers. "Highness?" Eduardo muffled a groan, and turned to Reynaldo to ask his manservant not to play that game here in port. A heartbeat later, he realized that rough male voice was not Reynaldo. Gut instinct had him bending, turning, bringing his arm up to deflect a blow. The knife glanced off his elbow. It had aimed for low in his ribs, angled to slide up into his lungs or his heart. Eduardo registered all that in a moment of thought. He finished turning and put all his weight on one leg, kicking. Anywhere, it didn’t matter where, as long as it disabled his opponent for a moment. A woman shrieked. A man shouted. Eduardo finished turning and swung with his fist. He got in a glancing blow on the man’s shoulder. His attacker easily slid through the thickening crowd. Eduardo didn’t try to pursue. He hadn’t even seen enough of his attacker, just his back, the color of his clothes. Not enough to identify him again. Not enough of his voice to recognize if he heard it again. Reynaldo rejoined him, his hands full of luggage, mouth tight and flat in fury and concern. Eduardo refrained from pointing out that his servant couldn’t have done much to help in the attack, with his hands full. Unless he thought he could disable the man by throwing luggage at him? Reynaldo was clever. He probably could have managed that. As it was, the man with the knife had fled after only a token show of resistance. Was that perhaps all it was? A token show of threat? Something to make Eduardo think and hesitate? Maybe to test his alertness? Maybe to test how well-guarded and able to defend himself he truly was? Or even a test of his sobriety? Eduardo knew what Esteban thought of him, and he had worked hard to support his brother’s belief that he was an embarrassment, a harmless drunkard, living in wasteful dissipation. A man who avoided excesses, who looked after his health and pursued degrees from American universities, was a man who cared about the future. Not a comfortable man to have as a younger brother, if one were an egotistical, hard-hearted, hopeful ruler. A port official hurried over, more likely attracted by Eduardo’s expensive clothes and luggage than any real concern for his safety. Just in case someone was watching, he avoided looking for Lita, though it was hard. Panic jolted through his chest, at the thought that the attack on him might have been a ploy, a distraction. Maybe an attempt to disable him, before the attempt was made on her?

"Reynaldo...please check into our friends," he said, with a negligent wave of his hand. His servant nodded, his expression sharpened, and he hurried away. Feeling as if a fishing net full of lead weights had slid off his shoulders, Eduardo gladly slid into the role of offended aristocrat. *** "My employer wishes me to accompany you and ensure you don’t run into any difficulties," Reynaldo announced, appearing out of the crowd. "Difficulties?" Ermengarde glanced over her shoulder at the boy who trundled after them with luggage stacked high on a cart. "Port officials?" Lita asked, She didn’t like the way her heart jolted into a gallop. She hoped it was a silly matter of paperwork. Perhaps Prince Esteban had left word for his brother? "Unwanted greeters, I believe," Reynaldo said. "Is he all right?" Lita slipped into the Los Cielois patois, and didn’t care if anyone overheard them or not. The French-speakers among the passengers and crew would only be able to understand a fragment of what she said. "Yes, but he feared you might also suffer the same unpleasantness." He bowed and offered his bent arms to both women. "Sir, you are too kind." Ermengarde inclined her head regally and gently placed her gloved hand on the crook of his arm. Lita mirrored her. Reynaldo slowed their pace, so people had to go around them. That suited Lita. Whatever ripples of reaction came from the attack on Eduardo, they would be handled and resolved by the time she and Ermengarde came down the gangway from the ship. The fewer people around them, the more room to defend themselves if they were attacked. Ermengarde had a good right hook with her umbrella, and her reticule might be tiny, but it could sting and blind someone, and she had remarkable aim for someone who detested violence. Reynaldo chatted with Ermengarde, conveniently leaving Lita alone to pay attention to their surroundings. She fought a smile, positive the very capable, elderly man deliberately left her free to observe. Servants often reflected the attitudes of their masters. She hoped this insight into Reynaldo’s acceptance of her capabilities spoke highly of Eduardo’s attitudes. Stop, she silently scolded. The heart can never rule, or all is lost.

Something deep inside her sighed in regret and went back to sleep. Or was that a snarl? A soft rattle, like something hitting the deck, came from behind her. A prickle of warning lifted the hairs on her exposed neck. She squeezed Reynaldo’s arm before letting go. Two men stopped short when Lita turned and met their gazes. There was no one behind them, and the passengers ahead of Ermengarde and Reynaldo got further away with every second. No one remained to witness the attack. Lita had never been a screamer. She felt it wasted time and energy better spent in fighting. The first thing the Professor ever taught her, when contemplating self-defense training, was to always use surprise as a weapon. Being a woman, she had even more of a weapon in surprise, because men’s arrogance, and the assumption that they were better able, made them weak. Lita saw that first-hand as she leaped to run toward the men. Their eyes widened, they stopped short, then a look like horror and disbelief crossed their faces at the same time. One took a step back while the other reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long blade. Footsteps pounded on the deck behind her as Reynaldo joined the counterattack. Grumbling at the dictates of fashion, Lita hiked up her skirts with one hand and leaped, landing the pointed toe of her boot near the man’s groin. He went down with a gasp and a choked burble of curses. Lita nearly stopped short, hearing the language of Los Cielos from his lips. It was one thing to converse with Eduardo, his low, musical voice making the lessons pleasant. Hearing brute words from this man, some words she didn’t even know, frightened her. Her father had taught her to turn fear into anger and use it as energy, to defend herself. Without stopping, she turned to the other man and swung her fist. He twisted aside, shock on his face. She hit his shoulder instead of his jaw. He staggered backwards, and a scowl wiped the shock off his face. Reynaldo leaped at the man before he took one step back toward her. He grabbed him by the arm and spun on his heel, flinging the attacker against the wall. Lita turned to the fallen man, who had gotten up on his knees. She silently shouted down the rules of fair play and kicked him in the ribs. He shrieked as if she had hit him in the crotch, and fell onto his side. Rolling away, he scrambled to get to his feet. He left his knife behind as he fled down the deck, back the way he had come. Reynaldo leaped to continue battling the other man, but Lita held up her hand, stopping him. The two men shouted at each other as they fled, stumbling, wrapping their arms around their ribs. She caught her breath at their words, then burst out laughing.

"What? Oh, my dear, I’m not quite sure that was ladylike." Ermengarde scurried up to join Lita and Reynaldo, and watched the two men disappear around the corner. "She is a warrior princess, like her ancestors," Reynaldo said, also in the language of Los Cielos. He stood at attention and bowed to her. Something odd stirred in Lita’s gut, a sense of pride, a fierce joy, mixed with a sense of rightness she had never felt before when she considered her destiny as a princess. "What did he--oh, never mind. What did those men say?" Ermengarde said. "Whatever it was, it amused you." As she spoke, she fussed with Lita’s hair, smoothing it and tucking it back under her hat, then tugging her skirt and jacket straight. "They said I wasn’t a princess," Lita said, her words muffled as she fought more laughter. "Then they were looking specifically for you," Reynaldo said. "Who could have sent them? Dissenters?" "Someone who doesn’t want me to reach Los Cielos, at the very least," Lita mused. She let Reynaldo loop his arm through hers, and with his other arm looped through Ermengarde’s, the three headed back toward the gangway and off the ship. The boy with their cart full of luggage waited, wide-eyed. Lita gave him a stern look, hoping to quell him. Instead, he grinned, displaying two missing teeth. As the Professor and some friends had postulated, during an interesting evening of talk, the best way to defend against talkative lips and spying eyes was to make them friends and defenders, rather than trying to silence one and blind the other. "Do you think if you saw those men again, you would know them?" Lita asked him. She tapped two fingers against the small purse attached to her belt. "Oh, yes, miss." He nodded eagerly. "My pa is in the engine room. He much wouldn’t like a lady getting roughed up by two like them. Even if she can fight like Bruiser Mike Brown," he added, with another grin so wide her cheeks ached in sympathy. "Want he should talk to them about minding their manners?" "That would be lovely." She winked and dipped two fingers into her purse to pull out a few pennies she always kept loose for street boys who could run errands. This boy probably wouldn’t be able to spend his money until this ship returned to New York, but from his accent, that was where he hailed from, anyway.

She slid her arm free of Reynaldo and stepped forward, holding out the coins. The boy’s eyes got big, and she guessed he wasn’t used to being paid until after the errand had been run. "If you see these men and know where they are staying, I would appreciate you coming to tell me," she said, and gave the boy the name of the hotel where she and Ermengarde would be staying while they made arrangements to go across France and into the Pyrenees. Whoever her assailants were, they likely expected her to take several days to make arrangements. The smart move would be to go inland immediately, as lightly as possible, moving as quickly as possible, leaving as small a trail as possible. But how? Everything she knew was theory, and did her little good if she had no one to turn to. Yes, she suddenly realized. She did have someone to turn to, who knew the area by experience rather than theory.

Chapter Seven "You say they think you’re not the princess?" Eduardo said. Lita didn’t know whether to scream her frustration or laugh. After she told Eduardo what had happened while leaving the ship, and her hopeful, nebulous plan of leaving for Los Cielos now instead of in four or five days, he had simply sat there. He frowned at an invisible spot in the air above his feet, slouched a little more in the lounging chair in the outer room of her suite, and thought. She thought she heard the clash of gears, as if his brain were a clockwork. "Yes, they said distinctly that I wasn’t the princess. I assume that is why they fled after only a few blows." "Hmm. Yes." He snorted, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "That might be our solution." "Pardon me, but what the blazes are you talking about?" Ermengarde said from her comfortable perch on the sofa, with a cup of heavily creamed coffee and several delicate French pastries sitting on a plate, to fortify her after their recent ordeal. Lita privately thought the fuss of getting from the docks to the hotel was far more straining on her guardian than the attack on board the ship. "A princess won’t leave the city. A boy will accompany me. Tonight," Eduardo added, meeting Lita’s gaze. A fierce determination in the dark depths of his eyes took her breath away for a moment. She hadn’t thought herself the kind of girl to be rendered breathless by a man’s intense gaze. Then again, maybe it was the quickness of his answer to her proposal, his response to the situation. She could trust Prince Eduardo, Lita decided. It was quite refreshing, and comforting. And frightening, that she knew she couldn’t trust her betrothed. Besides the Dissenters, who believed the destruction of the royal line would restore the land, her only other possible enemy was Esteban. *** Because their enemy expected a princess to be dainty and delicate, to faint at the slightest threat, Eduardo hired a girl who looked dainty enough to be that type of princess, to accompany Ermengarde. Reynaldo would stay to watch over both of

them, while putting up the pretense that his master had fallen victim to a distressing illness. Something in the manservant’s response made Lita think he had developed an affection for her aunt. So much time in close quarters might deepen the friendship that had already begun. Lita had looked forward to Ermengarde going all the way to Los Cielos with her. Despite her wish to be free of ridiculous, gender-based prejudices and restrictions, she flinched inwardly at the thought of being alone with a man she couldn’t call family. A man she found highly attractive. Lita tried to focus on her guardian’s response to the plan to leave her behind, than with the fact that the ‘girl’ who would take her place was actually a slim, delicate-looking boy wearing a wig. She realized she shouldn’t have worried at all, and scolded herself for not expecting what happened. After all, Ermengarde had raised her to be the woman she was now. If she could react to a threat to her life with relative calm and defend herself, if she could accept Eduardo’s plan for her to spend days in the saddle, disguised as a boy, and do little more than blink, why couldn’t Ermengarde handle this little demand? "You, Monsieur, are to be my companion?" Ermengarde settled back more comfortably in her wide chair and looked the young man, dressed in a white muslin gown sprigged with lavender flowers, over from head to foot. "It shall be a great pleasure, Madame," the young man responded with a British accent. He asked with a gesture, and didn’t wait for Ermengarde to nod, before sliding the wig off his head. Lita didn’t doubt it was heavy and hot, loaded with sausage curls and topped with a ridiculous lavender hat full of feathers and glittery beads. "It’s a rather precarious living, isn’t it? What happens when you lose your lovely figure and you can’t keep your voice soft? Or do you play demure and dainty and either don’t speak at all, or whisper when you must?" She smiled and gestured at the chair opposite her. The young impersonator bowed grandly, and didn’t look ridiculous, despite his dainty dress, before dropping into his chair. Eduardo touched Lita’s elbow, tipped his head to the right, and led her out of the room. "Well, I thoroughly expected that to be the hardest part of this plan," he said, speaking under his breath even after the door shut. "You haven’t heard her list of what you must and must not do while we’re alone together," Lita retorted. "Are you worried about being alone with me, Princess?" He smiled and leaned back against the wall.

"Should I be?" "Not at all." "You insult me, sir." Lita fought laughter when he straightened up, his smile melting into a frown. Then his eyes widened, and she knew he caught exactly what she was thinking of. "You are not some witless bit of fluff, raised to consider capturing a husband your only reason for existence. Don’t insult me by acting like one, or expecting me to treat you like one." "Even practical, modern, emancipated women like to be considered pretty, even tempting." Lita leaned back against the opposite wall in her turn and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew her disguise as a boy was nearly perfect, with her hair tucked up under a cap. That didn’t give him a good reason to ignore the fact she was a woman, did it? And why was she such a brainless twitter, wanting him to remember she was a woman? "Just testing you. I have been raised to trust no one unless absolutely necessary, simply because my life, my heritage and destiny are so precarious." "Both our lives are at risk, if my brother is our enemy. Once we leave this hotel, you and I are our only allies." "We have no assurance of allies once we reach Los Cielos. You will excuse me if I don’t relax my vigilance until we finally decipher the prophecy or legend or whatever you want to call it, and we finally have some answers." "I wouldn’t expect you to relax until water again flows in the valley and our people bring in the first crop from the vineyards," he snapped. "Then what are we arguing about?" His eyes widened even more than anger had done, and he simply stared for several heartbeats. Then he nodded, closed his eyes, and seemed to collapse a little. When he opened his eyes again, he managed a nod and a few smile wrinkles around his eyes. "Shall we verify that your aunt is settled, then retire early?" "That sounds sensible." Lita pushed off the wall and headed back to the door. Her legs shook a little, and she wondered about her reaction. What was it she had wanted from him, and why did she feel elated and disappointed, both at the same time?

*** Reynaldo planted himself in the lounge area for servants and let it be known that he refused to discuss his master’s indisposed condition. Ermengarde kept the servants hopping, asking for directions to the most fashionable dressmakers, hat makers and confectioners. She confided in everyone, using the most atrocious French she could manage, bemoaning her ward’s intractable state and the fact that the girl had an appointment to keep--a royal appointment--and wanted to go shopping for the next few weeks before she fulfilled her obligations. "What in the world is wrong with modern girls?" she asked everyone who would listen. She slaughtered her French so charmingly, was so kind, and tipped so generously, everyone adored her, agreed with her, and talked about her as soon as they were one floor down the stairs. Before the clock in the plaza outside the hotel struck one in the morning, Lita and Eduardo were on horseback and fleeing through the shadows and moonlight. To deceive watchful eyes, they rode out separately, twenty minutes apart. Lita rode down a narrow street, one hand on her horse’s reins and the other hidden under her long, dark coat, gripping a knife. She let the horse move at his own pace and strained her senses for the first unfriendly sound, something that didn’t belong. The problem was that, since this was entirely unfamiliar territory, every sound was unfriendly. She used the advice of one of the Professor’s many friends: depend on the animals, use their senses. As long as the horse walked along calmly, unafraid, she had nothing to fear. Lita didn’t let herself wonder what she would do when the horse reacted in fear, except maybe let him run where he wished and hold on for dear life. That isn’t the way a princess thinks, she scolded herself silently. Not this princess, at least. And honestly, what chance have I ever had to socialize with my peers and learn how a proper princess is supposed to behave? The horse’s head jerked up and its ears pivoted to the right. Lita flipped back the folds of her coat, but tried to keep the knife hidden in the shadows around her body. "Lita?" Eduardo hissed. She was ridiculously relieved and disappointed that he had been the one to frighten her horse. Don’t be ridiculous. Who would you rather spend the rest of the night with? "I’m here," she whispered, to halt that train of thought.

Eduardo rode out into a single beam of moonlight and beckoned for her to follow. Taking a deep breath, she forced her hand to let go of the knife securely sheathed at her waist, and nudged the horse to get it moving again. The plan was a simple one, because they would have to be flexible and take every mile along the journey as it came. They had no one to rely on but each other. Because they had no idea what waited for them. Their only option right now was to find the key and doors of legend, and for Lita to learn the truth about the prophecy and legend or whatever it was that promised restoration to the old way of life. If she could do that, then her claim to the throne would be uncontested. She wouldn’t have to marry Esteban. She would be free to live the life she chose, once she had given the valley of Los Cielos back to the people who had once farmed its soil and tended its grape vines, through their descendants. If she and Eduardo accomplished all this without being caught by the Dissenters or Esteban, whoever was their real enemy. If. Lita sighed and scolded herself for the twentieth time since that attack on the ship. She had forgotten all about the Black Monks, her protectors since childhood. Had she lost them? Had they decided not to come to her defense this last time, because she had acted as a fool? Had they decided not to defend her because they judged her capable? For all she knew, the Black Monks had guarded her father, too, but he had trespassed some rule, some set of laws he had never passed down to her, and they had let him be murdered. Or, what was more frightening and depressing, they had abandoned their watchful care over her father because they no longer needed him. Because the daughter of the prophecy had finally been born. That implied the Black Monks were using the Los Cielos family for their own purposes. Then again, maybe the Black Monks had gone ahead of her and were waiting at the entrance to the valley. Perhaps all that had been needed all these generations was for a daughter to come to the valley, and the water would flow again. She had to do nothing but bring the royal flesh and blood into the valley. That didn’t sound any better, once she rolled the thought around in her head, than any other theory or option she had played with. She had two options in her life after that point. Either Esteban or someone else would kill her, because she was no longer needed, or she could go back to the Professor and Ermengarde and her life of scholarship in New York.

What if she had to stay in the valley to keep the water flowing? Her father had speculated on just such a thing in his journals. It needed the constant presence of a member of the royal family to keep Los Cielos alive and fertile and wet. Which meant she might have to marry Esteban just to assure him she wouldn’t try to take the throne away from him in the future. "That doesn’t sound any better," she muttered. "I’m alive until I give birth to a child. Or several, to ensure the bloodline continues. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be treated like a guest or a partner. Just a broodmare and a talisman for good luck." "What was that?" Eduardo pulled up on the reins and looked back over his shoulder at her. The angle of the moon cast long shadows across his face from his sloping hat and his nose. She wished he resembled one of the Black Monks, because that might give her a little comfort. But he didn’t. He looked mysterious and slightly dangerous, and probably how Esteban looked when he was angry. He certainly didn’t resemble Emmanuel as much as he did that first day they met on board the ship. "Talking to myself." She shook her head. "Wondering where the Black Monks are. I could have used their help back on the ship." "I could have used their help on the docks," he said, nodding. His grin flashed white for a moment, then his face was lost in shadows again. "You really didn’t need their help, according to Reynaldo. And if you think about it, if they had shown up again, it would have proven who you really were. Right now, let’s hope they’re concentrating on young Philip and your Aunt Ermengarde, because he looks and acts more like a real princess." "Let’s hope so." She found herself able to grin back at him. She hadn’t thought of that reason for the Black Monks leaving her to her own devices. It was rather encouraging. "We haven’t talked as much as I would like about the legends." "You’ve told me so much, and I’ve told you everything I know," she protested. "Exactly. Everything we know. Facts. Nothing of our feelings, our beliefs, even our theories. Don’t you think those are as important as anything else we bring to this quest of ours?" "Quest." She rolled the word around on her tongue for a moment. She hadn’t had a chance to consider this duty as a quest, or an adventure. What had seemed like a faerie tale when Emmanuel was alive had become an onerous duty when he died. Perhaps it was the ignominy of being passed along to Esteban like a somewhat undesirable family heirloom. Perhaps this wasn’t a quest for Los Cielos’

future, so much as a quest for her future and freedom. What she wanted for a change, rather than what she was required to do. "Quest." She nodded and reached up to tug her cap down lower over her bound hair. "Does that make us the heroes, then?" "I certainly hope so, Princess." "I don’t feel like a princess. Please don’t call me that anymore." "But that makes you all the more a princess. You are living in durance vile, under a spell, so no one knows your true identity and you don’t believe yourself that you are a princess." "Now you’re being silly." She decided to laugh rather than be offended by his teasing. "No, I’m speaking the truth." That smile faded into something intense that stole her breath and made her clutch harder at the reins to ensure her balance. "Belief is sometimes all that stands between us and disaster. We must believe that we will succeed, just as much as we believe that our lives are in danger. So, tell me what you believe, Miss Lita." "Only if you will tell me everything you believe, Mr. Edward," she returned, and bowed as much as the horse’s gait would allow her. His warm, rumbling laughter rewarded her with a warm, pleasantly twisting sensation deep inside. *** They stopped to rest and eat and change their clothes, just before sunrise, hidden in the darkest, coldest moments of the day. Lita pulled a bulky black dress over her clothes and rubbed her face and hair with grime, then donned a kerchief. While she was busy, Eduardo covered their saddles with burlap bags and rubbed dirt into their horse’s sweaty hides, transforming their sleek steeds into filthy farm nags carrying wares to market. While Lita kept watch on the surrounding landscape, Eduardo donned his own costume. When sunrise spilled across the landscape, a farmer and his wife walked into the mountains, leading their old horses. The few people who passed them didn’t look twice. Lita spared only a moment or two to wonder how comfortable they would be, with double layers of clothes. Then, as the sunrise turned bloody with clouds rolling across the sky, she breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude for her bulky disguise. She would be warm, at least, and her heavy peasant costume would keep her dry for a while in the coming downpour. "We’re lucky. Maybe this is a sign," Eduardo said, when they paused shortly after noon to eat bread, cheese and dried apples, and rest under the boughs of an

enormous old oak tree. "Lucky?" Lita leaned out, stretching her arm far enough that a faint mist touched her fingertips, just beyond their shelter. "You didn’t tell me you believed in luck." She hadn’t been much surprised to learn he didn’t believe even a fraction of the legends and tall tales surrounding the disappearance of the water from Los Cielos. "Very well, blessed. Watched over." He scowled at her, wrinkling up his nose in a charming way that sent that now-familiar warmth winding through her belly. "In what way?" "No one is behind us, the rain hides our trail, it’s warm weather--" "But not for long, if it continues to rain." "Why do you feel compelled to contradict me?" He used an aggrieved tone, but his mouth twitched, fighting amusement. "You said it yourself--balance. If you must point out all the things in our favor, then it is my duty to look for all the difficulties that could arise from our advantages." "True." He sighed and leaned back against the trunk. The moss covering the gnarled roots, raised above the ground, provided comfortable seating. "It is odd, isn’t it, that I am in the position of the optimist?" "Why should you have a gloomy view of the world? You’re not the one doomed to marry Esteban." Lita bit into an apple. "If you reach Los Cielos first, and restore the water, there’s no reason why you should," Eduardo said slowly. He very carefully didn’t look at her as he said it, but concentrated on the crust of bread in his hand as if it were the most important thing in the world. "You truly think so?" "The only reason Esteban agreed to maintain the betrothal was because so many people believe your branch of the family is the one destined to return life to our valley." "Our valley? That’s the first time you’ve said ‘our,’ when speaking of Los Cielos. As if you didn’t want anything to do with it." "More like I am barred from anything to do with the valley. Esteban has a grand house on a high precipice, hovering over the valley like a vulture. I’ve stayed away

from there for so long..." He shrugged and crumbled the crust of bread in his fist. "It isn’t safe to be the younger brother of a man who could be our ancestress reborn, the vicious younger sister who destroyed the valley." "Ah. Then you believe the older sister was legitimate?" "I think those who make the most noise are likely to be the most guilty. By pointing the finger, they try to divert attention away from their own crimes." "Like good pickpockets." She nodded, pleased by this partial confirmation of her own family’s long-held beliefs. And yet disturbed. As if Eduardo diminished himself by supporting her claim. "Much like that. And I think that Esteban must be up to something vicious, to stay so close to the valley. He wants something very badly, and wants to make sure nobody else finds it before him." "So what is the use of trying to get into the valley and find it before him?" "The legends say a daughter of the blood must shed blood to restore the life, the water, that is hidden in a heart of stone. I think you will be able to find a way in that Esteban can’t find. It’s said the older sister tried to halt what her younger sister was doing, and died protecting the people who had sworn loyalty to her." "Yes, my ancestress did die, and no one knows her resting place, except the boy who was her heir." Lita tucked the uneaten portion of the apple into the voluminous pocket of her peasant skirt. Her appetite was gone. She wondered if perhaps the misty rain had eased up enough to let them continue their journey. Just because they saw no signs of pursuit was no reason to dally. "There could be something you know, and yet you are unaware that you know it. Some clue. Some sense of recognition of the mountains surrounding Los Cielos, and that will give you the clue to find the last hidden way inside." "You are putting a great deal of faith on faerie tales told to me by my father." Lita shivered, thinking of the journals, what felt like half a library of diaries and family records, safely preserved and hidden in the Professor’s library. She knew every volume by heart, every picture, every map, what had been left by her ancestors as fact, and all the wild speculations, theories and plans for penetrating the barriers that kept the rightful heirs from the valley. "What if it is that simple?" she whispered. "What if it is just a passageway that only a woman can find, because only a woman is small enough to climb into it?" "Then how do the rest of us get inside once you return the water?" he retorted with a chuckle.

"Maybe when the rivers return to their beds, the sheer force of all that water bursting forth--it has to be held back by a reservoir, don’t you think? Once that water breaks free of its reservoir, walls will be torn down. Imagine an underground cavern, filled with water. When it is emptied, think of all the great weight above it, pressing down on nothing at all." "Ha!" Eduardo tipped his head back, his face bright with repressed laughter. "Of course. And the walls of the mountains will fall down like the very walls of Jericho. Very clever, Miss Lita." "My great-grandfather’s theory, Mr. Eduardo." "Hmm. Your ancestors were certainly more pleasantly occupied than mine." His expression cooled, making her regret bringing up the subject. "My greatgrandfather made himself loathed, for hundreds of miles around Los Cielos, by everyone descended from the original inhabitants. He wanted tribute as their Godgiven sovereign, and demanded they send their sons and fathers to him, to tear down the walls that barred the way into the valley." "Like Rehoboam, increasing taxes when the elders of Israel promised their loyalty if he would reduce their taxes." "Exactly. But unlike Rehoboam, my great-grandfather rode out with his overseers and tax collectors. He oversaw the execution of men who thought Los Cielos gone forever and refused to dance attendance on an arrogant madman. He died when the landowners and governors of the surrounding territories rose up to protect their people." "Maybe your brother hides in his fortress because he fears being killed for the sins of his ancestors." "Esteban fears nothing but failure, and that is what makes him so dangerous. That is why we are safest if we move swiftly and leave as small a shadow, as few footprints as possible." *** Night brought them to the banks of a muddy, swiftly flowing river. Eduardo asked Lita to revert back to her boy disguise, while he remained the elderly peasant. The miserable weather worked in their favor, turning the roads to muddy streams, decreasing the visibility so oncoming travelers nearly had to be on top of them to make out details. Lita huddled inside her oversized coat, shoulders hunched so the sloping brim of her hat funneled water down her back instead of into her collar, and she smiled. Despite the discomfort, this adventure pleased her. Except for the chill in her feet and the shriveling of her hands inside her soaked gloves, she could

wish this journey to go on forever. It was cozy to ride in silence beside Eduardo, steam coming off the horses’ coats, warmed by the beast under her, lone inhabitants of a gray world only a few horse lengths wide and long. "If only," she murmured. Eduardo grunted a query. She smiled and didn’t respond, and he didn’t press for explanation. That was just one more small detail in the growing list of things she liked about Eduardo. He didn’t demand to know her every thought, or act as if she didn’t have any. Too many times during social events in New York, she had witnessed young women either summarily ignored, or enduring an inquisition, so their suitors knew every thought and belief they possessed. Both extremes taught Lita two things. Men either believed what a woman thought and felt, what she chose to support and the creed she espoused, had no value whatsoever in the world. Or, they believed they had the right to decide what inhabited a woman’s mind and heart. Those who expressed any interest in a woman’s soul and mind either wanted to avoid a woman who didn’t share the same thoughts and allegiances, or they sought to change anything that conflicted with them. Eduardo allowed her to think. He asked for her input in their flight to safety. He expected her to think and to act. He was amused, but not offended, and didn’t mock her when he learned she knew how to defend herself. He asked questions that made her think her intellectual training, especially the legal aspects, impressed him. She wondered if she and Eduardo would have many fascinating, lively conversations in the future. Like the ones she once enjoyed with the Professor and Ermengarde. But that implied prolonged acquaintance in the future. Working together. Living close to each other. Lita hoped to return to New York. Would Eduardo follow her? Could she ever be important enough to him that he would follow her, or ask her to stay with him? "What are the chances he will become so important to you that you say yes?" she murmured. "If you’re so bored, we could talk," Eduardo offered with a warm richness in his voice that hinted at laughter. "Not bored. Simply thinking so deeply it slips out into my voice." Lita tipped back her hat enough to see him without having to turn her head. "Perhaps you aren’t bored with your thoughts, but certainly you’re bored with me, then." He gestured further down the road, where the gray turned steely and yet seemed to be clearing. "Do we dare to stop at an inn?" "My chilled bones say yes. Our shared purse and need for speed say no."

"We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow for the ferry. Why not be sensible?" Lita bit her tongue against teasing him--or was it criticizing?--for being so concerned with comfort. The teasing died on her tongue when it occurred to her that they could both be dead in a few days. Either because she failed to pass the tests hinted at in the legends, or because Esteban decided to brand them both traitors and kill them. If Esteban believed any of the legends, he would keep her alive until she gave birth to a child to unite both family lines and consolidate his claim to the throne. She tried not to be revolted and frightened by the thought. Would Esteban repeatedly rape her, or perhaps abuse her until she submitted? Would she break, or could he warp her mind and heart until she willingly allied with him? "Lita?" He reached across and gripped her wrist. "Are you all right?" "I’m trying to decide. My brain is as waterlogged as my clothes." She sounded breathless to herself. Lita sat still in the saddle, letting her heart slow from the sudden, rapid pace. Tiny, pleasant pinpricks filled her skin where he gripped her wrist. She thought she had grown beyond the strange thrill that came from his casual touch. It was ridiculous to be so affected by a man. "Have some pity on the horses, then, if not on me?" "I’m not that heartless." She snorted, the sound muffled by the heaviness in the chill air. "At least, not toward the horses," she couldn’t resist adding. Eduardo’s answering chuckle filled her with warmth. She almost called out to him that she felt perfectly fine, full of energy now, and they could ride all night. Then she remembered what he said about the ferry. The horses truly did need to rest, or they would never carry them for the entire journey into the mountains.

Chapter Eight When he asked for rooms, old habits of stealth, watching over his shoulder and expecting trouble guided Eduardo’s tongue. He first asked what rooms were available. There were three, but they were all separated from each other, or in parts of the inn where escape, if it became necessary, would be impossible. He asked for one room. What scandal would there be, after all, with Lita disguised as a boy? "Only one room," he said, when he came back out into the inn yard, where Lita oversaw the stable boy taking care of the horse. They spoke Los Cielos’ tongue, for security’s sake. He believed they were far enough away from the border that no one would understand it. "It’s a good thing, then, that everyone thinks I’m a boy." She tugged her hat a little lower on her head. "At least, I hope everyone does." She pressed a hand to her bound breast, as if her soaking wet clothes would give away the soft curves hidden beneath. Eduardo caught his breath and yanked his gaze away so he wouldn’t be caught staring. Why did she have to remind him of the very things he was going to have to ignore all night? He was perversely disturbed that she hadn’t argued with him or even hesitated. Had he been that persuasive, when he convinced her to stop for the night? Had she acquiesced from common sense, because she was tired, cold, and wet? She couldn’t have agreed because she trusted him. He wasn’t trustworthy, after all. If Emmanuel had felt the need to remake himself into someone honorable and worthy of the adoration of the little girl she had been, what hope did he have of being worthy to be her friend? Lover or husband was too much to hope for, thanks to the guilt and ghosts that haunted him from his wasteful past. Their room’s lone window sat over a porch awning, giving them easy access to the ground, if need be. It also had a single bed. Eduardo toyed with pointing out there was room for both of them in the bed, but he doubted he could endure lying next to her all night without touching her. "I’ll take the pallet," Lita said, the moment the door closed behind them. She dropped her saddlebags over the chair back, so a last few drops hit the scarred wooden floor with soft splats. "You will not." He stifled an urge to swear. Wouldn’t the girl at least give him a chance to be chivalrous?

"I know I am a quiet sleeper. That pallet is too short for you, and if you’re restless, you’ll be bruised by morning." She peeled her sodden hat off her head and hung it on one of the six pegs in the wall by the door. "I’m a quiet sleeper, too." He decided not to fight with her over the fact he was taller. "Besides, my feet would hang over the end of the bed." He gestured at the offending piece of furniture. His heart skipped a beat when she looked at it and smiled. What was it about her mouth that made him churn? "You’re right. So, no matter what we do, you’re going to be uncomfortable." "I’ll be comfortable no matter where I sleep." "As will I. Let’s draw straws." She bent and yanked two bent, dirty straws from the woven matting under her feet. One was demonstrably longer than the other. Lita hid her hand from him and closed her fingers over the straws. Eduardo said a silent prayer to draw the short straw and plucked what he thought was the shorter, dirtier one. He was wrong. "I win. I choose who sleeps where." "You win the bed." Lita snatched his saddlebags from his hand and tossed them over the bench at the end of the bed. "Now, are you going to take off that wet coat and go get us some dinner? I’m starving, and something hot would be lovely." Eduardo glowered and nearly snarled for her to go fetch her own dinner. She didn’t dare go about in public, when there was plenty of light to reveal her features. She knew it, too. He entertained himself with thoughts of punishing her for being right while he walked down the stairs, waited in the front room of the tavern, and returned to their room with a tray of food. He couldn’t fight his brightening mood, however. The stew was hot and smelled of spices and good, fresh meat, the bread steamed and butter trickled down to form rich yellow puddles on the plate under it, and the beer had a thick, creamy head of foam. His stomach rumbled audibly by the time he reached their room, and played counterpoint when he tapped out the sequence they had agreed on as their signal that all was clear. Lita moaned softly when the first whiff of their food taunted her nose. Eduardo nearly stumbled, nearly dropped the tray only a step from the rickety table. What he wouldn’t give to have her moan like that while he kissed her... For dessert, Eduardo produced two fragrant apples from his pocket, and a lump of pale white, sharp cheese wrapped in cloth, which the innkeeper’s wife slipped him while her parsimonious husband’s back was turned. Lita’s smile faded a little when Eduardo handed the apple to her and wiped the knife on a napkin before handing it to her.

"What’s wrong?" "Emmanuel taught me to eat cheese with my apples." She shrugged daintily and just looked at the rose-and-gold globe cradled in her palm. "Things would be so different right now if...no, I will not do that. We poison the present moment if we waste time thinking about what might have been." "Very wise, Princess." He consciously covered his stab of jealousy with teasing. Lita didn’t even look up at him. "Papa said that to me, very soon after Mama died of fever. At least...he said it was fever. It could have been poison. We moved quite often, when I was very little, because people tried to kill us." "What about the Black Monks?" "They were constantly waking us in the middle of the night and throwing us into carts or onto horseback. I remember at least twice spending two days in my nightgown, wrapped in a blanket, before our clothes caught up with us." She raised her head and met his gaze, her eyes glistening with a hint of tears she had successfully fought down. "I am glad things are just the way they are, Mr. Eduardo." She nodded a salute to him. "I am glad we are allies, and you will help me fulfill my duty to the people of Los Cielos. If I can get into the valley at all, that is." She shuddered. "If we fail...my choice is to marry Esteban now and hope that a daughter of my blood can restore life to the valley, or flee and pass the obligation on to my descendants." "Better to dispense such duties now than leave them as a bitter inheritance for the future," he murmured. "My grandfather said that." "He was a wise man." "He was a despot who wanted all the glory to rest on his shoulders, rather than let future generations be praised." He snorted and reached out to curl her hand around the knife. "Are you going to eat that apple? Or leave it for future generations to enjoy?" She answered him with a slow curve of her lips, and gripped the knife to slice into the apple. The blade crunched through the crisp skin and a sweet-sour perfume filled the air in a spray of juice. *** Lita slept. Eduardo counted his heartbeats and listened to the soft hissing of the rain on the tile roof, and waited. He listened to her breathe, and sat up slowly,

afraid the rope supporting his mattress might creak and wake her. He counted his heartbeats again, until he reached fifty, then slid his legs over the side of the bed. Still no movement from her, no hesitation in her slow, shallow breaths. He waited, counting again to fifty, and slid off the bed until his feet touched the dirty floorboards. It took him twenty heartbeats until his weight rested on the balls of his feet. He stood up. His bed creaked from the sudden shifting of weight, but still nothing from Lita. Maybe he would tease her in the morning, for sleeping so deeply. Maybe she was awake, had been awake this entire time, and she would tease him for what he intended to do in another minute. Or she would leap to her feet and stab him, startled out of a deep sleep by his touch, not recognizing him until too late. The bottom line was that he couldn’t sleep while she lay on the pallet. He was no knight errant, but he had raised his standards, his values, until he couldn’t sleep in comfort while a woman--a lovely, clever, totally desirable woman--slept on a pallet of blankets. Eduardo counted his footsteps, moving slowly so an ant could have crossed the floor faster than he did. He waited, watching her dark shadow among darker shadows, until the slowing rain resulted in a parting of clouds. A single, watery, thin streak of moonlight spilled through the open window, to touch her face. Lita sighed, as if the silvery light had weight. She rubbed at her nose, an endearing, childish gesture that made Eduardo catch his breath. He slowly went to his knees, watching her face. He slid his arm under her neck, then his other arm under her bent knees. She sighed and turned her head away, then closer against him. Eduardo caught his breath, a sharp sound that seemed to echo through the room, when Lita snuggled against his chest. The scent of her, rainwater, leather, damp wool and something sweetly clean, filled his head and made it swim. Eduardo licked his lips, then bent to kiss her forehead. He knew instantly, that had been a mistake. He wanted more. He wanted to kiss her lips. He wanted to taste her mouth and tease his way deeper inside, drinking of the sweet wine he knew he would find there. In his dreams, Lita would awaken and respond eagerly and they would fall down into the bed, tangled together. In reality...Eduardo grinned and kept going. In reality, Lita would awaken and bite his tongue off, and likely stab him before he dropped her. He didn’t doubt she had the wits to sleep with a knife close to hand. She had too much common sense to relax, even with him so close by to protect her.

Because Lita had to guess, deep in her soul if not with her conscious mind, how great a threat he was to her. If they were both wrong, and Esteban wasn’t plotting against them, if his brother was innocent of any machinations and this was all some plot by the Dissenters to gather them all for slaughter, then Lita might have to marry his brother after all. Even if Esteban was innocent, one thing wouldn’t change. Esteban would suspect Lita of betraying him if she spent too much time in his younger brother’s company. Even if Eduardo had reformed in the six years since Emmanuel faked his death, that reformation was only outward. He wrestled with his hungers and longings every day. And the battle had grown stronger since he first set eyes on Lita. She would only be safe from Esteban’s vindictive self-righteousness, his demand that she be pure when he refused to be pure, if she had no conscious idea how much Eduardo wanted her. Heart and body. He wanted more than the friendship he had won so far. He wanted her eyes to shine and a soft sigh of pleasure and anticipation to escape her when he took her into his arms. Just as he held her now. Eduardo lowered Lita into the bed, slowly, so she wouldn’t feel the change as the lumpy mattress and sagging ropes underneath it conformed to the slight weight of her body. He wanted to lower Lita to the bed, just as he did now, but with her awake and smiling, eyes half-closed in drowsy pleasure from long, sweet hours of kisses and caresses. He wanted her clad in a sheer dressing gown heavy with lace, no perfume but the clean, fresh, pure scent of her body. A pretty gown worthy of a princess of high morals and honor, not the rough, damp trousers and shirt of a peasant boy. He wanted Lita to lift her arms and wrap them around his neck and shoulders, drawing him down to the bed with her, on top of her. Not the limp, warm, softly breathing bundle of weary young woman who stirred tender feelings he thought had died long ago. Definitely, Lita didn’t need protection, but Eduardo wanted to protect her. How ironic, that he had vowed when Christine died, he would never give his heart to adore and protect something young, soft and innocent again. It just wasn’t worth the pain. His precious, accidental daughter would have grown up to be a prostitute like her mother, or at the very least a hard, shrewd businesswoman, selling other women as prostitutes, running the business her father had established. Just as sweet Lita would grow hard and bitter when her dreams shattered and she spent her life ruling a harsh, dry landscape, the prisoner and toy of a man who would see only her beauty and never appreciate the spirit and mind hidden inside. "I will have to find some way to make sure you stay free of Esteban," he murmured

as he sank down on the pallet Lita had occupied just moments ago. It smelled of her, and that was sure to keep him awake for at least an hour. "If we cannot bring our valley back to life, if I cannot ensure you can vanish into the world to evade his claim on you...well, I have committed enough sins, what does it matter if I kill my brother for your sake?" A bark of laughter, muffled into a sigh, didn’t disturb Lita’s sleep. "Perhaps that will be counted in my favor, as a good deed. You think?" Yes, Eduardo decided. He would talk Lita into fleeing the valley with him, no matter what the outcome of their quest. Surely the lure of returning to New York would be enough to persuade her, even if he remained nothing more than a good friend, an ally who liked the same books and music and understood the same jokes. He would make himself be grateful for that, and not ache with hunger from dreams denied. It would be better for Lita if she didn’t love him, because everything he had touched, everything he dared to love, ultimately perished. He had loved Emmanuel, as only a younger brother could adore his elder. He had loved Christine, as only a battered, emotionally bruised and soiled man could love his precious, innocent child. And look what had happened to them both. *** The next day dawned with piercing brightness. Eduardo watched every sharpedged shadow, expecting it to be an enemy leaping out at them. How could Lita’s mysterious benefactors, the Black Monks, keep watch over her with no shadows to hide their presence? He made Lita resume her disguise as a peasant woman, because he had no faith in her boy guise in bright daylight. He scolded her when she didn’t rub enough dirt into her clothes and face. She laughed louder when he threatened to throw her into a mud puddle. The laughter stopped when he snatched up a handful of mud and caught her around the waist. Suddenly, he had her pressed close enough against him, he felt her heart hammering as if trying to escape her ribs. "Eduardo," she whispered, staring up into his eyes. She licked her lips, wringing a groan from him. She couldn’t have any idea what that innocent action did to him, could she? He let the mud drop through his fingers. It took all his willpower, all his strength, to let go of her and step away. He wiped his dirty hand on the leg of his trousers and stalked over to their waiting horses. He couldn’t force himself to speak until he had climbed into the saddle. Without turning to look for her, he snarled for Lita to get mounted so they could leave. "What did I do to make you angry?" she asked.

Eduardo turned to find her already seated on her horse, awkwardly sidesaddle and ready to go. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" "That doesn’t matter. Esteban wants me for my bloodline and the slight chance that I am important to the legends." "It matters to me. And it isn’t just your body, but your spirit. Your mind. Your wit and love of life and the way you can laugh at little things. Esteban will wring that out of you. He will drain you dry, turning you into a soulless trophy, or his shadow. If you will not make yourself like him...no matter what you do, what you choose, he will destroy everything good and beautiful about you." "Then what do you think I should do?" She shook her head and raised her hand to stop him when he would have spoken. "I know. We are doing it already. Trying to restore the valley without him. If he doesn’t need me, then he will let me go." "Why not claim the valley yourself?" "Why should I stay here? It isn’t home. My ancestors loved it, but no one raised me to feel that way. Let Esteban have it." If the valley will have him, Eduardo answered silently. But despite the strange, hollow feeling that her words brought him, he was glad. He wouldn’t have to fight with Lita to get her to leave the valley behind and flee for her life. Strange how much difference a few weeks made, in him and how he thought and acted. A few weeks ago, he didn’t care about the girl doomed to become Esteban’s bride. Now, he was willing to face down his brother to ensure her happiness. He ran the risk of loving, when he had vowed never to make that mistake again. Some could accuse him of influencing, perhaps even seducing his brother’s bride. Eduardo believed Lita had too much common sense to be seduced. He had done nothing more than be her friend, after all. Yes, she had adored Emmanuel, but that had been a child’s infatuation and she knew the difference between the two brothers. If it would take seduction to save Lita from Esteban...could he do it? Would he? Eduardo knew in that moment, he was lost. He already feared he cared too much about Lita, and now his reluctance to seduce her, to mislead her hopes and her heart, betrayed him. "Pray God that never becomes necessary," he muttered. Instinctively, he glanced at Lita, but she hadn’t heard him. She studied the countryside surrounding them and the foothills of the mountains perhaps another two hours ahead. She was too busy learning her new world and most likely strategizing to pay attention to his muttering.

And that was an encouraging sign, Eduardo decided. If she didn’t hang on his every movement, word, and expression--as he did with her--then she was safe from any childish, life-endangering attraction to him. If we can free the valley and bring it back to life, then let Esteban have it. Lita’s life and happiness are far too valuable to risk, too high a price to pay for a crown. I will take her far away, wherever she wants to go, and maybe someday I will be clean enough, will have done enough to earn a tiny claim on her heart. She already accepts me as her friend. It would be a miracle I could never earn, to have her love. It will be enough to be her knight errant, her champion. Eduardo smiled and sat up a little straighter on his horse. Yes, he liked the image of a knight sacrificing everything, even his heart, to protect his ladylove from durance vile. *** Lita laughed at herself, when she realized she took mental notes of every geographical feature, every sign post and vaguely recognizable landmark. Did she actually plan to write a report on this trip for the Professor someday? Her guardian and beloved teacher would enjoy it tremendously. It would certainly scandalize and titillate the bluebloods and society matrons in New York, to read about the adventure of a young woman whom they had only marginally accepted. It would certainly horrify and perhaps shame them, to realize they had a genuine princess in their midst, and had not profited from it. It would be amusing, wouldn’t it? She kept track of the various tiny countries she and Eduardo passed through as they climbed into the Pyrenees and hovered between France and Spain. Most of those countries were little more than two or three cities scattered through the larger valleys, tied together by goat trails, and one or two roads carved out of solid stone, hugging perilous cliffs, taken from the landscape at a high price in time, effort, money and lives. She played with the mental image of those various sovereigns, her peers, hearing about the restoration of Los Cielos and sending their felicitations and offers of friendly alliance. It was only sensible, after all, for small city-states to join together. Who knew when the larger, more powerful, military-minded kingdoms and nations of the world might decide to swallow up the tiny, independent bits of territory? The hidden valleys and shadows and mysteries of the Pyrenees would only protect the inhabitants so far. A show of arms and resolve to resist would have to do the rest. "What’s so funny, Miss Lita?" Eduardo asked. "Hmm?" She laughed aloud when she realized she had been grinning. "Oh, I was thinking about statecraft, about alliances and playing at being a queen among all the tiny kingdoms scattered hereabouts. Not that I’d want to be a queen." No, that is the last thing I want. I will take all the help Eduardo can give me, to win

my way free of this onerous betrothal to Esteban. She nodded sharply, punctuating her silent vow. "Good," Eduardo said, nodding sharply in his own turn. "Good about what?" She wanted to tease and laugh. Her thoughts had been serious and somber for far too long. "That I’m thinking about statecraft? Did you consider how many kingdoms we’ve passed through or by, just in the last four hours? Isn’t it amazing how these kingdoms know how to get along? They don’t patrol, they don’t stand in nervous, angry watchfulness, waiting for someone to wander over the border into their kingdom. Heaven forbid someone should steal a few herbs or nuts, to take back over the border into another kingdom." "You have no use for politics and national security and nationalism, do you?" He smiled as he spoke, and something warmed and turned over inside her chest. Eduardo did have a beautiful, stirring smile. Not that she was the kind of girl who could be moved by handsome, full, strong lips or that sparkle in wine-dark eyes. "I don’t have much use or patience for people who are so busy protecting their rights, they ignore their responsibilities." "You sound like someone who would make a wonderful queen. The kind the people hereabouts have been praying for and dreaming of for generations." "I hate waste." She slapped the reins against the edge of her saddle. "All the pomp and fuss. The thousands of dollars or pounds or marks spent on ceremony and ensuring everyone knows nobility has gone by. And ten times as much spent on guards, to make sure that starving peasants don’t have the chance to rise up in revolt, so their children have something in their bellies when they go to bed." "You’ve thought long and hard about this." His face smoothed into that quiet, thoughtful, too calm expression that made Lita want to slap him or do something to ruffle his self-control. "Not that much." She flinched when her rising voice echoed back at her. Lita took a deep breath to calm herself. "The Professor talked with me about such things. We analyzed dynasties all over the world, trying to decipher the breaking point for each kingdom, when the people rose up in revolt. The point where nothing, no matter how drastic, would have prevented disaster." "What would have prevented the disaster of our ancestors?" "I have no idea." Lita slapped her saddle again, hard enough for the crack to echo off the high peaks ahead of them and for her horse to flick its ears at her in

reproof. She stroked the beast’s neck in apology. "I don’t know what’s truth and what’s legend and what’s fable." "You believe, at least, that your ancestress was the injured party in all this," he offered. "Yes, of course." Eduardo laughed. It started out gentle and soft, but when Lita grinned back at him, not quite sure why, he tipped his head back and the laughter turned into a roar. *** Two nights later, the Black Monks came. One moment, Lita knelt in front of the fire, carefully adding a few sticks so flames and sparks wouldn’t leap into the night air and alert any watchers to their presence. The next moment, tall, dark shapes appeared through the screen of bushes that had made this sheltered, rocky plateau such a perfect camping spot. Eduardo swore just as Lita realized the shadows had turned solid. He leaped to put himself between Lita and the newcomers, then stopped short. The middle one stepped forward and held out a hand. Lita slowly got to her feet. The fire lay between her and the Black Monks. "No." Eduardo moved again, though stiffly, as if he fought against a fierce wind that tried to push him backwards. "She’s not going anywhere without me." "Don’t be ridiculous." Lita nearly lost her breath at the jolt of panic that shot through her at the thought of going the rest of the way without Eduardo. "These are my friends. They have always been there to save my life, to teach me and protect me." "Where were you when those two men tried to kidnap the princess on the docks?" "We were not needed," the middle one said, a woman, her voice pitched low, musical and yet strong. The sound of it made Eduardo gasp, and his eyes widened in shock. "What do you want from me?" Lita demanded. "Fulfillment." The Black Monk lowered her hand. "We are the guardians of the valley, and we do what is required to complete the prophecy and the vision. Part of our duty requires that you be guarded, guided, trained, and brought to the Gates of Life when the time is right."

"Is that where you’re going to take her now?" Eduardo demanded. "There is still much to be learned and proven. Even this close, after so many years, after so many prayers, the vessel may yet prove unworthy." "Is that why you let my father die?" Lita guessed. "We did not let your father die. He disobeyed. He entered the valley against our warnings. He trespassed into dangerous territory and suffered the consequences, trying to bypass the rules established by the prophecies and legends." "The Gates of Life were sealed by treachery and greed, smeared with blood," the right-hand Black Monk said. Her voice was gravelly and torn. "Treachery and the shedding of blood will try to force those gates open, and will fail." "The Key has been found," the leader of the three said. She stepped forward, and her ebony eyes blazed fiercely in the eyeholes of her hood. "The hiding place was opened prematurely and the Key rests in hands made filthy with bloodshed. If those hands succeed in opening the Gates of Life, they will be utterly destroyed and what little remains of Los Cielos will vanish utterly from the world. You must reach those gates first, princess of the pure bloodline. Only when you are a lifebearer, and the divided family is made one again, will you be able to open the gates." "Where are the gates? Is it as we theorized, and some place only a woman could fit into?" Lita stepped around the fire, to get closer to the Black Monks. She wasn’t sure what she needed or wanted to do. She wasn’t even sure it would be wise to touch one of them. "You must still learn, and prove yourself worthy," the second Monk said. She held out a square of yellowed paper to Lita. "We go ahead of you to prepare the way. Follow and study and think. Listen with your heart and your soul." "When you need us, we will be there, but only if you stay true and obedient. The easy solution will only cause more harm. When your enemy offers you a bargain that seems sensible, when you think you will be noble and sacrifice...take the more painful path and do not sacrifice yourself," the leader said. She took the paper from her underling when Lita didn’t move, and put it into the young woman’s hand, folding her fingers closed around it. "Stay true. Follow your heart, when all else proves false and cruel and cold." "What is--" Lita flinched when the paper slid out from her lax fingers. She clasped the paper close against her chest and looked up again, and the Black Monks had faded back into the shadows as if they had never been. "Have you gone through things like that all your life?" Eduardo muttered. He

offered a crooked grin when Lita could only nod. "What is it?" Wordless, needing something to do to break her thoughts free of their spinning, she unfolded the paper. The valley of Los Cielos spread out before her in old, faded colors, as it must have looked in its glory days. Houses were marked with the names of their owners. The long vineyards that had made the valley famous followed the curves of the many small rivers that spread across the valley like veins in the delicate skin on the back of a woman’s hand. They intertwined and separated and rejoined, and just by looking at them, Lita could see how rich and lush the valley had once been. "Everything was centralized," Eduardo said. He traced the outline of buildings with the tip of his finger. "If I read this right, all the grapes were brought into this building and pressed, the aging casks filled and stored here...the vaults were underground, to provide cool, even temperatures, according to the documents my great-great-great-grandfather salvaged. They made their own casks." He tapped a blurred inscription that Lita conceded could have been the word for coopery. "The people shared in the work and shared the profits, too. The royal family weren’t so much rulers as the head farmers, coordinating all the workers and overseeing the vineyards," he added with a chuckle. "That doesn’t sound so bad," Lita murmured, and continued studying the map. It showed much more than the valley that was their goal. She turned it, and stepped around the fire so its light better illuminated the map. "Do any of these landmarks look familiar to you?" She tapped the landmarks outside the valley. She shivered a little when she realized that everything inside the valley had colors, green, blue, purple and gold, while everything outside the valley was delineated in faded, rusty black. As if the only true life was inside the valley. "Hmm. Not quite. The landscape has changed greatly since the valley passes were blocked in landslides and quakes. At least, according to the records. For all we know, one of our ancestors sealed the way into the valley, to keep the other branch of the family from getting any profit from what was left." When he held out his hand for the map, she hesitated. But he was her partner in this, was he not? And hadn’t the Black Monks said that the family needed to be rejoined? What better way than what they were already doing, working together in partnership? That meant trust. Still, it was nearly a physical pain to put the map into his hand and let go. She needed to focus her thoughts on something else, to fight the jolt that hit her when the map slid out of her fingers. "Didn’t you know that some of the Black Monks were women?" "My side of the family has always feared them." Eduardo flashed her a grin and bowed his head back to studying the map. "Maybe because we always seem to be

on the wrong side of their favor, ever since the original split. There’s a story that a grandson of the younger sister tried to capture a Black Monk to torture answers from him--or her, rather." "What happened?" Lita sat down in front of the fire and put another piece of wood among the flames. "No one knows. He went to one of the few open passages into the valley, and vanished. Within a month, another landslide had sealed that particular entrance." "How did my father get into the valley, if every known way in is blocked?" "Mountain climbing gear, for one thing. The easiest descent is almost straight down from the plateau where Esteban’s mansion sits like a great vulture, brooding over all that wasteland. The only problem is, anyone going down that way is completely visible from the house. And Esteban deals rather harshly with intruders." "Do you think its possible he let my father climb down, hoping to find some answers through him and..." She swallowed hard, trying to squeeze a dozen conflicting, painful emotions back under control. "And he killed my father once he got them?" "More than possible," Eduardo admitted softly. He raised his gaze from the map and his eyes met hers. They were soft with sympathy and pain. "That map has to be our way in, without Esteban knowing we’re there until it’s too late." "Why couldn’t they have just led us all the way?" he grumbled, and sank down to the ground next to her. "Maybe because you said you wouldn’t let me go without you." A tiny snort of laughter escaped her when he jerked his head up to stare at her, dismay widening his eyes. "I think, rather, we have to prove ourselves by figuring out the map ourselves. Remember? She said we still had to learn and prove ourselves." "I think she was talking to you. I’m just here to be your beast of burden." "Eduardo--" "No, just think about it. All the prophecies point to you, the first daughter born to either branch of the family. The life-bearer. Men certainly seem to have a better knack for dealing death rather than life. We’d be less likely to start wars or fight over things like money and wealth and power if we could give birth. Who wants to send their children that they sweated over and shed blood for and carried next to

their heart for nine months, to war to die?" he finished softly. Lita’s heart seemed to shudder for a moment. As if she could see the memories that flashed through his thoughts, she sensed his pain had its root in a child’s death. "Your child?" she asked, and rested her hand on his in an unconscious attempt to soothe the pain she feared her words would cause. "Christine." He nodded jerkily and bowed his head and shoulders over the map, a visible attempt to avoid her gaze. "Her mother was a whore, my mistress, and I saw nothing wrong in owning one of the fanciest whorehouses in the territory...until Magnolia told me she was pregnant and the baby was mine, and I thought, what if it’s a girl? What if she grows up to be a whore, just like her mother?" He shook his head and visibly swallowed, ducking his head lower still. "Nothing like a child to make you rethink your entire view of the world, of life, of what really matters." He snorted. "But that’s all I did. Think about it. I still owned the whorehouse, Magnolia was still recruiting girls for our stable, and Christine was two years old when they were murdered. Because of me." His voice cracked. "We had a birthday party for her. The girls in the house made a fancy cake and a frilly little dress and bought her a doll with a dozen outfits and a tea set and a little bed. That had to be the craziest thing that ever happened, a bunch of whores having a birthday party for a child. We couldn’t invite any children because no one in town would have anything to do with the whore’s little girl and..." He caught his breath and lifted his head to meet her gaze. Tears glistened in his eyes. "They killed Christine and Magnolia just three days after the birthday party. And I have no idea why I’m telling you this." "Maybe because we’re friends?" She squeezed his hand, and Eduardo let go of the map to turn his hand over and catch hers in his hard, calloused, strong grasp. "Maybe you’ve been thinking about it, and you needed to tell someone?" "You are a totally abnormal woman, Princess." He offered a crooked, strained grin. "Any other woman of noble character would shriek for hot water and soap to wash away my touch, and demand that I go far away. No matter how respectable I’ve been the last six years, it’ll never be enough to wash away the filth of what I did. You’re better off without me." "Did you love Magnolia?" slipped out, when a dozen better responses rested on her lips. "I never loved anyone before Christine, and I’ll never love anyone else ever again."

Lita caught her breath when she realized she hoped he had lied. It wasn’t just his resemblance to Emmanuel, was it, that made her want him to be a good, valiant man...and perhaps belong to her, someday? She had mistaken him for her prince, when they first met. Maybe she held onto the hope that he truly would be her prince?

Chapter Nine Eduardo cursed himself for a fool. How could he have forgotten how vicious, how unforgiving the storms were in the mountains at this time of the year? True, he hadn’t been home, if that cold, elegant fortress on the plateau had ever been his home, in years. Still, how could he have forgotten the way the rain slanted down from every angle, driven by twisting winds only a hairsbreadth from turning into tornadoes? He had let Lita down. That thought haunted him as they struggled up the mountainside, trying to reach the cave that he remembered from the happier moments of his childhood. It was the best shelter he could offer her, large enough for the two of them and their horses, with room to spare. If they ever found the place before another mudslide or inconvenient shower of falling stones knocked them off their feet and back down nearly a mile to the base of the mountain. Lita held onto the reins of her horse, guiding the animal and using it for support. She kept her head bowed, the wide brim of her hat funneling only a portion of the rain down her back. She looked pale, as if the last two hours of constant, chilling downpour had washed all the color and life from her face. Still, she kept going, though men twice her size would have given up long ago, or at the very least started cursing him for his choices. Her confidence in him made Eduardo feel very small and unworthy, and gave him a small, growing hope that terrified him. So he held firmly to the belief that his memories would lead them to shelter and safety, and he kept moving when he would ordinarily have curled up in the lee side of a boulder, with his horse for partial shelter. For Lita, he would keep going. She cried out and he leaped forward, slipping and sliding, yet somehow staying on his feet. He grasped her arm, positive he would see blood where she had fallen and torn her leg or arm open. "Is that it?" she shouted, even her voice waterlogged. She pointed with a trembling arm. Eduardo stared through the silver-gray curtain that made everything a haze beyond his nose. He saw the blur of darkness, the crooked pillar of stone to the left, just as he had described it to her over their campfire last night. He nearly shook his head and continued moving forward. It had to be an illusion, after all. "Yes." He forced the words out through lips gone numb from exhaustion. "Yes, I think it is." Even if it wasn’t the cave of his childhood, it would do for them. No matter how small. It was shelter. Lita would have a respite from the constant

downpour and winds, if nothing else. Even if he and the horses had to sleep outside, to ensure her comfort. There had been several rockslides in the years since he last visited the cave, Eduardo discovered. Not enough to block and completely hide the entrance, but enough to make a knee-high sill to step over when they entered. The horses could barely lift their legs, and their shoes clacked against the stones. That sill kept water from running into the cave, and the wide overhang of the entrance and the stone outcropping to one side kept the wind from blowing rain inside. Only four steps from the entrance, the floor was dry and dusty. Eduardo stumbled over deadfall in the darkness. He prayed it was deadfall as he felt through the shadows, and braced himself to encounter a pile of bones from a man who had stumbled inside to die in this godforsaken spot. Instead, he found wood. Dry, dusty wood, more than enough for a fire. It was a matter of moments to find the matches in the tin box, inside the oiled pouch inside his coat. He struck three, warming and then burning his fingers in an attempt to get a fire going, working blindly. The fourth match caught on the dry, feather-fine ends of a branch, where char showed that a lightning strike had sheered it off the parent tree. He watched the flames catch and hold and then start to creep along the dry length of wood. When he could finally relax and release the breath he had been holding, he looked away and saw Lita watching him from the other side of the wood. She smiled at him, and he nearly reached across the flames to kiss her, in pure, giddy relief and celebration. "If your memory stays this reliable, we will be in the valley by tomorrow night." She sighed and pulled the soaked hat off her head. A spatter of raindrops sizzled on the fire. She laughed when the flames flared higher in response. "Forgive me, Eduardo." "For what?" He laughed to hide the leap of his heart when she called him by name, with no formality. "Doubting you for even a few minutes. You were sent to guide me, to be my friend, just as surely as the Black Monks were sent to guard me and keep me alive for this purpose." Yes, of course. He managed a grim smile when everything inside him dropped in dismay. He was there for a purpose, and that was all she saw when she looked at him. What could he hope for, anyway? She still adored Emmanuel. It was enough for him that he would keep her safe from Esteban. Why torment himself with the hope that she would find him desirable and worthy? Lita had said nothing about his tale of Magnolia and Christine. She couldn’t possibly understand the things that drove a man, reaching for moments of beauty in the midst of pain and a need to self-destruct. She could pity him and talk about leaving the past behind, and how much he had reformed himself, but there would always be that barrier between

them. It was his own fault, wasn’t it? "What’s wrong?" Her small, cold hand cupped his cheek and sent an aching tightness through his chest and into his groin. "Eduardo, are you all right? Did I hurt you?" "Hurt me, Princess?" His gut controlled him, while his reason shouted warning. He caught hold of her hand and kissed her cold palm. "Your cruelest words would be a pleasure." "I did say something, didn’t I?" she whispered. Her voice barely rose above the hissing of the rain outside their shelter, but penetrated to his heart. Warmth spread through his body. "Don’t you know you are more to me than just my guide and guard? Even if everything turns out to be legend and nothing more, and there is no way to bring Los Cielos back to life, I am glad we are here, together." A trickle of water from her hair drew a line down her forehead and into her eyes. She sputtered and laughed and wiped the water away with her free hand. "No matter how miserable we are right this moment, I am glad we are here." "Princess..." Nothing he could say would help either of them. Eduardo kissed her palm again and a greedy part of him shouted in triumph when a hint of color touched her cheeks at the too-familiar caress. He released her hand and sat back on his heels. "We will be more glad to be here once we get our clothes dried and some supper in our bellies." "Absolutely. What’s the use of coming this far if we die of pneumonia?" She laughed, the sound trembling. Eduardo dared to hope that he had disturbed her, but in a good way. This was all wrong, he knew. When this adventure was over and she was back in civilization, with dry feet and hair, gaslights, hot food and books, and young men of good families clamoring to dance with her, Lita would recoil from all memory of this cold, dark, damp place. But for now, she was here, in his world, and glad to be with him. *** The horses created a windbreak, standing between the entrance and the bend in the long cave. Cracks in the roof of the cave took away the smoke from the fire. There was plenty of deadfall and tinder. Eduardo found the old, broken stools and dry, dusty blankets he had stashed here as a boy, and the bottle of lamp oil and two lanterns were still there, unbroken by curious animals. The old pot he had used for heating water so long ago was still in one piece, though he had to scrape out animal droppings and accumulated grime and dust before he dared put it outside to catch rainwater. Lita took a lantern and went into one of the side passages to change her clothes, and still hadn’t come back by the time Eduardo

returned with a full pot of water and put it on the edge of the fire to heat. She returned wearing the peasant dress. The black, coarse cloth only accented her pallor from the strain of the day, but at least the material was dry and warm. Eduardo took the lantern and stepped into the little sheltered spot to change his clothes also. When he returned, Lita had jury-rigged a line to hang up their clothes, close enough to the fire to take advantage of the heat reflected off the stone walls, far enough away the dripping of water wouldn’t bother them. She crouched on the little stool with its wobbly leg and dug through their drenched saddlebags for provisions. Eduardo paused on the edge of the puddle of firelight and watched her. It was a strangely domestic moment. They could have been adventurers, striking off across the remaining wild, untamed areas in the Western frontier of the United States. They could have been re-enacting the original discovery of the valley of Los Cielos, as handed down in the ancient, barely legible journals of their mutual, multi-great-grandmothers. The oldest stories claimed a noblewoman who had chosen love over fortune and social status had found Los Cielos. She had fallen in love with her father’s vinedresser and married him in the face of her father’s threats. They were ejected from her ancestral estates and sent out into the wilderness of the valleys in this part of the Pyrenees to wander and starve. Instead, they sheltered in the caves, and followed a hidden river into what seemed like another world, rich and green and full of life. The vinedresser carried a root from his most prized vine, and when he planted it in the valley, the root sent out shoots in a matter of days. They established a vineyard and built themselves a small house. By the time their first child was born, the story of the valley had spread, and three families came to join them and work the vineyards. Their wine was famous before the first cask of wine reached the outside world. Eduardo thought back to that story and wished he had a vine root in his pocket, to guarantee them success on their quest. "Hungry?" Lita laughed and held up the chunk of cheese in its oiled cloth wrapping. "Toasted cheese and tea sounds like a feast right now, don’t you think?" "Ambrosia," Eduardo agreed, and dropped to his knees on the other side of the fire to check the water he had set to heat. When she asked him what he had been thinking, he realized that she had known he was there all that time. He told her about the legend, about the founding of the valley. Lita was silent a long time after he finished, busy spreading fire-softened cheese on bread. He waited while she divided up the bread and put a handful of tea into the steaming, softly bubbling water. "Princess?" he whispered.

"Papa told me the valley never existed until the first king and queen needed it. He said that the life inside that vine cutting testified that they were good people who revered life and love, and it opened some ancient, elemental door, releasing a kind of magic..." She shrugged and pulled out the oiled leather bag that held the metal box of precious sugar. The handful she dumped into the steeping tea was overly generous, but Eduardo cared more about the trembling of her hand than too-sweet tea. "He made our history a faerie tale, with magic and spells and evil queens, as if everything is under a curse, like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, until the prince comes along and awakens the princess with a kiss." She finally met his gaze, and that soft pink flush touched her cheeks. "Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took? For a prince to kiss a princess and break the spell?" "This is no castle, Princess, and there is no wall of thorns surrounding us." "That’s why faerie tales always happen long, long ago and far, far away." She shrugged and finished closing up the sugar again. Her hand shook just the slightest bit. "I’d kiss you right now, if I thought it would make a difference." A sharp bark of laughter escaped him when her eyes widened and that pink flush darkened and covered her from her hairline to the collar of her ugly black dress. "Who am I fooling? I’d like to kiss you even if it put a curse on me for the rest of my life." "Really?" Her lips twitched as she fought not to smile. "But I won’t risk putting a curse on you, Princess. I’m the younger son, and you’re betrothed to the older son--" "A cold-hearted dictator." "And he would make your life misery if he ever found out about this conversation, much less that I had actually kissed you." "What does it matter, if I’m not going to marry him?" "You can only do that if we succeed. If we fail, if we don’t open the gates, you must marry Estaban and continue the royal line. The two sides of the family must become one again. He is the heir. I’m a wastrel and a scoundrel." "No, you’re not." She shook her head. The hint of tears in her eyes cut him more deeply than any shrieks or curses or bitter condemnation. "It’s only a veneer, Lita, sweet Lita. Scratch me, and underneath all my civilization and polish, I’m less than the dirt on your boots." "The first queen married far beneath her, but he ended up a king."

"That’s the problem with faerie tales. It doesn’t tell you how he started out. You don’t know me at all, you’re betrothed to my brother, and if I kissed you right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Even if you screamed and fought me. Do you understand what I mean, Princess?" Lita stopped short, eyes bright with the hint of tears, the color fading from her cheeks. She stared at him, not even breathing, until she had to gasp for breath and look away. "You wouldn’t--" "Starving men have killed for a crust of bread. I haven’t touched a woman, except to dance, since Magnolia and Christine died." He was savagely, bitterly pleased when she flinched and turned her head, stung by the mention of his mistress and child. "Put a woman in my arms, the brute beast inside me will break free. Most women don’t like their first time, Princess. Do you want to be hurt so badly you’ll never let another man touch you? Do you want to hate me?" "I wouldn’t hate--" Her voice cracked and broke. "I can’t believe you would lose control over something as simple as a kiss." "Why do you think I keep you on the other side of the fire?" He smiled bitterly when she blushed again. "I’m sorry." "Don’t be." "You want sweetness and light and you have high ideals. You’ve probably wondered about what happens between husband and wife, and you think it will be civilized and pleasant, like good conversation." "My aunt explained the...the mechanics." Her blush deepened. "You want more than mechanics. You want your heart and soul to be involved, as well as your body." "And what is wrong with that? My parents had it. Why can’t I have it, too?" "I don’t have a heart to give you, Princess." He shook his head, hard enough to make his neck ache, when she opened her mouth to contradict him. "I think we’ve both said too much. Leave it at the bare facts. I want you in my arms and in my bed, and part of me doesn’t care if you’re willing or unwilling, if you find pleasure in it or if it turns into rape. You’re a virgin, idealistic, raised on faerie tales and memories of a good marriage that was all a marriage should be. You’d be disappointed in me, Princess, and I’d eventually hate you for it. So let’s talk about something else, shall we?"

Lita turned back to him, her eyes losing their glistening shine as they flicked back and forth, studying his face. Her shoulders straightened and she sat up straight and visibly took on the strength and poise of a queen. Eduardo thought he could worship the strong woman he saw sitting in front of him, a queen despite the cave filled with firelight, dressed in an old, ugly, rough dress, barefoot, ready to dine on bread and cheese and tea. "Yes, please, let us talk of something else." She swallowed hard and bent to stir the tea. "Since we have found your cave, the trail up to the overlook should be only a few hours away, due north of us, yes?" "Yes, but in this weather it could take us more than a day," he said, and silently breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, Lita was a sensible girl with strong control over her emotions. Part of him cursed her for that. A little screaming and fury and maybe even rocks or wet clothes thrown at him would have been good for his soul. *** Lita dreamed she walked to the back of the cave and the light from her lantern reflected off multiple crystals, refracting so the dark passageway was full of diamonds of light. She walked through a hallway carved through the spiny, brilliant insides of a geode, royal purple and crimson, azure, emerald and white. She followed it, the passageway curving inward and downward, to the heart of the mountain. The path brought her to a pool at the base of the mountain, the water steaming faintly, and scented like the faint tang of grapes just days from ripe. She didn’t wonder how she knew the scent. It was as if she had always known it. Lita walked to the edge of the pool and the water beckoned. Voices whispered at the edge of her hearing. Her mind didn’t hear the instructions, but her soul knew and responded. She slipped out of her black dress. She shivered, but it was a pleasant chill as the shimmering air touched her naked skin. She stepped into the pool and waded out to the center, where the water rose just over her breasts. Slowly, she immersed herself, repeatedly, until she felt clean and alive and refreshed. The air shimmered with chimes as she waded back to the edge of the pool. Like music and whispers, the sound traveled up her spine and coiled inside her belly, warming her and filling her with pleasantly tense anticipation. A gossamer rainbow puddle of fabric replaced her ugly, borrowed dress. Lita picked it up, bemused, wrapped the cloth around herself, and found sleeves and a belt. The cloth flowed around her, clinging and soft, multiple layers of elegance. The shimmering chimes stopped, as if a door had closed and cut off all sound. Lita

turned, her heart thumping with something that wasn’t fear. Eduardo stood in the opening of the passageway. He braced himself against the sides of the tunnel, staring at her, his eyes wide and hungry. She remembered his words about a starving man and knew his hunger wasn’t just for food, or for just any woman. She knew she was the only one who could satisfy him, and in that moment, she knew she had been starving, too, and only he would ever satisfy her. All the things he had tried to fill that aching need and emptiness in him had only made the lack worse. She would complete him, as he would complete her. She knew that. All she had to do was tell him. But how? Somehow, words were a thousand miles and lifetimes away. Lita turned to face him and slowly spread her arms wide. Agony twisted his face. She took a step toward him. He tried to back away, but the passage closed up behind him and he couldn’t move anywhere but forward. Though he struggled, she felt his gaze moving over her body, a palpable touch that made her tremble with feelings she had never known existed. Eduardo was right. She was an idealist, a virgin who didn’t have the faintest idea of the things that existed between men and women--even after Ermengarde’s blushing, softly giggling little lecture on the sexual act. Her parents had loved each other, and Ermengarde had certainly enjoyed being married--so why shouldn’t Lita expect to find pleasure in her husband’s arms as well as his company? She wanted that with Eduardo, and she would have it, if she could only convince him this was the right thing to do. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her throat. She took a step toward him, holding out her hands, begging. Eduardo shook his head, like a horse shrugging off pesky flies. Then he lunged. Lita gasped as he enclosed her in his arms. The heat of his body scorched through her. He pressed his mouth over hers and Lita sighed as sweet heat spilled through her body from that first tentative, increasingly hungry kiss. She flinched when his tongue drove hot and demanding into her mouth, and Eduardo laughed. A triumphant sound, like a lion. The sound died, choking in his throat when she mimicked the movement, caressing his tongue with hers. She whimpered protest when he lifted his mouth from hers, then sighed again as he trailed kisses down her throat. Further down, until he pressed kisses between her breasts. Lita realized her robe hung open, caught at her elbows, barely tied at her waist. Eduardo’s lips pressed over her heart, his hands on her back and cupping her bottom to hold her hard against him. She woke, to the smell of wet horses and campfire, scorched tea, the crackle of flames, the sound of horses restlessly shifting their feet before going back to sleep, and the soft, deep breathing of Eduardo, asleep on the other side of the campfire. Lita lay still, watching him sleep, knowing he would be mortified that he had fallen

asleep while on watch. She knew nothing could get through the continuing storm, and the horses would raise the alarm long before any enemies could get into the cave. It was no good arguing with Eduardo, however. The warm, liquid feeling in her belly remained from the dream. She could still taste his mouth, spicy and warm. Her lips tingled from the pressure of his lips against hers. She brushed her fingers down her throat, to that sensitive spot between her breasts. She imagined she could still feel his hands on her back and backside, holding her prisoner while he took his pleasure. Yet if she willingly came to his arms, she wasn’t a prisoner, was she? "You’re wrong," she whispered. "You will kiss me, and I won’t ask you to stop, and it will be wonderful. It will be paradise. If I can only find that cave..." Lita sighed and closed her eyes and rolled over to turn her back to Eduardo and the fire. Her chances of Eduardo kissing her, after what he had said, were as likely as her chances of finding that crystalline passageway and the pool where she had bathed. But if she could bring life back to Los Cielos...she could do anything, couldn’t she? *** "We’ll stop at the top of the plateau, there." Eduardo pointed at a sheer cliff ahead of them. Lita had grown adept at judging distances and guessed they would reach the spot just before sunset. "It will be a beautiful view from up there," she said. Her horse shied sideways and she looked down, trying to see what had startled her mount. "We’ll be able to look down into the valley, yes." Eduardo didn’t look at her but kept staring up at the plateau. "More important, if the passageway I’ve heard about truly exists, we’ll be able to see it when the shadows are sharpest and longest. At sunset and sunrise." "If all goes well, we could be in the valley by sunrise." "If," he grunted. A puff of dust erupted almost under his horses’ hooves. He cursed and yanked on the reins to control the beast. "Something is--" Her horse reared, its head lashing back and hitting her hard in the breastbone. Eduardo cursed and shouted her name. Lita clung with her knees and grappled at the horse’s mane with both hands. She felt her feet slipping from the stirrups. Just when she thought she would fall, her horse slammed forward, all four feet down on

the ground again. "Lita!" Eduardo reached for her with both hands. Without thinking, she pushed out of the saddle almost before he touched her. He yanked her into the saddle in front of him at the same moment her horse groaned and crumpled to the ground. "What happened?" she gasped, her words nearly jolted out of her as she landed hard. Eduardo looked down at her twitching horse. "I don’t want to stay long enough to find out." "The map--" Lita shut her mouth with a click of her teeth when Eduardo shoved his pistol into her hand and dismounted. He yanked the saddlebags and canteen out from under the horse, barely looking at her as he tossed them to her. She caught them one-handed and settled more securely in the saddle. Eduardo struggled for a few moments to pull the bag of supplies from under the horse, mostly medical supplies, bread and some dried meat. He cursed and staggered backwards, and held up bloody hands to her. With a quick look around the landscape, he bent over and wiped his hands on the saddle blanket, then turned to climb into the saddle behind her. Bullets screamed around them. Eduardo staggered backwards, clasping his hand to his upper arm. Lita turned, bringing up the pistol. "Halt or he dies!" a voice roared from behind and above them. It echoed off the rocks from a dozen different directions. Before Lita could even blink or doubt the threat, a line of bullets chewed up the ground in a straight line, just a few steps in front of Eduardo. As she expected, when she looked at him, he shook his head and mouthed ‘Flee’ to her. "Who are you?" she shouted back, pitching her voice as one of the Professor’s Shakespearan actor friends had taught her. "Who are you?" The man laughed, his voice hard and piercing. "Are you a boy or a girl?" "I am--" "No, Lita," Eduardo snapped. More bullets shot dust into the air, less than a foot away from his right foot. "Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos!" She prayed silently, quickly, for the Black Monks to appear and rescue her. Then, listening to

her gut, she continued, "I am here in answer to a summons from my betrothed. The time has come to restore life to the valley of Los Cielos." Silence. She lowered the hand holding the gun. No more gunfire. She turned to look at Eduardo, wanting to ask so many questions, afraid to speak where their enemy could hear. He shook his head. "Indeed, the time has come." The voice sounded closer, and now she could tell the direction it came from. Lita turned the horse to face what looked like little more than a crevice, perhaps fifty yards to her right. A man stepped from the crevice, and Lita revised her estimate of the distance, to perhaps two hundred yards away. Another man stepped out, and another, until twenty men walked escort for a man mounted on a black horse. Men appeared in silhouette at the top of the buttes and cliffs all around the valley, from every side. "We were expected," Eduardo muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear. "How is your arm?" "They weren’t aiming to kill, just to impress us." He nodded to her, then turned to watch the oncoming group. "You chose the right response, Princess." "We’ll see." She wanted to dismount and check on Eduardo’s arm, but knew better than to move and give those silhouetted figures reason to shoot again. Lita just hoped Eduardo wasn’t playing the hero, and his arm would be all right. If she had a chance to break for freedom, she wanted him able to swing up into the saddle behind her. That was the one thing she knew for certain, as she watched the rider on the black horse draw closer: she refused to leave Eduardo behind. Then she saw the man’s face. She knew him, knew his face, but like something out of a nightmare. Familiar but distorted. A hard and cold type of handsome. Sharp lines creased his face, giving evidence that he never smiled with warmth and brightness, only in triumph. He sat tall and straight in his saddle, as if on parade, not riding out to face two people held at gunpoint. Tyrant or murderer or idealist? Her enemy or a troublesome ally? The man she might have to marry, no matter what she and Eduardo managed to do? Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas rode toward her, surrounded by men with gleaming rifles on their shoulders. He didn’t take his gaze off her, and Lita knew better than to flinch from that regard for even a heartbeat. She held herself

straight and tall, but made sure her posture was relaxed. She had encountered men just like Esteban, so militarily correct, when she lived with the Professor. Responding to their stiffness with anger, with fear, with mockery only resulted in more of the same. Refusing to change her posture or reactions, to act as if nothing they did could bother her, always seemed to disarm them. At the very least, they didn’t try to intimidate her. Some even relaxed themselves, as if the fact that she didn’t care about their image freed them to be themselves. Would that work here? She doubted it. Esteban’s presence and poise merely confirmed what Eduardo had told her. If anything, the younger brother had been kind and generous in describing his older brother. "Princess Elizabelita," Esteban said. He raised his hand to halt his men. The ones directly in front of his horse parted to let the mount through. He continued forward. "How distressing to see you here, dressed in such an unbecoming fashion." "More distressing when I didn’t arrive at all, and your inquiries revealed that I had been kidnapped or even killed the moment I disembarked from my ship. Don’t you think?" Lita barely refrained from batting her eyelashes. He was too far away to see the flippant little gesture, and she doubted Esteban would be either amused or thrown off stride. "True. If I had been expecting you. Which I was not. How careless of you not to let me know you were coming to your ancestral home at last." He let his horse take four more steps, then halted the beast with just a slight tug on the reins. "I am here in response to a telegram, allegedly from you, requesting my presence." "Believe me, if I had sent for you, you would be escorted as my bride deserves. You appear to be fleeing for your life. Or perhaps moving in stealth, like a thief?" "I am here to solve the riddle of our ancestors and bring life back to Los Cielos. If I were more concerned for my life and health than anything else, I would still be in New York." A thin smile twisted his face. Lita repressed a shudder. Her neighbor had a particularly nasty cat that smiled in the same way, just before it shredded some hapless creature, keeping it alive as long as possible. "Who is that with you? And why are you traveling with only one companion? Some might think you scheme to take the throne from me. Or have you taken a lover?" "If you suspect me of betraying our betrothal, it is only because you have so many

mistresses already," she shot back. A harsh bark of laughter echoed across the valley. "I think we will get along quite well. You will be a refreshing change." "If we marry at all." "If. Yes." He raised a hand, waving it negligently at Eduardo. "Who is that with you?" "Your brother, Prince Eduardo. Who else would you expect?" Total silence. Lita wondered if she had finally surprised Esteban. "Well, what a pleasant...surprise. Dear little brother, it’s been so long. I didn’t recognize you." Esteban nudged his horse to move again. "I certainly never expected to see you here, riding next to my betrothed." That answered several ambiguous matters in Lita’s mind. Esteban did not expect them, and certainly did not expect his brother to be with her, despite Eduardo’s telegram. And, more important, he would claim her as his betrothed bride until it no longer profited him. How could she use that against him? "You thought I would keep her Highness in France until you sent for her?" Eduardo slowly lowered the hand clasping his injury and turned fully to face his brother. Lita saw the tension leave his shoulders, just enough to be noticeable. She had flinched when he moved, expecting another rain of gunfire. "This furtive journey isn’t what I expected. It’s rather...strenuous." Esteban stopped just short of smirking. "You thought I had so totally destroyed my mind and body, I wouldn’t last a day in a cross-country journey. Even with servants." Eduardo held out a bloodstained hand. "If I was the man your spies have mistakenly reported me to be...I’d be dead from this, by now." "Welcome home, little brother." Esteban snapped his fingers and pointed at Eduardo. Six of his escort leaped forward to surround Eduardo. The others raised their rifles and kept them trained on him. Lita took no comfort from the lack of guns pointed at her. She doubted she could kill enough with just the pistol, to do Eduardo any good. "You realize, Esteban, I would still be in Princeton if you hadn’t contacted me." "Yes, I know. How thoughtless of you to be so diligent in fulfilling your duty. You’ve made yourself a threat to me." Esteban turned his attention back to Lita. "Welcome

to your future home, Princess Elizabelita. Follow me. I’m sure my little brother would appreciate your company in the dungeon, but that wouldn’t make me very happy, would it?" "I should hope you would take very good care of your betrothed," Lita responded. It was a battle to keep her tone calm, untouched by the churning in her gut, and the fury that tried to tie her into flaming knots. "Oh, I will. Be very sure of that."

Chapter Ten The proverb of the bird in the gilded cage had many layers of meaning Lita did not care to explore in her present circumstances. Her prison was a suite perfect for a royal bride, and that worried and irritated her. Esteban had made the pretense of preparations. Whether he intended to keep her here as his wife and co-ruler was another story. Nothing in the suite suited her tastes. Esteban had made no effort to learn a single thing about her. She suspected he hadn’t really cared that she stayed pure and faithful, but only used that ploy to cause trouble for Eduardo. From remarks Esteban made during the long ride to his mansion, he fully expected his younger brother to be a womanizer who couldn’t resist the temptation of an inexperienced girl. Whatever the truth was, he didn’t know about her tastes, her beliefs, her preferences. The formal styles and rich colors, the stiff cloth and ostentatious display of wealth were his taste, not hers. They didn’t suit her in the slightest. And that was good. The question was if she could use Esteban’s ignorance against him. Or did all this simply mean that he didn’t care what she thought or felt, how she reacted to anything, what she liked and didn’t like, because he had no use for her beyond sealing the alliance between the two branches of the family? Lita finally gave up pacing and stalked to the window to look out. All the windows she had seen were tall and thin. She supposed glass was very hard to import here. The other explanation was that the house had been built to suit the eventual necessity of turning it into a defensible fortress. It would be far easier to shoot out through such narrow windows than to shoot anyone standing inside those window frames. Bars crossed the windows, which made no sense to her. Security would be necessary on the lower level, but three stories above the ground, it was ludicrous. Unless Esteban anticipated his bride’s wish to escape, and acted to prevent it? Lita studied the devastation filling the landscape before her. She had to concentrate on Los Cielos. It was her heritage, her duty. She needed to concentrate on the dead landscape spreading out to the horizon in scorched brown and white and sickly gold--because otherwise, she would worry about Eduardo. Esteban’s men kept her separated from Eduardo on the steep climb to the plateau where his mansion sat. Esteban hadn’t tried to charm or intimidate her with conversation. Neither had he made any pretense that they were not prisoners. Eduardo sat in the dungeon right this moment. Lita supposed she should envy

him. There was a certain honesty and security in being in the dungeon. Things couldn’t get any worse. Her own circumstances were changeable. Had Esteban believed a word she said about coming here? Would he decide to keep her here for his profit? What if she told him she hoped to free the valley, bring it back to life, and deny their betrothal? Would it matter to him? The more a man has, the Professor had always said, the more he wants. If Esteban had the valley and it was prosperous and profitable, wouldn’t he want to ensure that only his descendants ruled it? As long as she lived, as long as she had children and they had children, there would always be someone with a counter claim to the throne. "Stupid," she growled, and grasped the bars of the window as if she could tear them free. As if that would do her any good. "Highness?" The woman who slipped into the suite from the bathing room had a look about her. Worn elegance, bolstered with thick layers of paint and anger. Lita supposed she was one of Esteban’s former mistresses, used up and forced to remain here--perhaps no one was allowed to leave?--and serve the next woman in line. What was the alternative to this prison-like existence? Death? Did anyone try to escape? I will escape, Lita vowed. I will free myself, and Eduardo, and the valley. She shuddered at the thought of the valley, restored to its glory days of lush life, yet doomed to existing under Esteban’s hand. She hadn’t thought about the people who might come to live here, suffering while she escaped back to her quietly rebellious life in America. "Has Prince Esteban sent for me?" Lita asked. "Your bath is ready. Then you must choose appropriate clothes for dinner." The woman made a shallow curtsey, never meeting Lita’s gaze, and gestured back at the bathing room. Lita sighed. Her short time of reflection and gathering her wits had ended. The battle had begun. She won the first few skirmishes, and that encouraged and energized her. The two maids assigned to her wanted to make her bath half rose oil. Lita triumphed and climbed out of a delightful half hour of soaking in warm water smelling sweetly and faintly of lemons. The rinds, rubbed into her hands and elbows, softened and smoothed them and took away the grit that had ground in after days of living in the

saddle. Not that she minded those days alone with Eduardo. She much preferred the discomfort and lack of privacy. She had to keep vigil to ensure her privacy, because the maids kept trying to come in and sit by her bath every five minutes. Were they trying to ensure she didn’t attempt to kill herself, or did they want to compare themselves to her, to see what the princess had, or perhaps didn’t have, that made their former lover cast them aside? The corset was too large. Lita fought not to laugh as the women worked to lace her into the ridiculous contraption of whalebone, pulling until their faces were red, but never getting a reaction out of her. She held onto the bedpost to keep upright, but never lost her breath. Perhaps they wanted her to beg for mercy? The dresses they brought out for her inspection were either ridiculous frills that made her feel like an overindulged child, or so low-cut as to be scandalous. Everything suited a woman at least two inches larger in the waist and four inches larger in the bust. Neither woman knew how to sew, and pretended not to understand Lita when she demanded the lace from the wrists of one gown, the wine-colored evening gown, and a sewing basket. They fussed and muttered but, amazingly, didn’t interfere. Twenty minutes before she was expected downstairs for dinner, Lita had altered the gown to fit her, and covered her bosom adequately. She supposed some men would find the old-fashioned lace fichu a challenge. What sort of man was Esteban? Would he be amused by her demand for decency, disturbed or relieved by her much smaller figure, or dismayed that she had covered up what he assumed would soon belong to him? She lost the final battle, over hair and jewelry. Having her hair pulled out by its roots was a little too high a price to pay. She let the two women fuss and whisper and twist her hair, filling it with pins and flowers, turning her usual fall of thick black silken curls into a coronet piled high on top of her head. She wanted to laugh at herself in the mirror as she watched the two women work. Then she saw the pots of cosmetics sitting on the dressing table. Surreptitiously, she slipped one pot and pencil after another into her lap, and from there into a basket sitting under the dressing table. The colors that remained would compliment the gown, darkening her eyes and lips without making her feel like a painted clown in the circus. She watched the cloisonné clock ticking imperatively in the corner, and so did the two women. They cried out in dismay when they discovered the mountain of cosmetics missing, but made do with what Lita had left. A rope of pink pearls around her neck, dangling chandeliers of crystals and pearls in her ears, and a sixstrand bracelet to match went around her wrist. She was ready for dinner.

Esteban paused in the double doors at the far end of the hallway when Lita stepped out of her door. The four soldiers on guard in the hallway, two at each door, snapped to attention. Lita nodded her head gracefully and said nothing to Esteban. She noted the tiny slice of his room she had glimpsed. She knew where his rooms were now, and had no intention of entering them. "Enchanting." Esteban swept her a short bow, making his hip-length black and silver cape billow. He held out his hand for hers. Lita wished she had worn gloves. If black and silver were his colors, she would never wear either of them. She intended to avoid being in the position where she had to worry about what he wore or being seen in public with him. "You display a refreshing mixture of innocence and sophistication, Elizabelita." He led her down the hallway to a curving staircase in sleek, dark wood. "I must differ with you, Highness." She counted a point for herself in this battle of words and wits. "Sophistication does not mean vulgar displays of flesh, nor does innocence mean gaudy amounts of bows and lace." "I should hope not. And are you innocent, my princess?" He tightened his grip on her hand, caught between his hand and the crook of his other arm. "I am not yours." She left her hand resting where it was, though it was a battle not to yank it away. "Yes, you are." One corner of his mouth twitched, just enough to hint at amusement. "I am promised as your bride. That does not make me your property." "Property is such a vulgar word." That corner twitched up again and stayed up this time. So, she definitely did amuse him. Was that good, or bad? "So is hinting when you should be open and honest with me. I am no blushing, sheltered child, Prince Esteban. My guardians raised me to hold a throne and bring Los Cielos back to life. I can handle the treasury and the infirmary, not just the parlor and throne room." "Honest and open? Very well." He nodded once. "How well are you trained in the bedroom?" They reached the bottom of the stairs. Moving with the speed and elegance of a snake, he turned her, snapping her arm free of his grip and wrapping his arm

around her waist. He drew her up close and tight against him, chest to hips. Nausea knotted her belly when she felt the undeniable hardness pressed against her. "I am a virgin." "Prove it." His free hand stroked up her side, lightly, a leaf brushing along the thick silk. Lita held still, partially trapped in the intensity, the hunger in his eyes. His index finger traced the neckline of her gown. She wondered if the lace fichu challenged or annoyed him. Would he tug it away or tear it away? "Do you think I’m a fool?" Lita twisted sideways, out of his grip, more easily than she could have hoped. He perhaps expected her to shriek and slap his hand and hadn’t prepared to resist such a move. She took two steps back, putting space between them. "I understand the sexual act and it utterly revolts me." "I think I have the skill to make you change your mind," Esteban nearly purred. He advanced one step toward her. "That will have to wait until our wedding night. If that ever happens." "Princess, you wound me." He pressed his hand over his heart and bowed to her. "No true lady enjoys the act. I’m not fool enough to want to be wooed like a faerie princess, and if you should try it, I will be insulted. Without that emotional element, sharing your bed will be nothing but a particularly...messy duty." She took a step forward and had the thrill of seeing him move back a step, shocked by her movement. "If I felt the need to prove my purity to you, what is there to stop you from accusing me of adultery later? It would only be my word against yours that you took my virginity before our wedding night, and not some other man." "Ah, yes. Very astute." He bowed again and offered his bent arm, as if nothing had interrupted their walk to the dining room. "I must commend you on your wisdom, Princess." After a pause only long enough to let him know she didn’t trust him, Lita slipped her hand back into the crook of his elbow and they continued walking. "In the morning, I will send my steward to introduce himself to you. Whatever you want for our wedding, he will procure it for you." Fresh horses, supplies, guns, and the location and key to Eduardo’s cell would be a good beginning. Lita merely nodded, pressing her lips tightly together to hide her reaction. Esteban, she decided after half an hour of his company, needed an audience. She prayed that he didn’t plan to keep her alive just to ensure he had someone around to impress, to cheer for him and adore him and admire his cleverness.

A woman who thought for herself and who had no need of a man to make her feel worthwhile wasn’t the type to settle for being an adoring audience. How could she convince him she was the former and not the latter, without irritating him to the point that he had her killed? "Where is Prince Eduardo?" she asked, after Esteban had finished his cursory tour of the garden terrace, the music room and library. They were finally headed for the dining room, if that impressive display of crystal, silver and translucent china ahead of her meant anything. "I have him quartered where he can do us no harm." Esteban stroked one finger across the back of her captive hand and continued through the archway into the dining room. For all his reaction, she could have made a comment about the flowers they had seen outside. "Since he is not present, I assume he is not to dine with us. Why is that?" "My brother--both my brothers, my dear Princess Elizabelita--have notorious reputations as scoundrels. Drunkards, gamblers, womanizers. Attending more to their own pleasure than their duties. I don’t trust Eduardo around you, any more than I trusted Emmanuel to be a proper king someday. It was injustice that made him firstborn, but Fate disposed of him as he deserved. You do not believe me, do you?" "Prince Emmanuel was always kind and thoughtful and dignified whenever I saw him. My father would not have betrothed him to me if he had been anything less than a gentleman." She tugged to free her hand. Esteban resisted only for a moment. Long enough to make it quite clear he let her go free, rather than that she had freed herself. "Yes, Emmanuel knew how to present the proper mask to the world. He needed you, the first princess. He was willing to do whatever it took to claim you and keep you." A snort escaped Esteban. "Even reform. Just as, no doubt, my little brother claims to have reformed. It must have tormented him, not to seduce you into his bed during the journey here. No doubt he has painted me as a villain. No doubt he has convinced you to ally with him and deny our betrothal, so you will marry him instead of me and the two of you will share the throne." "On the contrary." She sidestepped him with a graceful swish of her full skirts and stepped up to the table. It was set for two with a mountain of crystal, china and silver. One massive, throne-like chair sat at the head of the table, and another to its right. That chair had been pulled out from the table already. She settled into it. From the corner of her eye, she saw a black-uniformed, white-haired man in white gloves scurry out of a doorway to attend to her. She let him push her chair in to the table and thanked him with a murmur.

"On the contrary?" Esteban seemed more amused than irritated with her answer. He seated himself. "Is that all you can say?" "Repeating the conversations I had with your brother, while he is unable to defend himself, would be rude and gossip. I cannot abide gossips, and refuse to act like them." Esteban laughed. Just a few short, sharp barks that lit his eyes and put a touch of color in his cheeks. He leaned his head back against the tapestry back of his chair and smiled widely. Lita’s heart stopped for a moment when his sculptured, ascetic handsomeness brushed against her awareness. Somewhere amid all her strategizing and analyzing, she felt a little regret that he wasn’t as handsome inside as he was outside. She could have enjoyed being married to such a man. But haven’t you already found him in Eduardo? her conscience and adventuresome spirit asked in whispering chorus. Is there any chance for us? she responded. None, if the two of you don’t escape this place immediately. None, if you don’t defeat Esteban and break the curse that has held this valley for generations. Esteban’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation was to tell her about the peasants in the valleys and villages surrounding his watchtower plateau. He told her where the ingredients for each course of their meal came from, and the places of interest in the tiny kingdoms surrounding them. Lita decided he would have made an excellent tour guide for young men and ladies of good quality exploring the world. When she told him, he laughed again and clasped her hand, where it rested on the arm of her chair. She didn’t shudder until after he had released her. Esteban, she noticed, was disappointed that she didn’t take more than two sips of any of the wines served with each course of their meal. Did he hope she would become drunk, so he could seduce her? Were the wines drugged? Did he hope to get answers from her while she was under their influence? She would never know, and he would continue to be disappointed. Finally, the evening came to an end with another tour of the house. Lita didn’t ask to see Eduardo, and Esteban didn’t offer. In nearly every room, he made remarks about changes she could make in the décor, and even the management of the household. Things she would do after they were married. Did he truly intend to marry her, when it was obvious he hadn’t sent for her? Or did he only toy with her, like a cat finding entertainment in a mouse until its appetite returned and it pounced? Esteban seemed pleased with the evening when he walked her to her door. Lita

didn’t like the whispers of doubt that crept through her mind all during the entirely civil and elegant evening. Doubts about the things Eduardo had told her. Doubts about her childhood memories of Emmanuel. "Do you dance, Princess?" Esteban paused in raising her hand to his lips. "When the occasion requires, yes." Lita thought of the few dances she and Eduardo had shared on board the ship. Those days seemed a lifetime and a world away. "Hmm. There are so many pleasures in life you have not experienced. We must correct that grave error. Or do you deny yourself such pleasures because you fear finding you are a different person entirely?" "I don’t follow your meaning." She held still when she wanted to yank her hand free of his tender grip. In horrified fascination, she watched him brush his lips over the back of her hand, then deftly turn it so his lips rested against the pulse point. He watched her, liquid black eyes blazing. "The joys of the bedroom, my dear bride. I shall enjoy teaching you to abandon yourself to the sweetness, the energy of the dance," he whispered. "If you share the spirit, the courage of our ancestors, if you have one-tenth the hunger for life that I sense in you...you will permit me to teach you...soon." Those lips curved up sensuously, with a dangerous slant and tension that made Lita grow so tight inside she thought her ribs would snap from the pressure. She had been so sure he had been about to say ‘tonight.’ What could she have said? She knew his touch, his kisses, the heat of his body would be pure pleasure. Just as some poisons gave pleasure and joy before all life fled the body. Listening to Esteban talk made her feel as if she had never lived. It frightened her to sense that if she took him up on his challenge, if she claimed partnership with him in all ways, she would be happy here. She might even be glad she had done it. But she would be dead inside. And Eduardo would be dead. "Perhaps, Prince Esteban." She gently slid her hand free and stepped back, reaching blindly for the handle of her door. "That is no answer." Something like mischief sparkled in his bottomless eyes. Could true mischief exist in someone so charmingly evil?

"If I say yes, you will ravish me before I can open my door. If I say no...you will attack me in other ways. And I will not enjoy any of it, no matter how you boast. If there is to be any pleasure in dancing with you, Prince Esteban, both of us will experience it, or neither of us. Do you understand me?" "Very clearly, Princess." He swept her another bow, much deeper than all the previous ones. Lita sensed she had gained his full attention, and his respect. Something told her Esteban might be a man who would look on everyone he respected as a potential enemy. "Good night, Highness." She dropped him a low curtsey and stayed down until he nodded and took a step back. Still reaching blindly, she found the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open. "Good night, my Elizabelita." His voice turned the farewell into a caress. It made her shiver. She couldn’t let the evening end this way, with him holding the advantage. She needed to unsettle him and yet make him think she knew nothing. "Do you know where the Key is hidden?" she asked, just as he started to turn to walk down the hall toward his room. "The Key?" Esteban went very still. Half a second later, two wrinkles of puzzlement appeared between his eyes. If she hadn’t been looking, she wouldn’t have seen the hesitation and known that he consciously made that reaction. Did he have the Key? If he hadn’t sent her the telegram, as he claimed, then someone knew about the Key, knew that would bring her to Los Cielos as nothing else could. "Yes, the Key to open the Gates of Life." Lita stayed where she was and deliberately made her voice breathy. She went with her gut and spoke quickly. Let him think she was nervous, maybe even embarrassed to ask the question. "A document I found in my father’s papers said the Key must be retrieved and a female hand of the bloodline must turn the Key." "Ah, and that is something better left to discuss in the morning. How I wish you would permit me to greet the morning with you, but alas...some other morning, perhaps." He slid that enchanting, warm smile onto his face and bowed his head to her. He stayed slightly bent, courtly in posture, until she stepped backwards into her room and closed the door. Lita waited until she heard his footsteps going down the hall toward his room before she released the breath she held.

"He is pleased with you." The first maid, dressed in black and green, stood up from her seat by the fireplace in the front room of Lita’s suite. "Pleased how? I truly would like some insight. Am I wrong, do I insult you to assume you were a former lover of the prince?" "Neither wrong, nor insult." The woman smiled, banishing the cool, distant control. "He is pleased that you have not given yourself to his younger brother. He is pleased that you are pure, yes, but I think he is more pleased that you have not shown enough trust in Prince Eduardo to succumb to his charm." Lita shook her head and slowly crossed the room to where the woman stood. She had not succumbed to Eduardo’s charm because he had not tried to seduce her. Was that a sign of his self-control and honor, or some lack in her? "Have you seen Prince Eduardo?" Lita asked, instead of a dozen other questions poised on her lips. "Do you know how he is?" "Safe, for the moment." The woman glanced over Lita’s shoulder. A sound like iron on stone scraped through the room, coming from the window. Lita took a step backwards before turning to look. The decorative bars across the window swung aside in one piece, like a cage door. In moments, four Black Monks slid down as many ropes and landed in the room. They wore loose black trousers and long black tunics hanging to their knees, black boots of soft leather, and the ubiquitous black hoods. Lita turned, raising a hand to stop the serving woman from raising the alarm. She found the woman on her knees, bowing her head in homage to the Black Monks. "It is time, sister," the leader of the four said. Lita thought it was the same woman who had spoken to her the previous night. "Hurry, Princess." The woman stood quickly and reached under the cushions of the wing chair, to pull out black pants, shirt and hood. Lita stared for only a heartbeat, then she laughed. Ordinarily, she would have resisted the help, but Lita was glad of multiple hands to help her strip off the borrowed finery. In moments, she laced up the front of her shirt while one Black Monk helped her put on her boots. "May I ask--" Lita began. "The Black Monks have been in existence since the first daughter of the royal line fled for her life. She was given refuge by a hermit who covered his face in penance

for his sins. She took up the hood in his honor, and because she found it frightened the ignorant and those with much guilt on their souls," the leader said. "That’s not what I wanted to ask." Lita gestured at the maid, who had introduced herself as Aymara, and who had peeled out of her gown to don her own black costume. "Our Mother Superior is getting to that part of the story," Aymara said with a crooked little smile. "All women who have been wronged by this family are offered friendship, support, and refuge by the Black Monks. We are sisters, after all, united in the quest to restore life to Los Cielos," the Mother Superior said. "So you’re helping me because I’m a woman, and for no other reason? But I haven’t been wronged. At least, not yet." Lita shuddered as a thought came to her. "Or is this betrothal what you’re rescuing me from? What about Eduardo? He is my friend, at least." "Yes, Eduardo will be rescued. And yes, the betrothal is a crime against you." She beckoned, and walked back to the window. The others followed her, after clearing away every bit of evidence that anyone had been in the room. "But?" Lita prompted. She knew there had to be a ‘but’ in there somewhere. "You are a tool of prophecy. That is more important than our vows and our reason for existence. Come, Elizabelita, Time to prove your soul and your heart." *** Since the brothers had last met, Esteban appeared to have lost his taste for melodrama. Eduardo slowly paced the length of his dry, clean prison room, and silently raged against this change in his brother. It made Esteban unpredictable, like a wounded animal. The brother he remembered would have had him chained at wrists and ankles and thrown into a damp, rat-infested hole in the ground, through a trapdoor a good ten feet from the floor, with nothing but mud and rocks to break his fall. He would have been left there for perhaps three days with no food or water, until he was forced to lick moisture from the slimy walls to survive. Then Esteban would have had him hauled out and whipped, left to hang by his wrists for an hour in the hot sun, and finally brought into his presence to be questioned. Or simply taunted. To be treated civilly, with some dignity, was a change Eduardo didn’t care for. What did Esteban want? Usually, all Esteban ever wanted from his younger brother was to engineer his torment and then watch Eduardo suffer. His opinion of

his younger brother was so low as to be almost non-existent. So why hadn’t Esteban killed him yet? Had the miraculous happened, and he needed Eduardo for something? There was only one answer Eduardo could conjure after hours of thinking and pacing, until his head throbbed. Esteban needed him to use against Lita. Had his brother guessed that Lita meant something to him? What torture did he put her through right now? Or worse, had he decided to seduce Lita? Esteban certainly had far more practice in pleasuring women, manipulating their thoughts so that when he was through with them, they would kill their own parents and children to please him. Did he treat Lita as a princess, showering her with luxury, speaking sweet words, praising her wit and beauty? Did he pretend to be smitten by her? Did he try to convince her that theirs would be a match of equals, one of the heart as well as the mind and ambition? Was Esteban capable of loving someone as pure and strong and intelligent as Lita? Eduardo doubted his own intelligence right this moment, so how could he be sure about the actions and motivations of a brother he hadn’t seen in years? Did Esteban have any idea how much Lita meant to Eduardo? Were these comfortable quarters part of the torture he would subject his younger brother to in the days to come? Would Eduardo be forced to watch Lita and Esteban marry? Just imagining Lita allowing his brother to touch her, to kiss her, to climb into her bed, made Eduardo sick with pain. Would she marry Esteban if she thought it the only way to keep Eduardo alive? "I have to get out of here," he muttered for the thousandth time. A soft thud from outside punctuated his words. Eduardo put his back to the corner and stared at the door, waiting for it to swing open. His mind raced, trying to decide if he would fight or go docilely. Had Esteban come to taunt him before going to bed? Could he leap at his brother, strangle him or even break his neck, and escape in the chaos that followed? The key scraped in the lock. He heard a click. Clenching his fists, he took two steps out of the corner and began to crouch down, ready to leap. The door opened slowly and a black-gloved hand reached inside, holding a candle, followed by Lita’s face, framed in a black hood. She looked pale, with two pink splotches of excitement in her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, somber lines around her mouth, but she smiled when her eyes met his. Fury choked Eduardo. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, of course." Lita pushed the door open. "Don’t think about me. You’re a thousand times more important than me. Save yourself, don’t--" He choked, seeing the black-clad figures lining the hallway behind Lita. Eduardo donned the black hood and jacket a Black Monk handed him while their small troop trotted through the tunnels underneath Esteban’s plateau. They didn’t run, but neither did they creep, listening for pursuit. He stayed close to Lita, when the passageways widened enough to allow three or four to walk together. The Black Monks came between him and Lita more often than he liked, but he knew better than to complain. These mysterious women had rescued Lita, and had freed him before spiriting her away to safety. They walked up steep, natural staircases and slid-walked down gutters formed by water cutting through the rock for centuries. Eduardo had to duck more than once to avoid hitting his head on the stalagmites and low spots in the ceiling. They kept going and he first admired, then feared the stamina of these women. Perhaps they could keep going for days, perhaps they had trained for this kind of physical demand, but he and Lita were only human. He hadn’t eaten since noon, and his sense of time told him it was nearly dawn. What about Lita? He imagined Esteban had fed her well, but she hadn’t had any sleep, if she dared close her eyes in his brother’s house. Then abruptly, they came around a bend in the passageway and light spilled in through a crevice high in the wall. He took four more steps, intent on catching up with Lita now that the passageway widened around them. The Black Monks vanished into the darkness. "Wait--aren’t you going with us the rest of the way?" he demanded, and turned, searching the shadows, black on blacker, until his eyes ached with the strain. "There are things we must do before we meet again. Stay here and rest and eat," a woman said from the blackness behind him on his right. Eduardo wondered what he would touch if he snatched at her. "We will meet you again, when all is prepared." "I don’t have much tolerance for mysteries at the best of times," he began, a growl growing stronger in his voice with every word. "Ah, but when you were a little boy, you loved mysteries and surprises and adventures. Don’t you remember?" a woman whispered from in front of him. Eduardo staggered, stunned by both the unexpected words and the painful familiarity of the voice. He took another step, reaching with both hands into the blackness beyond the pillar of light spilling from the passageway coming from his

right. His hands encountered cloth. With a moan that became a growl, he yanked on the cloth and ended up with a black hood in his hands. Light flared into his eyes--a lantern shutter had been flung open. "My little wolf," that same voice whispered. "I always believed you would be the best of the three, despite your father and his hard, cold ways." "You’re dead." He spoke to the hood, unwilling to raise his eyes and see the woman who came close enough to rest her black-gloved hand on his forearm. "In many ways, I am. Your father tried to kill me twice before I agreed to let my sisters watch over you, and let him think he had finally succeeded. He was so eager to be rid of me, he never wondered why my body was never found." "Mother," Eduardo whispered. He flinched when Lita touched his shoulder. He could look at her, and through a haze of diamond sparkles, he saw the pain in her face. Pain for him. The haze, he realized, came from tears he had sworn never to shed again. "The two houses must be joined before the valley can be mended," another woman said from the darkness behind him. Eduardo recognized the voice of the leader of the Black Monks who had confronted him and Lita the other night. "If not you, then Esteban. Would you willingly entrust this woman to his care?" "Never," he growled, and flung down the hood. "Wait here and rest, children." His mother slid the shutter on the lantern until only a thin beam of light spilled a pool on the ground around them. "We have told the princess what she must do, and when evening comes, you two must venture out, and we will meet you." "Will we finally get some answers?" "I’ve already asked. Several times," Lita said. She squeezed his shoulder once, then let go. He felt abandoned. "The only answer I ever get is ‘all in good time.’ So don’t even bother." "You grow wise, little daughter," the Mother Superior said, her voice rich with laughter. Eduardo handed the hood back to his mother, and finally dared to look at her. He expected her to be changed as if by centuries, rather than just twenty years. He hoped that she hadn’t changed at all.

Marianela’s hair was still rich, red-tinted brown, but streaked with white. The scars on her face startled him. How could he have forgotten those scars? "Have you been happy? Have you been safe?" He clenched his teeth to keep from asking a child’s aching question. "Have I missed you?" she whispered. "Oh, my little wolf, to see you now, to know you have grown up into a good, strong man, it is more than enough for me. Some prices we pay seem harsh at the time, but the ultimate prize eases the pain we have suffered. So many lies have been told to you, to both of you, to protect you. Until Los Cielos is restored to the land of the living, so much is illusion, and those who appear to be alive are dead, while those who appear to be dead...are alive." She reached up to cup his cheek. Her hand was as slim and warm as he remembered, even through her glove. Eduardo went to his knees. He refused to sob, and nearly choked on the ache in his throat when his mother wrapped her arms around, pressing his face to her abdomen. "Love her," she whispered. "Help her be the queen she must be." Marianela stepped back, quickly, evaporating through his fingers like mist before he could clutch at her clothes and make her stay. "Give me grandchildren," she whispered as she vanished into the darkness, and left a ripple of laughter in her wake.

Chapter Eleven Lita settled into a niche in the rock where she could look out into the daylight without being seen, with just a turn of her head. Looking straight ahead, she could watch Eduardo. He wasn’t asleep. She thought she knew him well enough by now to be sure he wouldn’t let himself sleep until they were at the meeting place designated by the Black Monks. Learning that Eduardo’s mother was a Black Monk was nearly as surprising as learning she wasn’t dead, as he believed. But, knowing where the Black Monks recruited their new members, Lita wondered if she should be surprised at all. "Are you hungry?" The angle of the shadows outside indicated they still had time until true noon, but she needed something to start the conversation. "No. Thank you." Eduardo uncurled from the nest he had made with two blankets their allies had left. He settled back in a cup in the rock matching hers. "Are you all right?" "Yes." "Did Esteban..." He sighed and shook his head and looked away. As if there was anything to see inside their hiding place. "He kissed my hand several times, and asked if I were still a virgin. What a hypocrite, to care so much about my sexual activity and not apologize for his own." She sniffed and tossed her head like a petulant debutante. Eduardo didn’t laugh as she had hoped. He didn’t even crack a smile. She sighed. "No, he didn’t force me. If I had stayed, he probably would have tried to charm his way into my bed. Of course, he talked about our wedding, so maybe he didn’t feel there was any hurry." "Did you agree to marry him?" "He never asked. He just gave orders. Some I refused, some I ignored, others...I tried to let him know it was only politeness that had me cooperating." Lita slid out of her seat and down the steps in the rock to cross their waiting chamber. She wondered if the formation was natural, or something the Black Monks had fashioned in their centuries of existence. Why did her mind go in hundreds of useless, disparate directions when she should be concentrating on following the Black Monks’ instructions?

She knew exactly why--and the answer sat before her, watching her cross the rubble of the cave floor with hooded, dark eyes. It was easier to latch onto mundane details than face the speculations that kept trying to creep into her thoughts and fill her with a strange, giddy hope. Was she wrong, or had Eduardo’s mother given her blessing for them to marry? "It’s nearly noon. Mother Superior said at noon, the guards change. No one expects intruders to move about at noon, when there is no shade to hide, so that’s the best time to do it." "Did she also tell us where we’re to go?" He spoke softly, lying still and limp as if nothing mattered to him. Somehow, Lita felt sure he was coiled tighter than twenty clock springs, but he had had long practice in hiding his true nature. Had he shown any of his true nature to her? "A map." Lita pulled the fold of parchment from the pocket of her trousers. "We should both study it, in case something happens and we’re separated." "I’m not letting you leave me for a moment, Lita." Eduardo sat up with fluid grace and took the map from her fingers. "However, it is my duty to protect you, not you to protect me." "I’m not protecting you." She sighed. Yes, she admitted, her silence about the details of the task ahead of them could have been mistaken for protection. "I’ve had a lot to think about." "Such as?" He caught hold of her wrist when she started to take a step back. "No, Lita, don’t take it that way. Don’t be upset. Don’t think I’m mocking you. I’m...I’ve had a lot to think about, too." He shook his head and managed a twitch of his lip. She supposed that was the best he could do for a smile right now. Not that she blamed him. It had to be a shock of the highest magnitude, to think his mother dead all these years, and she had faked her death to hide from his father. The man who should have been her first and most valiant defender. "Your mother could have stayed away," she offered. "She could have refused to speak, but she took the chance you would recognize her voice. I didn’t have to ask them to rescue you from Esteban. They had already planned it." "Because the two branches of the house have to be rejoined. If not you and me..." Eduardo’s gaze raked her over from head to foot and Lita felt strangely hot inside, churning in her belly. He had seen her in trousers before, so why did this time, that look, affect her so? "If you and I do not marry, then that leaves you and Esteban. I

would rather die than allow that. If not you and I, then one of your descendants and one of mine. Because I will do everything in my power to ensure Esteban does not father a son to be like him." Eduardo suddenly towered over her. Lita took a step back, feeling far too close to him. He grasped her elbows before she could put her foot down. "Children," she whispered and nodded. "Yes, that’s what I was thinking about." "We have to destroy Esteban’s power now, not leave the task for future generations." "Exactly. I’ve been thinking that our plan won’t work." She nearly let out a yelp of surprise when Eduardo’s hands tightened painfully around her elbows, then he let her go. "Our plan?" His gaze narrowed again. "Where we would heal the valley, bring Los Cielos back to life, and then let Esteban do whatever he wanted, as long as he left us alone." He visibly relaxed, but he didn’t touch her again. "That plan. What’s wrong with it?" "It won’t work. Esteban won’t let my children--" She swallowed hard, suddenly flustered by the images that sprang into her mind. Eduardo kissing her. Eduardo undressing her. Eduardo holding her close after making love. And most stirring of all, Eduardo watching her while she nursed their child. Her voice shattered in a rasping whisper. "Esteban will always consider me a threat to his throne. He will always consider my children a danger. Is he the kind of man to ignore problems if they promise to stay away?" "No. Never." Eduardo slowly shook his head, his gaze fastened on her face. "So, tell me, Princess, what do you think we should do to protect your children?" "You know your brother better than I. And if we are to share the throne, don’t you think you should do some of the thinking and planning?" Eduardo laughed, a harsh bark that reverberated along the winding passageways hidden in the darkness. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and yanked her up close and tight against his chest. His mouth came down on hers with the speed of lightning. But where she expected brute strength and heat, she found instead soft warmth and richness like the best wine, the corduroy rasp of his beard against her skin, the harsh intake of his breath as if he drew in her life breath. Lita moaned and clutched at his shirt and went up on her toes to answer the questions and demands of his mouth on hers. His lips moved, opening and closing, sliding from one side of her mouth to the other, pressing. She went utterly still for a fraction of a heartbeat when his tongue slid across her lips, then gently wove deeper between

them and into her mouth. Did decent people actually do such a thing? She didn’t care--Eduardo was finally kissing her. The feel of his tongue sliding across hers unhinged her knees and turned her belly into a hot, thick whirlpool. Vaguely she became aware of the pounding in her chest and the dizziness in her head that wasn’t from Eduardo’s kisses, or his hands stroking up her back and squeezing her bottom. Another gasp, and the pounding lessened. She laughed when she realized she had forgotten to breathe, and the sound vanished, crushed between their mouths. "What?" Eduardo whispered, and moved his kisses to her chin, her cheek, down her neck. She murmured incoherent response and went up on her toes as the stroke of his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone sent pleasant chills up her spine. "I’m losing my touch, am I?" "What?" "A lady laughs in my arms when she should be swooning with rapture." He moved her back enough that they could see each other. "How many ladies have you held in your arms?" She hated the cooling thread moving through her middle. "Before today?" He shook his head, and that heat that made her feel like melting chocolates faded from his eyes. "You are the first true lady. You would be a lady even if you had thumbed your nose at Esteban and taken ten lovers. He would have deserved it." "But you wouldn’t want me." She kept her voice cool and even, reasonable, and wondered at the quiet part of her mind that locked away the need to scream and rage. She had no claim on Eduardo, after all. "I would always want you, sweet Lita. The woman I have come to know...stirs me like no other." He sketched a bow to her. Despite the sparseness of his movements, his dirty clothes, the lack of the flamboyant cape, he reminded her too much of Esteban. "I would not be the same person you met on board the ship, if I had taken lovers to spite Esteban. And Esteban was just as concerned about my virginity as you seem to be." Lita turned her back on him, needing to walk away before she did something totally unreasonable and emotionally satisfying. "Lita." He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. His chin rested on her shoulder and his breath brushed warm across her cheek. "This just proves what I’ve known all along. I’m the worst man in the world for you. But I’m also the most selfish man in the world, and I want you."

"If Esteban catches us, he will kill you for touching me, for kissing me." She gave in to her hunger, closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace, raising her hands to place them over his at her waist. "He will kill me for planning to take his kingdom from him. That is the difference between us. He only wants you to solidify his claim on the kingdom. I want you, Lita, and the kingdom can stay a valley of dust for eternity, for all I care." He heaved a sigh and turned her around in his arms to face him. "But you want Los Cielos to come alive again, and you want to protect the kingdom from Esteban, as well as protect your children." He kissed her, fast and hard. "That is something worth fighting for. Something Esteban will never understand." *** The map the Black Sisters gave them was nothing more than a series of landmarks to lead them through the maze of canyons and ravines. It marked the danger points to avoid, and helped Lita and Eduardo in their scramble from one hiding place to another all that long afternoon. Their final leg of the twisting, turning, switchback journey took them up a natural staircase in a crevice. Their goal, the meeting place where the Black Sisters would wait for them after they passed this final test, was at the end of the crevice. Eduardo led the way at this point, and when he got to the top and stepped out into the first scarlet streaks of sunset, he let out a choked shout. Lita thought she heard both fury and exasperated amusement in the sound. She hurried the last dozen steps of the climb and nearly twisted her ankle when a pile of loose rocks slid out from under her boot. When she reached the top and came out into the light, she understood. Their journey had brought them to the cave where they had slept two nights ago. "There’s nothing here," Eduardo said, shaking his head. His mouth twisted in something that could have been laughter and fury mixed together. "I know there’s nothing here. I explored this cave dozens of times, whenever I could get away from my father and those brutes he called my bodyguards." Lita shivered, remembering the dream she had of finding a tunnel in this cave, following it to the crystalline pool, bathing there, and Eduardo kissing her. "How long has it been since you’ve been here?" she said, listening to her gut instinct. "A dozen years, maybe more?" Eduardo started to shake his head, then he stopped and his expression melted into a thoughtful frown. Slowly, he nodded. "You think the Black Monks could have dug through the rock and expanded these caves?"

"I don’t know. Maybe they just...connected this cave to something already existing." She licked her lips, feeling nervous about revealing such an intimate thing as a dream. But this was Eduardo, and if all went well, she would be sharing all intimacies with him. If all went well. While they crossed into the safety of the cave, she softly recited the details of her dream. She ended simply with "And then you kissed me." No need to cause trouble or torment both of them with details of the slow kisses and his hands on her bare skin. "A dream, definitely." Eduardo grinned and let the supply sack drop to the ground. He squatted and rummaged through it until he found the resin-rich torches and the tin box of matches their benefactors had so thoughtfully provided them. "In real life, if I had come upon you bathing in a pool like that, I wouldn’t have waited for you to climb out and dress. I would have jumped in to join you." He struck the match and lit the torch on the last word. "What if it’s nothing more than a dream?" she asked, flustered. "We’ll find our own pool." He winked at her as he stood and slung the sack over his shoulder again. "Shall we, Princess?" Lita wished she had counted the steps she had taken in her dream--but then, she hadn’t known it was a dream at the time, had she? Still, she held her breath as she walked through the cave and the torchlight revealed the spot where natural erosion and the formation of the rock had given away to all the marks of digging. "They dug up into the cave," Eduardo muttered, when the torchlight revealed the opening almost exactly as she had seen it in the dream. "How can you tell?" She leaned closer, watching the way his hands stroked over the marks from wide chisel blades. "The angle--and if you’re digging, you go narrower as you go further in, instead of widening out. They dug just enough to make a doorway. Why waste time and energy widening it so five or ten can go through at a time? It’s just right for two." He demonstrated by hooking his arm through hers and drawing her into the next tunnel in step with him. The crystalline formations protruding from the walls didn’t appear immediately and Lita nearly stopped and asked Eduardo to turn around, to walk deeper into the cave until they found another opening into another tunnel. She bit her lip, silently scolded herself for her silliness, her lack of faith, and kept in step with Eduardo. As long as he wanted to keep his arm linked with hers, she wasn’t about to resist. She raised her torch a little higher, content to let him lead the way and make the decisions.

In this instance, at least. After all, the governing of Los Cielos had to be a pure partnership, the two of them equals in every way. The two sisters were to have shared the throne, for the benefit of the valley. She and Eduardo had to do what their ancestors had been unable to do, succeed where their ancestors had failed. Esteban cursed, then turned to her with a fierce grin and held up his torch. Sparkles danced across the tunnel, rainbow splotches of light dancing and shimmering, reflecting off spikes of crystal protruding from the ceiling. He picked up the pace and Lita gladly let him lead. Another dozen steps and crystal pierced the walls, too. They were only half the length and thickness that had appeared in her dream by the time they emerged into the globe chamber, but Lita didn’t care. They had found the place of her dream. Eduardo whistled appreciatively and waved his torch around, drawing circles in the air, making the refracted light dance in rainbow splotches and sparkles. The sound of his whistle echoed back at them in sweet chiming whispers. "If you dream of the doorway and the Key, make sure you remember," he said and leaned down to brush a kiss across her cheek. Then he slid his arm free of hers and walked around the chamber. Black shadows stepped into the soft, rainbow-filled light and the Black Monks faced them again. "Mother?" Eduardo returned to Lita’s side. He waited until one of the figures nodded to him. "If you had your own way of getting here, why couldn’t you have taken us with you? Why risk our lives out there? Esteban’s soldiers could have caught us." "But they didn’t," the Mother Superior said. She spread her arms wide, and Lita realized all the Black Sisters wore robes again, instead of the trousers and tunics. "Come, children. You have passed the test we set you, and now you may rest." "What test?" Lita asked. By the way Eduardo flinched next to her, she guessed he had been about to ask the same question, but not as calmly. "Why, to see if you are able to work together, watch out for each other, think rationally and follow instructions." Her tone turned rich. "And to see, my dear Lita, if you are indeed the one promised in the visions and dreams of our Sisterhood since the beginning of the curse." "My dream. You put that into my mind?" she guessed. "Enough for you to believe such a place existed." She gestured around the crystalline chamber. "There is more to seeing than what meets the eye, and more to hearing than what touches the ears. Your soul and your mind must work

together, to see and touch and taste and feel the spirit realm." "Magic?" Eduardo asked, his voice a wistful sigh. Lita envied him his ability to want to believe in magic. Even though she had dreamed the dream that led them here, she still found it difficult to simply let go of reason as the guiding force of her life, as the Professor had raised her to do. "Magic explains that which we do not understand, yet we sense must be." The Mother Superior beckoned for them to follow and turned, leading the way through what had at first glance appeared to be a solid wall of crystalline spikes. As she approached them, her image reflected and refracted. The black of her robes suddenly created gaps where Lita at first had seen none. The other Black Monks followed her, but a few stayed back, including Eduardo’s mother, waiting for them. Eduardo bowed to Lita, gesturing elegantly with his torch. She sketched a curtsey. That earned a snort of laughter from Eduardo. They linked arms and followed, into the passageway through the forest of crystals. Ten steps took them into a series of underground canyons, where light brought in from the surface through narrow crevices allowed the cultivation of crops. Rivers fell in lacy waterfalls, providing fresh water. Lita wondered for a moment if the lost rivers of Los Cielos were here, but a few mental calculations and orienting herself told her this hidden fortress lay outside the boundaries of her ancestral valley. So the question remained: where had the rivers and springs gone, and how was she to bring them back? The legends agreed that the divided family had to be rejoined into one. She, Eduardo and Esteban were all that remained. Neither branch had been prolific. After they passed through what appeared to be the main cavern, Eduardo’s mother became their guide and the rest of their escort left them. Lita felt a little more comfortable with that, though she didn’t think Eduardo could say the same. Had he come to any sort of equanimity with learning that his mother was still alive? Marianela described various buildings they passed and the functions of several smaller caverns that they didn’t go into. The Black Monks were composed of men and women, and grew their own food, raised sheep, goats, chickens and horses to take care of their needs. They mined iron and had a prosperous blacksmith operation that serviced a handful of tiny villages that were loyal and protected the secret of their existence. "They are your people, of course," she said, glancing back once over her shoulder to indicate Lita and Eduardo. "Our people?" Eduardo met Lita’s eyes, frowning slightly.

"Descendants of the people of Los Cielos?" Lita guessed. "They became endangered." Marianela led them up a flight of stairs to a wide expanse of stained glass windows that appeared to look out over the entire larger cavern. "From the time Prince Carlos tried to force the people to come back?" she guessed. "Maybe they wouldn’t have needed protecting if your family hadn’t fled a century before," Eduardo shot back. "Children." Marianela turned so sharply on the step, Lita was surprised the woman didn’t fall off the narrow tread. "The sisters argued, also, and look what travesty came of it." "We weren’t--" Eduardo sighed and hung his head a moment. "Why place blame for things we had no control over?" "If my ancestors had stayed..." Lita swallowed hard and nodded. "Perhaps we might have had peace sooner." "You must work together. It matters not if you ever learn to love each other, but for the sake of your kingdom, for the sake of your people, you must be friends and partners. From this moment." She held out her hand and Eduardo grasped it. Lita sensed something in the air that made her tremble. "My son, Lita will need your strength soon. She will be shocked, hurt, and feel she has been betrayed. You must be there for her, and you must put aside the pain I have caused you, to help her with her pain. Can you?" "Yes, Mother," he whispered. "I was your father’s third wife." She lifted her other hand to cup his cheek. "Emmanuel was a good boy, so wise and sensitive. Esteban hated me from the moment your father brought me to the house. It didn’t matter that I was an unwilling bride, given to buy peace for our village. I had committed a crime against him by coming into the house and sharing your father’s bed, and especially by giving him another son. Your father wanted a daughter, to force the fulfillment of prophecy and legend. And then our Lita was born..." She sighed. "Enough. When the life and water have returned, then we can talk. I have said these things so you can understand that just as your enemy does many cruel things for the sake of the valley, so must we who believe ourselves to be on the side of the right." She turned and continued up the stairs. Eduardo hooked his arm through Lita’s and supported her up the stairs. "Mother, I had a daughter."

"Christine. Yes. She and her mother died when your brother’s servants failed in kidnapping them. We all grieved when the news came. And we knew then, when you grieved so over the child, you were the one to marry our Lita." "Did you ever guard me?" Lita asked. She nearly laughed to hear her voice come out slightly ragged and breathless. Marianela and Eduardo set a pace just a little too rapid for the steepness of the stairs. Then again, they were almost to the top, to the wide archway into a room that seemed composed entirely of stained glass between thin pillars of stone. The glass depicted scenes of rolling meadows, sunshine and vineyards heavy with grapes, laborers with enormous clusters of grapes hanging from long poles, and a fat woman treading grapes in a press. No, Lita realized after another look. That woman was pregnant, and she wore a crown of flowers. Not just any flowers, but Queen’s Crown. A shudder of anticipation tore through her, or was it premonition? She had studied everything her father left for her, regarding the valley. Los Cielos was always ruled by a queen, and many practices of the farmers and crafters harkened back to ancient, matriarchal times. The fertility of the valley was tied to the queen. She supposed the stained glass image showed the ultimate blessing the queen could give her people, treading the first grapes of the harvest and bearing children to ensure the future of the valley. Eduardo’s children? She clutched at his arm as they came to the top of the steps and crossed under archway. He looked down at her and smiled, and she wished they were alone, just for a moment, so she could ask him...no, how could she ask him if he loved her? Her father had always claimed that he knew he loved her mother from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but could Lita ever hope for such a thing for herself? The first time Eduardo saw her, he considered her his brother’s bride. And the first time she saw him, she thought he was Esteban. Have we lost every chance, or is every new day a new chance? "Through the ages," Marianela said, "we have taken men into our ranks who are dedicated to the renewed life of Los Cielos, and who have been wounded in the battle. And for the sake of the greater good, sometimes we have lied," she finished on a whisper. "Mother?" Eduardo slid his arm around Lita and reached out his other hand to his mother. "Come. Our Reverend Father must meet with you before the ceremony."

"What ceremony?" Lita blurted. She trembled without understanding why. Eduardo tightened his arm around her and drew her up close against his side. "Your wedding, of course." "Mother--" Eduardo jerked, but he didn’t let go of Lita. "You two must marry," she continued placidly, even seeming slightly amused. "Yes, I know, but--" "Belita?" a man said from the shadowy, multicolored depths of the room before them. Lita shivered, the trembling so intense she felt almost sick. That voice was familiar, a dream, something she thought she would never hear again, except in dreams and memories. That voice had laughed with her and coached her to speak six different languages before she was ten years old, told her stories, and wept raggedly with her when her mother died. "Belita bonita." The man’s voice sounded more sure. A creaking sound accompanied it, and a shadow moved out to meet them. Lita stepped free of Eduardo’s supporting arm, though she was barely aware of it. She gulped for air as the shadow moved closer, finally gaining features in the closer beams of gold and green light. It resolved into a white-haired man, robed in black, seated in a wheelchair. He pushed himself with the slow, steady, sure rhythm of someone accustomed to providing his own locomotion. His robes couldn’t hide the fact that from the knees down, he had no legs. "Papa?" Lita whispered. Even before a smile lit those wide lips and brightened those black eyes, she knew him. Despite the scars and white hair. Despite the priestly robes and the wheelchair. Choking on a sob, she ran to him. She got past the awkwardness without realizing it, wrapping her arms around him and kneeling and getting around the blockade of the wheelchair. Just for a moment, she felt a tearing pang that she couldn’t sit in his lap, as she used to do. But then, she had stopped sitting on his lap before he went on the last trip that killed him. But it hadn’t killed him, had it? "Papa...why?" she whispered, when their mutual tears had slowed enough to let them speak. When she could loosen her clinging embrace enough to lean back, crouching with one hand braced on a wheel, and look at him again.

"I hung near death for weeks. Months, actually. By the time the Sisters knew I would indeed live, the news of my death had already crossed the ocean. As I was then, I couldn’t protect you. A cripple with a small child makes a tempting target for our enemies, yes?" Prince Miguel smiled as he pressed his hands to either side of her face and tipped his head forward, so their foreheads touched. Just as they had done so long ago, in what felt like another world and time and lifetime. "Yes, Papa." Lita ached, even as she understood. "So you stayed here." "It seemed the wisest course of action. And it allowed me to contribute to the cause." He sighed. "And start to make recompense for the many crimes our families have committed against the people who were our charge." "You did nothing wrong, Papa!" Lita turned as she got to her feet again, looking for Eduardo. He stayed back in the archway with his mother, and she didn’t know if she was grateful or if she felt he abandoned her. "You did nothing wrong," she repeated, and clasped his hand between both of hers. "Just as all of us are guilty of Adam’s sin, my dear, all born to our bloodline are guilty of the crimes of our ancestors. It is up to us, up to you and Eduardo, to heal the wound and restore the life that was stolen." He wove his fingers through hers and tugged her hands up to his lips. He kissed her fingertips, just as he had done when she was a child, then one by one unfolded them, setting her free. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered. Lita stood perfectly still, when what she really wanted was to become a tiny child again and hide inside her father’s arms, perched on his lap, listening to his voice guide her through every step. "For shame." Her father shook his head. His mouth pulled down into a disappointed frown, but amusement lit his eyes. "I doubt Charles raised you to permit others to do your thinking for you. Have you let Eduardo tell you what to do, the entire journey here?" "No." She shook her head and chose to smile rather than cry. "I think I got him in trouble by expecting my plans and choices to be the wiser ones." "Think about why he let you lead, then." "Papa?" "Go speak with him, my dear. The two of you hold the future between you. This step that you must take, must be taken together. With your eyes wide open, aware of all the dangers, the possibilities, the joys and sorrows that await you." Prince Miguel braced his hands on the wheels of his chair and moved himself backwards. When Lita automatically moved to follow him, he raised a hand and shooed her

back toward where Eduardo waited with his mother. When Lita turned and looked, she found Marianela had vanished, leaving Eduardo just as alone as she would soon be. Swallowing hard, fighting a prickling in her eyes from tears, unsure if they were angry or sad tears, she walked to meet him. He stepped forward to meet her halfway. She chose to take that as a good sign. Her father was right, she admitted. Partnership was necessary. They linked arms and went down the steps to the main cavern, then began to wander, taking the nearest tunnel opening. "I think we are safer walking than sitting in one place and letting people eavesdrop," he said, when she repeated her father’s words to him. "What is there to talk about?" She tried for a smile. "The Black Monks have decreed we are to marry, and so we must." "No, Lita. There are always choices. We can leave right now. Despite their ability to do the impossible and be where you least expect them, I think they will not stop us." "But you will never see your mother again. I will never see my papa again," she whispered. "We have lived without them this far, so what does it matter?" She angrily yanked her arm free of his and ran a few steps ahead, then turned to face him. Her scalding words died on her lips when she saw the wretched expression he wore. That hadn’t been fury that made his voice ragged, but pain. "Would it be so bad, married to me?" she asked.

Chapter Twelve "Heaven. For me, at least." Eduardo managed a lopsided smile. His voice sounded so heavy with hurt, with longing, Lita felt suffocated for a heartbeat or two. "I am..." He shook his head, a ragged chuckle escaping him. "I am, in the old vernacular, unclean. Unfit for a pure soul like you. I suppose it is only by God’s grace that I am not a diseased wreck, after years of drinking and whoring and indulging every desire." "How long has it been since you were that man?" she challenged. "Six years." "Since Emmanuel died the first time." She nodded. "Perhaps you should consider that Emmanuel would want us married. My only alternative is Esteban." "He will kill you." "Perhaps after I gave him an heir to the valley. If I survive the search for the Gates of Life." Lita shrugged. "The question here and now is if we should obey the prophecies and legends, and marry. Would you be happy, married to me?" "Yes." His smile widened a little. "And no. I would count myself the luckiest man alive, and I would live in fear that I would do something so foul, so stupid, I would turn you against me. Or that someone would come along who would steal your heart, and I would lose you. A man can only take so much pain, Princess." "Who says I have a heart to give anyone?" she whispered. Lita shook her head and raised a hand sharply to cut off his protest. "Do you think I am so fickle that I would promise my loyalty until death, and then break that vow when someone with a brighter childhood held out his hand to me?" "You deserve someone with less filth on his mind and heart." "I need a husband who understands what we fight for here. For Los Cielos and the dreams and pain of our ancestors. I need a husband who won’t assume that because I am a woman, I cannot sit on my ancestors’ throne without a man to tell me how to think and walk and act and even how to dress properly and--" She clenched her fists and let out a growl that rose into a shriek. When she looked at him, Eduardo watched her, grinning, and that pain no longer darkened his eyes. Lita held out her bent arm to him. After a moment, he bowed deeply and hooked his arm through hers and they resumed walking. Black shadows flickered at the edges of her vision. Lita couldn’t be sure if she

merely saw the inhabitants going about their duties in this subterranean world, or if she and Eduardo had discrete watchers. She supposed it didn’t matter. "If it’s any comfort," she said, after they had passed through several smaller chambers, "I am not so clean. I am a Suffragist, after all. An abnormal woman. Arrogant. Ill-mannered, daring to wear trousers, shoot a gun and take on the rights and privileges only men are morally and intellectually able to handle." Eduardo laughed. He tried to stop, and only made himself laugh more. He staggered back a step, nearly pulling her off balance. Lita let his arm slide free and he bent over, shoulders shaking, ending with his hands braced on his thighs. His face grew redder and the laughter turned to snorts. He turned and put his back to the wall and slid down to the rough floor of the tunnel, snickering. When he held out a hand to her, she let him draw her down to sit next to him. "Rebels against polite society, to be sure." He knuckled away the tears that filled his eyes. "Sweet Lita...wounded or innocent, I think perhaps we do have something in common. Though we will have to search a very long time to be certain what it is." That earned more snickers from him. She grinned, grateful for his reaction and the relaxing of her tense muscles. It astonished her a little, the flash of hurt she felt when she feared Eduardo didn’t want to marry her. When did it happen that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life? Maybe it was when he insisted on being a gentleman and picked her up that night at the inn and put her into his bed while he thought she slept. Lita had been so close to sleep, she couldn’t have awakened without a massive exertion of willpower. And it was simply too nice to be held in his arms to ruin the moment. Lita had been stirred beyond expectations when Eduardo stole that kiss. She wanted more. She wanted to understand all the feelings that jolted through her body. Yes, Ermengarde had been shockingly frank in explaining the physical duties and requirements of marriage, and unfashionably honest in discussing how pleasant it could be. The old days of ‘lie back and think of England’ were definitely in the past. Just like women had the right to vote, even if Congress didn’t agree, women had the right to enjoy the sexual act. The question was whether she let her curiosity and rebellious spirit guide her more than her sense of duty. "So," she ventured, when the shadowed tunnel grew so quiet she could hear her heart beat. "We are agreed on this, at least?" "I don’t know if we have agreed..." Eduardo sighed and slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close against him. She liked the warmth of him. "Yes, we have agreed on some things. Esteban cannot be allowed to rule the valley, if it is

ever restored. We agree that I do not want you to marry him, and you do not want to marry him, and we must protect your children, because they are the future. For your children to be my children...making love to you, Lita, will be sweet. Making babies with you will be easy. I don’t know if I will be any good to you as a husband, as a father, as a partner in ruling Los Cielos." "I have no idea what kind of queen I will be until I actually do it." "True." He kissed the top of her head. "Were you a good father to Christine?" Lita wasn’t sure what she felt about his child, born of a whore, murdered because of who her father was. "I tried to be. But who could I compare myself against? My father? A murderer. The women in my bordello? What did we know of children? Christine was our pet, our favorite toy." "She was happy and healthy, fed and sheltered and clothed properly, and she knew you loved her. Yes?" "Yes, of course." "Then you are already a far better father than many people I have had the misfortune to see. You didn’t spoil her so she was a terror, did you?" "Christine was a sweet little angel who loved everyone, and everyone loved her." "I cannot promise any child born of my blood will be an angel." Lita relaxed when her words earned a few chuckles from him. "This is all very far in the future, the things we worry about now. I think it is good to consider them, but why destroy the present moment for a future we cannot control?" "That sounds very wise, and yet very irresponsible." He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and Lita suspected he smiled. The richness in his voice made her think he found her words amusing, and he teased her. "There, see? You are far more responsible and display more common sense than me." "Lita, please..." Eduardo sighed. "You make me sound like a good, strong, moral, worthy man. I’m not." "You weren’t, years ago. You’ve changed." "I act like I’ve changed. A thin veneer, that hides from view a man who would like nothing better than to strip you naked and wrap myself around you for an entire

day and night, indulging in decadence and pleasure that would make our vilest ancestors gasp in shock." She couldn’t breathe for a moment. Eduardo had spoken so calmly, his voice pitched low, as if he thought they did indeed have invisible listeners. She hadn’t even realized what he was saying until he was nearly done saying it. She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax into his arm, when every jumping nerve demanded she leap to her feet and get far away from his warmth, the clean, musky, pleasantly manly scent of him. "If we are married, there is no law against indulging ourselves, is there?" she whispered. "Silly little girl. I’m trying to frighten you away. Why won’t you cooperate?" he growled, and tightened his arm around her. "That proves you’re too noble for your own good." Lita got up on her knees and turned to face him. She grabbed hold of his collar. "Kiss me, Eduardo. Kiss me like we’re lovers." She knew better than to wait for him to respond, to either kiss her or leap to his feet and put safe distance between them. Lita wrapped her arms around his neck and aimed for his mouth, open in what she was sure would be a roar of protest. Eduardo groaned as their lips met. His arms wrapped around her, almost tight enough to drive the breath from her and he went up on his knees, lifting her up with him so she seemed to dangle for a moment in mid-air. His mouth pressed hard against hers, slanting to fit them together. A tiny whimper escaped her, driven out of her by a shiver and the shocked realization that she had gone in over her head with the first step. His hand slid down, clutching her bottom and lifting her up to press hard against him. She whimpered again, the sound muffled as his tongue invaded her mouth, sweeping through, hot and demanding. A growl rose in Eduardo’s throat and vibrated through her body. She had awakened a beast, she knew. That made her the world’s greatest fool. A heartbeat later, she knew she didn’t care. A gasp escaped her when Eduardo released her mouth, to trail hard, biting kisses down her throat. She pressed herself tighter against him, when half her instincts screamed to flee this unknown, overpowering force. Eduardo sat back, bringing her around so she straddled his lap, forcing her down against him, rubbing them together so something went hot and liquid and churning

inside her. How could she be both knotted and aching inside, and hollow with need? "Lita." His voice hummed inside her breastbone as he pressed kisses down into the collar of her shirt. One button popped open under the pressure of his stubbly chin, then another. His face came to rest between her breasts, his lips burning against the spot where she had dreamed he kissed her just a few nights ago. And then he stopped. She felt his heart thundering in perfect time with hers. She felt his chest heaving, drawing in breaths like a racehorse. His arms were still hard around her, his hands burning through her clothes, clutching tight enough for bruises. But the stillness and growing tension in Eduardo told her he had suddenly, brutally regained control of himself. "Eduardo," she whispered. Her voice was little more than a rasp filled with sand. "This isn’t right." His voice was soft, sending feathery breath against her bared, hot skin. "If you’re trying to frighten me away, you failed." She yelped like a trodden puppy when his arms tightened convulsively around her. "Witch." One more hard kiss between her breasts, enough force she felt his teeth through his lips. "Enchantress." He raised his head, and his eyes glistened with tears, yet laughter and something painful resided in his eyes as well. "Do you think after this, if you ran, I wouldn’t follow you? You’re in my blood, like the strongest wine. If I can’t have you, I think I’d die." "Men have been enthralled by drugs and drink, and they still break free." "You are a most improper princess." He shifted his hands to clutch around her waist, and lifted her up, off his lap. He slid out from under her and struggled to his feet, pulling her up with him. "You should be shrinking away from me, horrified by the liberties I took, terrified and disgusted by the physical need I displayed." That twinkle took over his eyes. "Disgusted by the response in your own body." "Then we are perfect for each other, because you are a most improper, degraded prince." She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Was this what came of passion aroused and denied, all in the space of moments? "Perfect or not, you are mine and everything I am is yours." Eduardo caught up her hand, dusty and dry, nails chipped, unadorned by creams or jewelry, unprotected by silk gloves. He kissed the back of her hand with a light tenderness that took away every last bit of strength left in her. Lita reached out her free hand for the wall, and braced herself.

"When I said this wasn’t right," Eduardo said, raising his head, "I meant the place." Mischief gleamed, wiping away the last of his torment and tears. "We need a soft bed and thick walls and doors we can close and lock. Immediately, if not sooner." Lita was glad for the wall to lean against, when that churning, hot, liquid feeling returned to her belly. *** For her wedding, Lita wore an antique dress of ivory satin and lace, hastily tucked and altered to fit her lean figure. "The Mother Superior who ordered this dress made for you lived in a time when women believed in fuller figures," Marianela said, with just a touch of laughter as she laced Lita into her gown. She sighed with satisfaction and arranged the multiple layers of gilt-edged lace around the young woman’s neckline, down her back and draping her sleeves. "So everything we’re doing, it was foreseen?" Lita whispered. She tried to calm the shiver of anticipation and that sense of otherness that kept trying to creep over her ever since they found the tunnel and the crystal pool. "Some of it was planned, some foreseen in visions, some only hoped for. Your ancestress, the elder sister, saw that one day a daughter of her line would be born, and you would marry a son descended from her sister. The only daughter born to the true line in centuries." "What about Eduardo’s daughter, Christine?" "Ah, the pobrecita." Marianela made one last adjustment to Lita’s dress and stepped around to look at her from the front. "We can never know why the Good Lord allowed that child to be born into such danger, into such an unnatural life. Perhaps her death was more important to the grand scheme of things than her life." "That’s cold, and cruel." "Yes, perhaps. But I think that being a father changed my son for the better. Losing that child, after learning to love her, began the refining that has made him a man worthy of you." "But still--to be grateful for the death of an innocent child--" Lita shook her head. Then she looked in Marianela’s eyes and saw sorrow there, and the struggle for calm. "Sister--" "Please, after today, will you call me Mother?" The threatened tears leaked out just

enough to make her eyes glisten. "I always wanted a daughter. Before I was commanded to produce a daughter, at least." She shrugged and tried to smile. "Eduardo perhaps might be persuaded to call me Mother again, if you do." "I--" Lita didn’t want to say no, but suddenly this small request was one thing too many to rest on her shoulders and trouble her mind. "I will try." "Thank you, child." She knuckled away the moisture from her eyes and took another step back. "Yes, you are beautiful. A bride to bless our hiding place, the reason for our fortress and community to exist. You will carry life back into the valley of desolation, as it was foreseen. When you are able to pass through the Doors of Life, water will gush from the heart of the land once more," she said, finishing on a whisper that had all the overtones of sacred liturgy. Lita shivered and her lacy dress felt as heavy as iron chains enfolding her. The end result of generations of hopes and dreams and visions--her? How could she live up to all that without her mind or her heart breaking from the strain? Then the door of her room swung open and Eduardo waited outside, dressed all in black; pants, boots, shirt, tail coat, with a vest of silver embroidered on black silk. He carried white roses and they slid from his hands when he looked at her. His mouth dropped open in a silent ‘oh’ and from the brightening of his eyes, Lita dared hope that he felt only delight when he looked at her. A grin wiped away the stunned expression. He bowed grandly to her and presented her with the armful of roses. Lita cradled them in her right arm and let him claim her left arm. Marianela led the way to the chapel. Two hundred Black Monks stood as witnesses when Lita and Eduardo entered the underground chapel to make their vows of marriage. They shed their hoods and veils as they walked through the door, baring their faces to God and to the royal couple they had pledged their lives to protect, for the sake of Los Cielos. Lita held tight to Eduardo’s hand and tried to remember every face, male and female, old and painfully young, scarred and battered by the battle of centuries. She wondered if every member of the Black Monks attended the ceremony. Certainly they filled the chapel, a living sea of velvety black. Every gaze she met was bright with anticipation or satisfaction or pride. They even stood in the wide aisle, making the way so narrow that she and Eduardo brushed hips as they walked down to the altar. Her father waited there, resplendent in priestly robes, perhaps also made generations ago just for this moment in the history of Los Cielos. She imagined the generations of women who embroidered them, whispering prayers, sewing their tears and dreams into the robes her father now wore. She imagined the blessings

of generations waiting to rest on her. "We will do it," Eduardo whispered, and twisted his hand around to grip hers as they reached the front. "With so many hopes and dreams and prayers surrounding us, we will succeed." Lita could only nod, with her throat and eyes too full of impending tears to let her speak. Had Eduardo read her very thoughts? Then she had no more time to think, as her father beckoned them to kneel before the altar. The ceremony began, moving them quickly through their vows. Holy oil, heavy with incense, anointed their foreheads. Salt on their tongues. Then the wafer and wine for communion. Marianela assisted Prince Miguel, either taking items to the bridal couple for their part in the ceremony or beckoning for them to kneel or stand or bow their heads. She lifted the cup of communion wine to Eduardo’s lips for the first sip. He jerked backwards, eyes wide, and for a moment Lita feared the wine had been poisoned. Then he slowly turned to her, an astonished smile brightening his face. He licked his lips just as slowly. "That is the most incredible wine I have ever tasted," he whispered, as he took the cup from his mother and held it for Lita. "The grapes come from the root stock our ancestress saved when Los Cielos died," Prince Miguel murmured. Mischief lit his eyes when Lita glanced at him, her lips barely an inch from the rim of the cup. "See what you must save, my children? Such wine was made for celebrations, for holy things. This root will never be given to Esteban, only to you. It must be set free from our loving prison and allowed to live in the sunlight and rain again. You must make this wine and offer it to the whole world, as our ancestors once did." "Yes, Papa," Lita whispered. She turned back to Eduardo and closed her eyes in silent prayer as he lifted the cup to her lips. Honey and fire, fresh spring water and the smoothness of oil filled her mouth with that first sip. She nearly inhaled, nearly gulped the tiny portion that ran across her tongue. Nearly raised her hand to grasp the cup and drain it dry. The sensations only lasted for two heartbeats, then the sweet smoothness of the wine filled her nose and soothed her tongue and seemed to flow of its own accord through her body before she could swallow. It’s magic, she decided, and opened her eyes to find them blurry with tears. "We will do this together," Eduardo whispered, and brushed the tears from the

corners of her eyes with his thumb. Then he handed the cup back to his mother. She regained her self-control, through more chanting and blessings, sprinkling of holy water, through clouds of incense, until the point where she and Eduardo knelt and bowed their heads to receive the final blessing. Lita felt her father’s hand resting on her head, warm and frail, lightly touching her through the veil and the piled curls. Eduardo caught up her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips, and his touch steadied her. Tears dripped under her veil as her father spoke the words of blessing. Then they were finished. She couldn’t make her legs respond, when her father commanded them to stand and share their first kiss as husband and wife. Eduardo reached down and caught hold of her by her elbows and gently, effortlessly raised her to her feet. She stumbled a little, almost falling into him, so she rested her palms flat against his chest. The heat of him was almost as startling as the rapid pulse she felt under the silk and linen of his clothes. Eduardo slowly trailed his fingertips up her arms until he reached the edges of the veil. She watched him through the antique lace, momentarily frozen with a delicious kind of fear, like she felt when she crept down into the servants’ quarters as a child, and listened to them tell ghost stories around the old pot-belly stove, on winter nights when the wind howled like a pack of wolves. She had always felt cozy warm and perfectly safe, and enjoyed the fears and chills. This was only faintly like that moment, as she waited for Eduardo to lift her veil. Lita’s fingers clenched, gripping his sleeves, making him flinch. "Lita," he murmured. She remembered the warmth and hardness of his mouth just a few short hours ago, when he bruised her lips with kisses meant to frighten her. How would he kiss her tonight, when they were alone together as husband and wife? Then Eduardo folded her veil back on her head, his hands shaking visibly, cufflinks catching in the lace as he withdrew his hands. He tried to smile. She tried to smile back, but it was all she could do not to fall into his enormous, somber black eyes. "Close your eyes," he whispered, as he bowed his head closer. "Why?" She bit her lip against a ridiculous urge to giggle. "Have pity on me and close your eyes." His lips twitched, fighting laughter. Lita heard her father snort. She remembered with a pang and a scorching wave of

embarrassment that they weren’t alone. Quickly, she closed her eyes. She heard Eduardo sigh, a gusty sound of relief. Why had he wanted her to-His hands framed her face, warm and gentle, strong and calloused. Then she felt his breath brush her lips before his mouth settled, warm and delicate, against her lips. Before she could react, before that sweet, hot spark could settle in her belly, he released her and stepped back. A cheer echoed through the stone chapel as Lita opened her eyes. A louder cheer rang out from outside, sounding like thousands of voices. Lita reached for Eduardo. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Go." Her father laughed and nudged them, his hands against their backs. "Your people want to see you." "Our people?" Eduardo blurted. "Many of the faithful, descendants of those who fled Los Cielos, are here, working with us," Marianela said. "They have waited and prayed for this day for many generations. It is their right to see you, and love you, pray blessings on you, and feast you on your wedding day." "Our people," Lita murmured. She tipped her head back and met Eduardo’s gaze. He nodded, summoned up a stern smile, and kept his arm around her waist as they walked down the aisle. The holy folk continued their cheers as they walked out of the chapel, and the sound vanished, swallowed up by the cries of the hundreds of people who lined the floor of the cavern, below the staircase leading to the chapel. Lita would have staggered, stunned at the sight, if Eduardo hadn’t kept his arm around her waist. Long tables draped in scarlet and white cloths displayed the feast Marianela had spoken of. Lita saw wine casks sitting on their sides, with spigots, waiting to fill the hundreds of simple wooden and clay cups piled up on the tables around them. She saw grapes piled high and as she and Eduardo started down the stairs, she smelled the heavenly scent of roasted pig, a multitude of spices, and fresh bread. She laughed as she realized she was hungry. The people were mountain-bred peasants. Lita had studied the terrain, the history, but realized that books and expensive photographs and journal entries couldn’t give her a picture of the people who had worked with and for her ancestors. The people who surrounded her and Eduardo now, watching them with such hope in their eyes, nodding respectfully to them or bowing or curtseying. It awed her to realize that these people and their grandparents and great-great-grandparents had been waiting for this day, for the daughter-heir to return, claim the throne and bring

life and water back to the valley of their ancestors. Could she do it? "Dance with me," Eduardo whispered, when she clutched at his arm and her doubts made a heavy lump in her throat. "What?" She stared up at his smiling face, his eyes burning with a thousand questions and ideas and such potential--and hunger--it tore all her thoughts away. No one else was in the room, for just a heartbeat, but her and Eduardo. "They’re waiting for us to start the feast with a dance." He gestured toward the far corner of the room, where a group of musicians in white shirts and brightly colored vests waited, holding violins, guitars, trumpets, flutes, whatever instruments they could gather together. "Dance." She could breathe again. "Yes. I insist!" She challenged him with a smile. Eduardo met that challenge, nearly sweeping her off her feet with the first bar of music. Lita threw herself into the moment. Today was her wedding day and hundreds of people she didn’t even know loved her and celebrated with her, and she danced with a man who made her feel alive. For the first time, her destiny and heritage didn’t feel like a burden, an unfair duty. After all, it had brought her here, to this moment, dancing in Eduardo’s arms. Mothers brought children for her to kiss and bless. Betrothed couples and newly married couples came to receive her and Eduardo’s blessings. White-haired grandfathers with gnarled hands danced with her and told her stories handed down by their grandfathers, about the glory days when Los Cielos was alive. Sometimes Lita sat with her father, who came down from the chapel in a cleverly constructed lift-box operated by pulleys. She knew better than to ask about the years they had been separated and his suffering when he lost his legs. He told her stories about her mother and their whirlwind courtship. He told her stories about the people who laughed and sang and danced and feasted all around her. Then, when families with sleepy, yawning children had almost entirely disappeared from the cavern, Eduardo came to fetch her for a waltz. Lita knew, before she even looked into his eyes, this would be the last dance of the night. "Papa?" She stopped, one hand stretched out to Eduardo, looking back at her father. Lita wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to say. She only knew a nebulous question, some uncertainty, tingled on her tongue. "It’s all right, Belita preciosa." Prince Miguel clasped her hand and tugged gently, bringing her down so he could place one more kiss on her forehead. "You will be

greatly blessed, and you will bring blessing to these people. He is a good man and he will take care of you. He is your friend already, is he not?" "Yes. Of course." Lita glanced over her shoulder at Eduardo, who waited with an unreadable expression on his face. "Good-night, Papa." She kissed both her father’s cheeks and turned resolutely to give both her hands to Eduardo. His grip was a little tighter than previously, and he drew her just a little closer than propriety allowed for the waltz. But they were married now, so what did it matter? It mattered, Lita realized, a great deal. "What’s wrong?" Eduardo whispered, his lips nearly brushing her ear. That sent a delicious shiver through Lita, so it took all her self-control not to press herself against him, knees to shoulders. And that, she realized instantly, was what was wrong. "Are you seducing me already, before we even reach our room?" she whispered back. She grinned, when she wished she could whisper with her lips against his ear. Turnabout truly was fair play. Eduardo slowly moved her back so there was more than a hand’s width of air between them. He searched her face, his mouth a hard line that spoke cynicism to her. But his eyes were wide, dark, searching and wistful. She ached for the pain he must have known all his life, to make him suspicious of her motives, the very meaning in her words. Then abruptly that sparkle returned to his eyes and his mouth softened and warmed and curved upwards. "No, my lady. You have seduced me. From the moment I first set eyes on you." "Ah, now that’s not fair. And certainly not true. I never set out to seduce anyone." She wished she had a fan like Mrs. Fenworthy, back home. They were such useful items for flirting or slapping wrists. Lita wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to hide her warming cheeks behind the fan, or reprove Eduardo with a tap on his wrist. "That is what is most seductive about you." Eduardo drew her close against him again and spun her around twice. "You have no idea how you affect a man. Even an upright, noble, totally moral man wants you when he looks at you. Wants to taste your sweet lips and touch your soft, smooth skin and hold you close, with nothing to separate his body from yours." He sidestepped just slightly, so his hips slid across hers. Lita gasped, feeling that sweet, liquid jolt of fire.

"Imagine how you affect a man who has no morals whatsoever?" he continued, his voice dropping to a growl. "And which man are you?" she asked, after swallowing hastily, her voice thick with emotions she couldn’t untangle. "Fortunately for you...somewhere in between. You must finish reforming me, my Lita. My Lita," he repeated with double emphasis on both words. "I can only go so far under my own power. Now I need an angel to purify me, so I am worthy of you." "What if I don’t want you reformed?" Her face burned so she thought the flowers in her hair would dry and blacken soon. "Don’t torture me." Eduardo spun her between the last few dancers on the floor, bringing them out among the tables full of dirty dishes and empty wine casks. Her father and his mother sat together on the far side of the cavern, two blurry figures in the lantern light. Eduardo released her from his arms, one hand sliding down her arm so he took a firm grip on her hand. He bowed to their parents. Lita saw her father nod to them as she dropped a low curtsey. Then Eduardo turned her around and led her to the stairs.

Chapter Thirteen "Where are we going?" Lita asked, when they were halfway up and she realized she hadn’t come down these stairs before. "A more direct route." Eduardo stopped and looked around and a snort of laughter escaped him as he surveyed the cavern floor below them. "At least, I hope so." "More direct to where?" "Your room." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. The gesture stole the air from her lungs for a moment and weakened her knees. "Our room, now," he added, his voice raspy with what she could only interpret as hunger, mixed with weariness and strain. It had been a very long day for both of them, despite the nap Marianela made her take after she bathed. Lita wondered if Eduardo had any rest. They reached the top of the stairs and immediately started down a sloping tunnel that curved around, led into another small gallery, then up another set of stairs. She nearly laughed in relief when she recognized the markings on the walls and the door of the room where she had bathed and rested and dressed for the ceremony. "Ah, no, wait." Eduardo stopped short and tugged on her arm, pulling her away when she reached for the door handle first. "Tradition." "Tradition?" Lita swallowed a shriek of surprise when Eduardo swept her up in his arms. "It is good luck to carry the bride over the threshold," he declared, and then fumbled for several seconds, trying to find the doorknob with the hand under her knees. His view was hampered by yards of antique lace. "The tradition started when men resorted to kidnapping their brides. Carry her over the threshold and lock the door, to keep her from running away," she said, fighting laughter while he continued to struggle to find the door handle. "Be grateful I didn’t fling you over my shoulder," Eduardo growled, teasing. He let out a cry of triumph when the door clicked and swung open. "Ah, now that’s a wonder indeed." Lita opened her mouth to ask, then he turned her so she could see the room. He was right. Her room had been transformed. Dozens of gold and purple and blue

candles glowed in multiple stands around the room, scenting the air with honeyed beeswax. The curtains on the bed were lace now, instead of the simple muslin from that afternoon. Rose petals covered the sheets that had been turned down on the bed. Thick carpets covered the floor, hiding the bare stone. Lita laughed when she saw the food spread out on a table. She had eaten more than she intended that evening, through nervousness and excitement, and she doubted she would be hungry again for a day or more. Then she realized Eduardo still cradled her in his arms, and the laughter choked in her throat. "They certainly spared no effort to make us comfortable, didn’t they?" he murmured, and pressed his cheek against her temple. They stood there for several minutes, looking at the luxury spread before them. Lita felt the silence, as if they were hundreds of miles away from every living thing. Just how thick were the stone walls all around them? How far underground were they? How thick was that door Eduardo had kicked shut? "What are you thinking?" Eduardo let her slowly slide down to stand on her own feet, so she thought she slid along his entire body; a pleasantly disturbing sensation. "Thinking?" She licked her lips, touched her cheeks, felt the warmth in them. Remembered her last thought. "The door--if it locks or not." "Ah." His face grew unreadable again. No mischief in his eyes, just deep, dark pools of mystery. Eduardo caught up her hand and kissed her palm again. "I won’t force you, Lita." "It’s not that." Her face warmed more, and she laughed at herself, but the sound caught in her throat. "Part of this still feels like a dream." She swallowed the tightening in her throat. "A very nice dream. Maybe too good to be true." "You flatter me, Princess." "Oh, please, Eduardo. You only call me Princess when you’re teasing or you’re trying to throw a wall between us. I don’t think you’re teasing me now, so why the wall?" "Maybe I am teasing you. To make you comfortable." He shrugged and turned away, to peel off his coat and vest. She was going to have to start this, Lita realized. Eduardo wanted her, physically. She knew that for a certainty. He was so intent on reforming and walking away from the man he had been, she suspected it would interfere with their wedding night. Some men crippled themselves with their ridiculous notions of chivalry, she

decided. Lita watched him neatly fold his vest and put it in the ornately carved wardrobe in the far corner, on the top shelf. He took as much care with removing his cufflinks. Did his hands shake a little? He couldn’t possibly be nervous about going to bed with her, could he? "Wine?" Eduardo gestured at the table and the blue glass goblets next to a blue decanter. "No. I’ve had too much already, I think." She licked her lips and watched him pour. "It’s very good wine, don’t you think?" "Incredible. And amazing that they kept the root alive and produced such wine underground, in hiding. Imagine what kind of grapes we’ll..." He shrugged, concentrating on the wine he swirled gently in his glass, rather than her. "What amazing grapes and what wonderful wine we’ll produce someday, out under the sun?" she offered. Lita knew Eduardo was uneasy about something, because she knew he avoided most strong drink. She didn’t know if she should pity him, grow angry, or laugh. Could she possibly make him nervous? She waited until he lifted his head and met her gaze again. "Will you help me with something, Eduardo?" "Ask. I am your willing and humble servant." He put the glass down and bowed. That spark returned to his eyes. Lita breathed a sigh of relief. "Unlace me?" She turned her back to him, showing him the lacing all the way up her back, his mother’s handiwork. Her cheeks warmed again as it occurred to her that the dress was specifically designed for her to need help getting out of it. Eduardo held still for eleven frantic heartbeats. She counted. Then she heard his boots brushing across stone and carpeting. She still flinched a little when his big, warm, strong hands rested on her shoulders. She waited until she felt the first tug, as he untied the intricate bow. Then she started to unpin the crown of flowers, and pull the pins and clips out of her hair. They said nothing while she worked on her hair and he slowly tugged the lacing free and her dress loosened around her. Twice he stopped to brush her hair out of the way when freed hair fell down her back and blocked his progress. The third time, his fingers lingered soft and warm on her bared shoulder. "Lita..." "Thank you," she whispered. "I can breathe again. How did our ancestors endure wearing such clothes?"

"You were beautiful tonight. Like an angel." "See how much an angel I am," she teased, to fight a breathless sensation, "if you do any damage to this dress." "I am tempted to tear it off you," Eduardo said with a warm chuckle that helped her relax. That was the way to fight this soaring, drowning, utterly exhilarating sensation that tried to smother her. Humor. "Who do you think invented this?" he continued, and grunted when the lace resisted sliding through the hole. "Our forefathers, to ensure no one had time to seduce their wives and daughters, or the women, to frustrate the men?" "I don’t care." She gasped a little when a particularly hard tug threatened her balance. "Eduardo, I wasn’t entirely joking. I want this dress for our daughter to wear on her wedding day." Utter stillness flooded the room, nearly stealing the air. Lita listened for his breathing, tried to feel his warmth. She knew he stood just a few inches away, his hands on her dress, but suddenly she felt as if she were alone in the room. "Eduardo?" she whispered. "Our daughter." He made a choking sound that could have passed for laughter. "I never thought." "We talked about children before. You don’t mind, do you?" She shivered and wished she had never spoken on the subject. Aunt Ermengarde had warned her there were plenty of men in the world who wanted a wife, a showpiece, a bed partner, but never wanted that wife, that toy, to become a mother. Was Eduardo one of those men? Women were for pleasure and adventures, but not for families? "No, I don’t mind. But are you sure I’m the sort of man to have even one child with? Yes, you’re accepting me, marrying me because your only other choice is Esteban--" "Even if there were a dozen other brothers to choose from, I would still want you." Lita turned sharply to face him and barely noticed when the recalcitrant lace came free. "Even if Emmanuel came back from the grave right this moment and walked through that door and demanded that we renounce our vows--" She shivered, feeling as if someone had pressed a chill, damp hand over her mouth to stop her. With all the other people who had come back from the dead, why not Emmanuel?

"I’m a scoundrel, Lita. A waste of all the education and time and money my father and tutors spent on me. I am most at home with whores and gamblers and--" "No one talks that way about my husband. Especially not you." She reached up to catch his face between her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Eduardo, you left that man behind long ago. Your actions have proven that." "A thin veneer of civilization. Guilt is a better leash than any true morality," he whispered. Eduardo’s eyes burned, with something hungry and pained that tore her breath away more surely than the passion they had barely tasted hours ago. "Whatever you do, sweet Lita, don’t love me. We can be friends and partners, lovers and fellow warriors in the battle to bring Los Cielos back to life, but don’t ever love me." "Love?" She forced out a laugh and refrained from clutching his loosened collar, to shake him. It was either that, or slap him. "Who said anything about love? You are my friend and my partner. Yes, my fellow warrior, as you said. You look in a mirror and see all the filth of your past life. It is time to clean that mirror." "Will you help me do that?" He slid his arms around her. His fingers brushed the bared skin of her back, sending new, hot shivers through her. "Gladly. Eduardo..." A soft moan escaped her as he bent his head and trailed warm, feathery kisses down her neck. Did he do it to distract her, or because he couldn’t resist touching her? Love, as Ermengarde had lectured her years ago, was a slow-growing plant that, once rooted, could never truly die, no matter what abuse it took. Lita melted into Eduardo’s arms, gladly surrendering to his kisses, pressing herself against him, feeling the heat of his body scorch her. She surprised laughter out of him when she tugged on his neckcloth and worked blindly on his buttons to open his shirt. She wondered, in those last few seconds of clarity, if the root of love hadn’t settled in during their voyage together, and their mountain journey. Then Eduardo tugged her dress down, peeling her sleeves off her arms past her elbows, baring her to the cool air of their room and the heat of his regard. Lita watched him, feeling abruptly drunk with the power she had discovered. Eduardo stepped back, putting her at arm’s length so he could look at her. The movement let her loosened dress slide down. She held her breath and tugged on her sleeves, letting the antique lace puddle around her feet, leaving her clad in her thin muslin slip, abbreviated corselet, and stockings. Eduardo’s slow, hungry, hot smile stole every thought from her mind. And she was glad. ***

Eduardo woke reaching for Lita, hungry for her warmth and the sweet, clean scent of her before he was even half-awake. His hand encountered nothing but sheets. He reached further. Still nothing. Not even warmth. Panic jolted him fully awake. For several heartbeats, until he got his eyes open and focused, he fought the suffocating certainty that it had all been the dream. Their journey from France, their kisses, carrying her to bed that first night in the inn. And last night. Her eagerness and laughter and the surprise on her face when passion flooded her body. He blinked hard and fast until the room came into focus. He saw his clothes neatly draped over a chair. A low moan caught in his throat--just a dream? Surely, last night couldn’t have been a dream. Nothing he had ever known, no woman he had ever touched and tasted, had ever been like Lita. He couldn’t dream something as pure and intense and earthshaking as her innocence and enjoyment in his touch, her kisses, the taste of her mouth. No, there was her dress. Eduardo sighed and nearly lay back down again, weakened by his relief. He grinned a moment later, seeing how neatly the dress had been hung up and buttoned, hanging far above the floor. He remembered her words about saving the dress for their daughter to wear. Their daughter. Strange, how he had been able to talk to Lita about the need to defeat Esteban for the safety and security of her children. How he had let himself wish that he could be the father of her children. And yet he had never taken that one final step in his mind and heart to accept the concept. He and Lita, sharing a life and children, squabbles and laughter, pleasure and tears, triumphs and sorrows, old age, and grandchildren, perhaps? How could she accept the idea of children so easily? Maybe even eagerly, gladly, if she talked about their daughter wearing her wedding dress? Wait a moment. If her dress hung there on the wall, and her undergarments were neatly piled there on the chair, what did she wear? And more important, where was she? Eduardo slid out of bed and looked around, chilled in the cool air against his bare skin. He found a robe on a peg next to the grand bed. There was an empty peg next to it. The Black Monks had provided for everything else, so it was safe to assume there had been a robe for Lita. Still, that didn’t answer the question of where she was. Hunger led him to the table of food before he really thought about it. Eduardo noted a cup was missing. He and Lita had sipped wine, shared cheese, bread and grapes last night. A piece of the sugar-crusted, fruity morning bread was missing. A very large piece of the bread, and a large hole now marred the bowl of whipped

butter. He grinned as he noted that. So, Lita had a sweet tooth. That still didn’t answer the question of where she had gone. Then he felt the air move against his face, smelled what couldn’t be honeysuckle, this far underground. Could it? He looked around and noted the existence of several doors in the room. Last night, he could have sworn there was only one door, the one they had entered through. Wide tapestries hung halfway across the two doors on the far side of the room, held back with cloth straps. He supposed the tapestries had covered the doors last night. That meant either someone had come in while he and Lita slept, or she had awakened and decided to explore. Eduardo stopped, one hand reaching for the right-hand door, when he realized he didn’t like waking up alone. He wanted to wake up with Lita, hold her, watch her wake, kiss her. Or have her kiss him awake, if she woke first. Did he dare tell her that? For all he knew, she had crept out of bed because she felt uncomfortable lying next to him. There were so many things to get used to, to talk about, details he had never considered as part of marriage. All the little details of everyday living. Was he ready for this? It didn’t matter. He was married, he had vowed his life to Lita, he would die to protect her. And he would certainly try to do everything he could to ensure her happiness. But could he endure letting her sleep alone, if that was what she wanted? Sighing, he opened the right-hand door. He found a bathing room, as modern as underground living could manage. There was a boiler with a banked fire under a copper tank that steamed from the top. A copper bathing tub. A basin and large pitcher of water. A mirror. Towels and scented soap and all sorts of little luxuries arranged on a long chest of drawers. And a pedestal seat on a raised wooden platform. Eduardo opened the lid and found a dark hole leading down into the rock. Better than a chamber pot. The other door hung ajar, and as he reached for the knob, he again felt the soft flow of air. The chances were good Lita had come this way. Soft golden light gleamed at the end of a short tunnel through the rock, illuminating steps going up. Eduardo tightened the belt of his robe and thought for a moment of going back for his shoes. It was more important, however, to find Lita. The stone was chill and sandy under his feet, the rougher edges smoothed off by what he imagined to be hundreds of years of feet traveling to and fro. Eduardo misjudged the turn and first step and stubbed his left foot. He inhaled and balanced on his right foot for a few painful seconds. Then a snort of laughter escaped him. Usually, with such pain and a surprise so early in the morning, he

would have been hopping and swearing. What had changed him? Lita. Of course. The thought of her somewhere ahead of him, sitting in the sunshine and hearing him shred the peaceful morning with his foul mouth, stopped him before the words could rise in his throat. Eduardo swallowed hard, gingerly put his foot down, and when the pain didn’t sink fiery teeth into his flesh, he climbed up. Ten steps brought him into a little sheltered alcove surrounded by fine, leafy bushes that let the light through and tinted it gold. He paused to listen before pushing the branches aside, and caught a sweet, faint, spicy odor from the leaves. How long had it been since he took time to notice such small things? This morning perhaps was the beginning of large changes in his life. Even in small things. Lita sat on a waist-high wall that surrounded a natural balcony extending out from the cave mouth. Eduardo looked back as he emerged from the bushes and saw how people must have taken the natural gap in the stone and embellished it, carving and smoothing, making it into a restful place, a haven. The balcony and Lita looked out over the valley of Los Cielos. Eduardo saw the tiny dust devils that swirled across the arid ground, the dark streaks like veins in an invalid’s skin, marking the beds of hundreds of small streams that had once made this valley so lush. He blinked against that strange urge for tears that had always tormented him when he was a child and his father brought all three sons to the plateau to look down on their heritage. Esteban had always teased him for the ache he felt over the wasteland. Emmanuel had always been silent, somber, with that determined light in his eyes that Eduardo had interpreted as hardness. "Not hard at all, were you?" he whispered, and thought an apology to his dead brother. Then Eduardo pushed all those thoughts aside to concentrate on Lita, who hadn’t become aware of him yet. She wore a gold and white robe, long enough to hang almost to her bare toes. One leg swung slowly, hanging off the side of the wall where she perched. The other leg was propped up so she could rest her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her fist. Her hair hung loose, gently brushed by the breeze, all her curls a tangled riot of blue-black that glinted in the growing sunlight. The collar of her robe hung off her left shoulder, revealing soft pink skin and rounded, smooth muscle. Eduardo licked his lips, remembering the sweet, pure taste of Lita’s skin when he trailed kisses down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms. She had laughed and flinched and then gasped at the reactions he drew from her body. Her innocent, eager acceptance of every bit of pleasure that he taught her last night humbled and frightened him. Eduardo saw himself as worn and filthy and badly mangled by life, compared to her, but Lita accepted him without hesitation. She trusted him. She had put more than her body into his hands last night.

Anything but her heart, he silently prayed. I will take care of her and give my life for hers, but don’t ever let her give me her heart. Lita sighed and sat up straight, taking her elbow off her knee. She turned, reaching for the cup that sat on the wall behind her, and finally saw him. She smiled, warmth and joy in her expression. No hesitation. "I thought you would sleep all morning," she said, and held out her hand to him. Eduardo nearly stubbed his toes again as he hurried across the uneven stone to reach her. He realized then that whatever remained of his heart, he had lost it to her. Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? She was the first one who would treat it as something valuable. "How long have you been awake?" He leaned against the wall, close enough to feel the warmth of her yet not touch her. Delaying every tiny bit of pleasure, he had learned, was the best way to prolong it. "Not long." She sipped at her cup and offered it to him. Eduardo thanked her with a grand bow, earning a bubble of laughter from her. He took care to catch her gaze and placed his lips where hers had been. Lita blushed and looked away and something leaped in hot, fierce joy in his chest. "I was restless, and didn’t want to disturb you," she hurried to say. "Please do disturb me, Lita." His voice came out in a low, hungry rumble that made her stare at him, eyes wide and blush deepening. "I hoped for a kiss when I woke this morning. What?" he asked, when she started to speak, then shook her head and turned to look away. It surprised him to remember she was an innocent, after their night of discovery and indulgence. Perhaps that was the key. Lita had been highly educated, to prepare her for her future duties, but no one had taught her to be ashamed of her body and to consider pleasure a sin. "What?" He gently caught her chin with two fingers, to turn her back to face him. "I just thought..." Her lips trembled a little as they curved up in an embarrassed smile. "If we kissed, we might not get out of bed until this afternoon." "Would that be so bad?" He traced the curve of her cheek and was delighted, relieved, when she turned her head into the gesture, like a kitten demanding more strokes. "No," she whispered. "But how long do we have here? I couldn’t sleep, thinking about going out there and looking for the Doors of Life. We still have to find the

Key." "And face Esteban and all his fury." Somehow, Eduardo couldn’t summon anything but wry amusement. "I’m sorry." "For what?" He took advantage of the rueful little smile she wore, and reached for her. His heart jolted again when she leaned forward to let him draw her up into his arms. "Reminding you of the last thing in the world you want to do." Lita rested her head on his shoulder and slid her arms around him. "I could stay like this for the next twenty years and be perfectly happy." "Only twenty years?" Eduardo stepped back, drawing her off her perch on the wall, so all her weight rested on him. "You know what I mean." She made a fist and thumped his arm once. "Yes, I do, and that’s a miracle all of itself." He leaned back enough to see her face, delighted when she wrinkled up her nose at him. "We hardly know each other--" "After last night, we know each other quite well." Lita put her head down on his shoulder again. "Yes, I know what you mean. We understand each other. We’re comfortable together. That’s more important, I think, than how much we enjoy each other." "You do enjoy me?" he murmured. Eduardo forced a laugh, to smother a shout of triumph. "You shouldn’t talk this way, Lita, or I will take you to bed for the rest of the day." "I wish we could--oh, but what’s the use?" She wrapped her arms tight around him, then let go and slid the last few inches to the ground. "We’ll only hurt ourselves if we indulge now, because we’ll always want it, and we won’t be able to have it, because once Los Cielos is alive again--" A frustrated little yelp escaped her and she twisted free of his arms. "Our people will demand our time, day and night?" he guessed. He picked up the cup and took a sip, meeting her eyes the whole time. "We’re bringing an entire kingdom back to life. Why can’t we set some rules, take some time for ourselves for the rest of our lives? Don’t you think we’ll have earned it?" he said, holding out the cup to her. Lita nodded slowly, never breaking free of his gaze. She took the cup and raised it

to her lips, and Eduardo felt as if they had made a pledge to each other. He hadn’t planned to survive the battle with Esteban. All that mattered, until now, was ensuring that Lita triumphed and would be safe. Now, however, he wanted to live forever. He wanted to wake up next to Lita every morning and watch their children grow up, walk through the vineyards every night, and drink wine from grapes he had grown sixty years before. It didn’t matter that the wine would be little more than vinegar after so long--but with the magical grapes of Los Cielos, who could tell?--the triumph of living so long, with Lita, would make even wormwood sweet. "Today is ours, no matter what anyone expects of us." He held out his hand to her. Lita let him lead her between the bushes and down the tunnel through the rock. The smell of fresh bread and melting butter, spicy sausages and coffee greeted them when they stepped into their room. Someone had been in while they were gone and brought an enormous tray of breakfast, a small café table and two chairs, and several changes of clothes for them both. Eduardo shuddered at the certainty that someone had been listening outside the door, or even looking in to discern if they were asleep or out of the room. What if someone had walked in on them while he made love to Lita? He shook off that uneasiness. The Black Monks had a supernatural talent for moving unseen and being exactly where they were needed, when they were needed. He trusted their discretion. He and Lita laughed when their stomachs demanded attention. As they ate, they reminisced about the festivities the day before and some of the people whom they had met. Lita determined that the copper tank had enough hot water for them both to bathe. Eduardo considered asking her to share the tub with him, but decided to save that for another time. He would live as if he and Lita had decades together ahead of them. Cramming every bit of pleasure into each day would destroy all the sweetness and make it one tangled blur. He didn’t want to frighten her or destroy a single moment. No matter how few, or how many, were granted him. They indulged in a lazy day, making love and then napping, then waking to long, leisurely kisses and sleeping again. Mid-afternoon, they woke to coffee, flan and fruit, and a note on the tray inviting them to dinner with the Reverend Father, Mother Superior, and the commanders of the Royal Army of Los Cielos. "Well, querida," Eduardo murmured, watching Lita read the note for the third time, "we knew it couldn’t last. Be grateful they gave us this much time to ourselves." "Hmm?" She shook her head and managed a crooked smile. "I wasn’t thinking-well, yes, partially thinking that." A slight flush darkened her cheeks. Eduardo hoped she never outgrew the blushing tendency. "It strikes me strange to read

this, about the Reverend Father, and know it is my papa." "Strange to know he is a holy man, or to know he is alive?" he guessed, and drew her down to perch on his knee. "Hmm...I think the first." She took a deep breath and visibly shook off her mood, then folded the paper with quick, decisive movements. "I am delighted to know Papa is alive, but he is not quite my Papa any longer. Does that make sense?" "It makes perfect sense. If it makes things any easier, consider that you are no longer the little girl he left behind. I have heard that all fathers undergo this strangeness, when they must let go of their daughters." "But this is more than letting me grow up and marry." She shook her head and turned to slide her arm around his shoulders. Eduardo held his breath, sensing this was a watershed moment for them, but without the slightest clue why. "Thank you, Eduardo, for being so wise." "Me?" He didn’t laugh, as he normally would. If only he could be wise for her every day. "Marriage is terrifying enough, but so much else waits for me. I would be tempted to flee, or to abdicate all my responsibility and authority, if not for you being here. Holding my hand." She glanced down to where his hand rested on her knee. "Well, metaphorically speaking." Now Eduardo did laugh, a hearty burst that cleared the heaviness from his chest. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and drew her up closer against him. To his delight, she leaned down to kiss him. They were light, soft kisses, like a child would give, yet stirred him in ways he had not thought possible. Eduardo saw himself dying to protect her from Esteban, and gladly. It wasn’t just her innocent sensuality and wit that made him want to be her knight errant and champion. He knew he would grieve for all the years he couldn’t hold her in his arms and watch her sleep, and kiss her awake to pleasure, but he would gladly give his life for her. Los Cielos was a secondary consideration. "I am not the brave, honorable, wise man you need," he whispered against her last lingering, soft kisses. "But everything I can do for you, I will." "Eduardo..." She sighed and slowly sat back. Laughter and tears glimmered in her eyes together. "You are cruel and unfair." "Me?" He laughed. If she only knew how cruel and unfair he had been in his time. "You warned me not to love you, and yet you do and say everything possible to capture a girl’s heart and make her your slave forever."

"Ah, no, Princess. I am your slave. When the goddesses of old appeared to mortal men, it was natural to worship and love them. The goddess foolish enough to love a mortal caused them both great pain." It made him ache to do it, but he gently slid her off his lap and set her on her feet again. "Come, the Reverend Father has commanded our presence." Lita nodded and knuckled away the last gleam of laughter tears. He saw no pain, only weariness and a strength he wished he possessed. *** Father Miguel watched Lita as she walked into the dining room on Eduardo’s arm, and she saw only her concerned father, not the priest and the mangled ghost from her past. She remembered what Eduardo had said about this being a hard time for her father, as well. Lita hesitated when her father indicated for her to take the seat at the end of the table. The place on her left hand had no chair, indicating her father’s wheelchair went there. Eduardo pulled out her chair for her, pushed it in to the table, then took the seat on her right hand. Then, he looked to Father Miguel for confirmation. Something tight inside Lita loosened a little when her father nodded, one corner of his mouth quirking up. One hurdle passed over. She hoped that was a good sign for the evening. Four men, tanned from exposure, their faces lined by years, some of them scarred from burns and battle, joined her, Eduardo, the Mother Superior and her father at the table. Mother Superior didn’t introduce them by their names, but by the quadrant of the valley and its protection that lay under their care. Lita soon discovered that they answered to those titles: North, South, East, and West. Growing up, she had loathed the light, meaningless social talk required by polite society. Lita missed it for the first half hour, as the table talk discussed the situation in Los Cielos. Not in the valley itself, but the people who had pledged their futures to the renewal of the valley, who waited for freedom from Esteban’s rule, and who had already risked much to escape tyranny or work in secret to organize the armies. Then, something in her mind clicked and she found a responding chord within herself. She saw a map of the valley and surrounding mountains on the far wall of the dining room, facing her, and referred to it as the commanders reported on activity. One of the women who had helped her escape from Esteban’s house came into the room, silent as shadows, her face somber with some heavy news. Lita watched the woman, maybe twice her age, lean and graceful with the work required of the Black Monks. She sighed and wondered if she would be as lithe

and slim in twenty years. Then, she found herself watching Eduardo, to see if he appreciated the woman’s figure. To her relief, Eduardo was more interested in buttering the fresh bread. You’re being ridiculous. He doesn’t want you to love him, so why feel jealousy at all? "Trouble?" Prince Miguel asked, when the messenger had whispered to the Mother Superior and left. "I believe so." She stood slowly. "I must admit, some good news becomes a curse if it is badly timed. Even if it is a resurrection." Her words brought puzzled frowns to those around the table. Lita saw her father go pale and clutch the armrests of his wheelchair. His eyes widened, then he closed them and bowed his head, shoulders hunched as if fighting pain. "Papa?" She reached for his hand. "No, it’s all right, my dear." Prince Miguel raised his head and forced a smile. He patted Lita’s hand. "If you will excuse me, this is something I must deal with." He didn’t wait for anyone to respond, but grasped his wheels and moved himself backwards, turning with sharp precision to exit the room. Lita watched him, and even when the door had closed behind him and the conversation resumed, she wondered. She couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Why had the Mother Superior referred to a resurrection? She turned to look at the woman, and found the leader of the Black Monks watching her. Lita shivered under a premonition. Her father had been presumed dead, and Eduardo’s mother. Who else had she presumed dead, who could be alive? "Excuse me." She wadded up her napkin and pushed back her chair barely enough to rise. Lita ignored the men who hurried to stand as she left the room. Eduardo followed her, a few steps behind, and she was glad. "Esteban has found the Key," a man growled in a ragged voice. Heavy footsteps stomped, echoing on the stone of a room at the end of the passageway. "Didn’t you hear me?" "Yes, I heard you the first four times," Prince Miguel said. "I didn’t send you word, because it would endanger my secrecy. Sometimes, it’s more important to act instead of get consensus from everyone," the man snapped. "Yes, as you have preached to us many times, chafing against the restraints our council felt necessary." Her father sighed as Lita stepped into the doorway.

"Emmanuel, I am truly sorry. If I had known you still lived, things might have turned out differently." "Emmanuel?" Eduardo blurted, and stepped in front of Lita in the doorway. Both men turned to face the doorway. Lita staggered back a step, instantly recognizing Emmanuel. But not the handsome prince who won her adoration as a child. This was a scarred, hard man. A man who had come back from the dead, like her father and Eduardo’s mother. A smile twisted one side of Emmanuel’s mouth. The other side was stiff with scar tissue. "It is good to see you again, little brother. I’m glad to see you’ve finally joined our battle." "I didn’t know there was a war until a few days ago," Eduardo said. "If you had told me about this place--if you had let me know you were alive--perhaps we should go away and let you two finish your conversation." "No." Prince Miguel shook his head, a weary smile bringing a muffled sob to Lita, choking her. "I think the sooner we get this over with, the better for all of us. Let us remember we are allies." "I don’t like the sound of this." Emmanuel gestured at the chairs around the table in the room lit by only two lanterns. "Come, sit, little brother." He dropped into a chair. "My sentries say the princess has entered the valley. I hoped to get here before this, to tell you what I did." "What you did?" Lita pushed past Eduardo, who had stayed in the doorway. She stumbled when realization swept over her. "You sent the telegram, not Esteban?" "Elizabelita?" he whispered, awe and delight brightening his face, erasing ten years of toil and pain. He laughed and nearly leaped across the room to grasp her hands and lead her to the table to sit. "My little princess, you’re pale. What’s wrong? Oh, forgive me. How could they tell you I was alive, when I let everyone believe I was dead?" "You could have at least told me," Eduardo murmured. He refused a seat, but stood behind Lita’s chair and rested his hands, warm and heavy, on her shoulders. Emmanuel went to one knee next to Lita’s chair and gently caught her chin in the palm of his hand, turning and lifting her face so he could see it clearly. "Princess...you have no idea how delighted I am to see you," he murmured. He studied her face in awe. His expression made Lita shiver. She hadn’t liked the calculating, assessing way Esteban studied her. The look in Emmanuel’s eyes made her feel as if she were some sort of Biblical saint come to

life, and great miracles would be expected of her. She much preferred the hunger and heat in Eduardo’s eyes when he looked at her. She felt human, a woman, glad to be alive when he looked at her. "No," she said, trying to inject something other than dread into her voice. It sounded oddly like laughter. Perhaps hysterical laughter. "You will not be at all glad to see me, soon." "But I sent for you. The Key has been found. We must act, before Esteban triumphs. My betrothed is here. Now we can act!" Emmanuel stood and settled on the edge of the table, and took possession of Lita’s hand. "I am not your betrothed, Emmanuel." She tugged her hand free. "For the last six years, I thought I was Esteban’s betrothed." "I am alive and I am here, and when we are married, you will open the Gates of Life." "No," she whispered. Lita swallowed hard. "I emphasize this, Prince Emmanuel. I thought you were dead. My papa obviously thought you were dead, too." "Yes, an unpleasant necessity. I thought we had a traitor among us, until recently." He turned to Eduardo. "Do you understand what is wrong, little brother?" "I think..." Eduardo offered a sickly smile. "You will be very angry." "Tell me!" he roared, so his voice rang in dull echoes. "I married Eduardo last night," Lita said. "I am his wife, not your betrothed." She watched Emmanuel, hungry for some sign of the laughing, charming prince she had known. She only saw a scarred man with white threads running through his ebony hair, going pale under his weathered skin, his lips parted in shock. Or was that a soundless shout of fury? He stared at her for a few heartbeats, then slowly began to shake his head. "You jest. Lita, my princess, you are mine. Promised to me. My reason for staying alive when my own brother tried to kill me." He reached for her hand, blindly, like a drowning man grappling for something solid. Lita leaped to her feet and away from him. Eduardo caught her when she tripped over the footrests of her father’s wheelchair. He held her up, his hands hard and warm on her arms, but not warm enough to drive the sorrowful chill out of her flesh. "You let me think you were dead, all these years. You let my father and all your allies believe you dead. I must rejoin the two lines of the royal family, yes. My only

choices were Esteban and Eduardo." A tiny gasp like a shattered giggle escaped her when she felt Eduardo flinch at her words. "Only a fool would choose Esteban, either as husband or ally. Eduardo has never lied to me. Can you say that?" Emmanuel’s mouth opened and closed several times and his throat constricted, as if he fought for words or they clogged in his throat. His eyes went from shock to rage, to sorrow. Lita couldn’t turn her eyes away, though she wanted to. This, she knew, was part of being a queen. Facing the pain, facing the harm she did for the greater good. Would you renounce Eduardo to take Emmanuel and ease his pain? a quiet voice deep inside asked. No! Lita immediately responded, her whole body aching at the thought. Give up Eduardo and his rich, warm kisses, the slow, loving strokes of his hands, his laughter in the darkness, the things they had shared on the journey to this place? Eduardo had protected her when he thought he had no claim on her at all. He had warned her repeatedly not to become attached to him. He spoke of his flaws and need to reform, and how he would never be worthy. "One night," Emmanuel finally said. He raised his gaze to meet his brother’s, over Lita’s head. "Only one night together. She is mine, promised to me. Release her to me, little brother. I am firstborn. I am a proven warrior. I know the valley as few men alive do."

Chapter Fourteen "In a few days," Eduardo said slowly, as his hands stroked warm and comforting down Lita’s arms and back up again, "this all could be a moot point. There will be a battle, yes? One of us will likely die. It could be you, it could be me." "You are saying, let the one who survives and puts Lita on the throne be her husband?" Emmanuel nodded and some angry lines around his mouth smoothed. "No!" Lita twisted free of Eduardo’s grip and stepped away so she could face all three men. "I will not be handed back and forth like some prize, awarded to the most worthy warrior. Papa, you cannot--" "It is not required for her to marry the firstborn," Prince Miguel interjected smoothly. "Only that she marry a son of the royal line. We all believed you dead, Emmanuel." "Yes, and as soon as you believed yourself free of your promise, you sent for my baby brother and married him to your daughter," Emmanuel spat. "You always chafed against our agreement. You had no faith in me. Even after all I have done, you still refuse to see that I have proven myself." "Prove yourself now, by being a gentleman. Lita and Eduardo are married. It is done. What God has joined together, let no man divide." His eyes flared and for a moment there was nothing but holy man glaring at the three of them. "You." He pounded the table next to him, when Emmanuel opened his mouth to protest. "Think of the crime of Cain, before you act." Emmanuel went white and he backed up a step. Lita realized that her father had guessed accurately what Emmanuel had been thinking, even if only for a heartbeat. Would Emmanuel truly consider murdering his brother, to ensure that he married the princess and took the throne? "Eduardo is my husband. I took him willingly, for the sake of the prophecy, to free Los Cielos, and because he has proven himself my friend and ally." She backed up a step when Eduardo reached out a hand to her. This was hard, even as the words flowed from her lips as if someone else spoke through her. "You are not the man I adored with a child’s infatuation, Prince Emmanuel, if you can consider killing your own brother. That is the crime of our ancestors." Cool relief twisted through the knots in her belly when Emmanuel looked away, clearly shamed by her words. "I say here and now, if Eduardo dies by any hand but Esteban’s, I will not marry you. He is first your brother, your flesh and blood. Then he is my husband. Do you understand?" She waited only long enough for Emmanuel to nod, stiffly, then she turned and fled the room.

*** "Esteban has the Key." Eduardo moved over to block the view of the door, to yank Emmanuel’s attention away from Lita as she fled. Before his older brother followed her. "How did he get it?" "He has troops of his elite soldiers patrolling the valley constantly. To keep us out and to find every clue, every hidden doorway, so he can release the water and claim the valley without Lita’s help." Emmanuel closed his eyes and turned his back on the doorway. He sighed. "She will be difficult to deal with, won’t she?" "As commander of her troops?" Prince Miguel snapped. "Or as her husband? Perhaps it has not occurred to you, but my daughter is no longer a biddable, easily enchanted child. My friends raised her to think for herself, to stand and defend others. She will not be your figurehead, your puppet ruler." "I never--" He stopped short, something like shock in his dark eyes. Emmanuel glanced at Eduardo, an assessing look. Then he nodded. "Well, little brother? Are you her protector, her counselor, her guide? Or do you think to have the throne through her?" "Most prophecies speak only of a queen ruling Los Cielos," Eduardo said, trying to speak mildly. "Meaning there is no room for a king?" Emmanuel snorted. "Meaning no man will rule over her. Her husband must stand beside her, not the power behind the throne and not walking before her to show her the way." "There are more important things to consider," Prince Miguel said, his voice gravelly with fatigue. "Come, you are brothers. That should be more important to you than fighting over a woman. Especially a woman who will not be owned, unless she gives her heart freely and willingly. Shake hands and pledge your best efforts to Los Cielos." "Are you a warrior, little brother?" Emmanuel took three slow, short steps forward and held out his hand. "I don’t know." Eduardo expected his brother to squeeze his hand hard, testing him, maybe taunting him with his strength. He respected the scars and calluses he felt in Emmanuel’s hand, the evidence of years of hard work and battle and preparation. Lita would certainly be better off with a man like him to protect her. But he didn’t want to relinquish her. Even if he died, he didn’t want to think of her marrying another man. He wanted her to grieve for him. He wanted her to love him

so much she couldn’t accept another man’s touch. Idiot. You told her not to love you. You don’t know if you’ll live past this battle. You’re not good enough for her. You know Emmanuel is the best man for her. But six years could bring many changes, in the heart and soul. Was Emmanuel the best man for Lita, now? "You don’t know." Emmanuel snorted, shook his hand once, then let go. "Well, at least you’re honest." "I pledged my life to her just yesterday," Eduardo said. "Everything that I am is for her defense and to make her the queen she was born to be." "You say nothing of her heart. Either of you." Prince Miguel shook his head. "Are you too proud to want her love? Or are you cowards, afraid to speak of such a thing? Los Cielos needs a queen who is complete. The giver of life, heart and soul of the land. If her consort does not have her love, then he harms her and the land." He sighed and grasped the left wheel of his chair, turning it sharply, then pushed with both arms and propelled himself from the room. "Well..." Emmanuel hitched one hip up on the edge of the table and let out a long, gusting breath. "That put us in our places." "Far more effectively than our father’s beatings and lectures." Eduardo nodded, and managed a crooked smile. "I grieved for you, Manuel. If I had thought there was a chance you still lived..." "You want her. You adore her. As a man with a woman, not an idealistic prince, worshipping a child." He shook his head. "Don’t deny it, little brother. You reached to support her. You knew when she was afraid and when she was angry. All I did was press my claim." "This is a shock for all of us." "Hmm. Yes. And Lita is your wife. Is she--was she--" He growled softly, then offered an embarrassed smile. "I’ve grown crude, to even consider asking you how she is in bed." "If you’re lucky, she’ll be a widow in a few weeks and you can find out for yourself." Eduardo turned for the door, fists clenched, intending to get far away before he blackened his brother’s eye for his question. "No, little brother." Emmanuel grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him. "I speak from shock and disappointment." He snorted. "And lust. The adorable faerie child has grown into a woman to make a dead man come back to life. If Esteban ever

sets eyes on her--" "He did. He doesn’t need her, he probably planned to kill her, but when he saw her I think he set out to charm her." "Esteban saw Lita? He knows she’s here?" He cursed and slammed his fist down on the tabletop. "Then he’s going to move, to keep her from finding the Gates of Life first." "Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep Lita hidden? If she’s the only one who can open the Gates, wouldn’t it be better to wait for the right time?" "He has the Key. He might not need her. If he opens the Gates without her--" "What about the legend that says only the right hand, the true-born heir, can open the Gates without being struck dead?" Eduardo had to ask. "Esteban has the Key. He’s held it in his hand. The Key should have struck him dead when he picked it up, but it didn’t." Emmanuel cursed and shoved a chair out of his way. "What if everything we’ve believed in is a lie?" "I refuse to believe that." He grasped his older brother’s shoulders, making him stand still and look at him. It felt strange to suddenly be the adviser, the certain one, to offer strength and assurance to someone else. "Sometimes belief is all the difference between what is and what we want. Sometimes belief is the only thing that changes the world." "So, little brother, you’ve been studying to be a priest?" He cocked an eyebrow at him, teasing, but that anguish had left his eyes. "Something like that." Eduardo shrugged and dropped his hands back to his sides. "Look at it this way, Manuel. In a few days, we’ll know the truth. We only have one goal: to get the Key and Lita to the Gates of Life. And if the legends are false, to get her away from here alive, untouched by Esteban." "You were wrong to doubt yourself, little brother," he murmured. Admiration relaxed his features and he nodded. "You are a warrior indeed." *** "Belita?" Prince Miguel wheeled into the chapel and found Lita hunched in the last pew, staring at the stained glass panel showing the queen, pregnant and treading grapes, with gold and purple wine flowing from the press. "Papa." She rubbed at her eyes. They were dry, aching from staring so long at the stained glass windows all around her. So strange, to have so many windows in a

building hidden underground, surrounded by darkness. But torches outside the chapel and hundreds of candles burning inside it made all the difference. She wished she could find some guidance from that observation. Her mind felt numb right now, unable to take the slightest direction from anything, or even move. She wanted to curl up in bed with Eduardo, soothed by his warmth, the musky scent of him, his hands on her skin. "Would it have helped at all, to tell you Emmanuel wasn’t dead, but we feared he had died just a few months ago?" her father mused, once he had wheeled up to the end of the pew. "I don’t know." She closed her eyes and drew her legs up to her chest, heels resting on the pew under her skirts, and leaned forward so her cheek rested on her knees. "I have to concentrate on what is, Papa, not on what might have been. I am Eduardo’s wife. We married because of the duty passed on by the ancestors. Duty has guided my entire life, and soon I will fulfill it...and it seems to me, I have been blind to impossibilities all this time." "Impossibilities?" A choked laugh escaped him. He reached over and caught her chin with the tips of his fingers, urging her to raise her head and meet his gaze. "What is impossible? Here, of all places?" He gestured with his other hand, for her to look at the candles, the stained glass, the tapestries on the walls, the carved stone of the walls themselves. "That’s just it, Papa," she whispered. "What I must do is magic. How can magic be possible, without endangering my soul? The role of the queen, giving life to the valley, opening the Gates of Life, it all carries the aroma of pagan fertility rites." "And the Lord told them to go forth and multiply," Prince Miguel said with a shrug. "That isn’t a fertility rite?" His smile widened into a grin when she frowned at him. "No, my dear, consider for a moment. In the Scriptures, God’s servants displayed many wondrous gifts and powers. Bringing the dead back to life, enabling barren women to have children, healing leprosy, feeding a family with just a handful of flour and a trickle of oil, walking on water, healing the sick, making the blind see. On and on. Couldn’t such things be labeled as magic?" "But that power came from Heaven." Something stirred inside her, making her feel a little foolish. Lita knew she had latched onto the moral dilemma and turned it into something large to avoid the problem presented by Emmanuel’s return from the dead. Still, the more she contemplated the magic she was supposed to work, and how it seemed to fly in the face of her spiritual beliefs, the larger and more perplexing the problem grew.

"Miracles still occur today. Heaven still changes the world, using willing servants as the tools. As the conduits of power. Your holy gift is to bring life to this valley, to act as a mother to the people who will come here, and turn this dry, arid land into something lush and beautiful. As the Scriptures say, wine to gladden the hearts of men. Surely, that is a gift from Heaven, if it is not misused?" "So you say it is not a sin, but a holy mission." She nodded and rested her cheek on her knees again, this time with her eyes open and watching him. "You have changed so much, Papa. I think I like this change." "You do?" He pretended to be surprised. "You were always so busy, so much to consider and do, so pressed with the burdens of your heritage. Now, you are at peace. You are certain...of everything." "Ah, not of everything, my dear. I still rage, deep in my heart, for the years we lost. And I admit I am uneasy at the thought of being a grandfather." Lita laughed and put her feet down on the ground again. She scooted across the bench and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. "Don’t worry, Papa. That might take a while." "No, my dear," he whispered. He rested his hand on her head, in blessing, and bent to kiss her forehead. "It will happen within the year. That is part of the holy magic. It is quite clear." "Papa?" Lita flinched, but didn’t sit up, didn’t pull away. She needed the long-lost warmth of him, his touch, to help her understand. "You must carry life into the valley. The Doors of Life will not open for you, unless you carry life. Inside you. Inside your womb. Your child must be the first child born in the valley." "So that is why you hurried to marry us." She could almost have laughed. "There is a passageway that has been barred since the elder daughter fled for her life from her sister’s evil. She went through those doors, with her heir in her womb, shut those doors, and prayed to Heaven that the doors would not open until the true-born heir came carrying her heir. And in all these centuries," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "the doors have never opened. My ancestors came to the door with their wives, with their newborn children in their arms. The doors would not open. No matter what force was brought against them, they have stood. Stone doors, my Belita. No one knows what hands carved them. Perhaps angels, yes?" He stroked her hair off her forehead. "There has never been a daughter born to the royal line until you. The doors will open when you approach with your heir in your womb, and I truly believe the passageway you find beyond those doors will

take you to the Gates of Life." "But Emmanuel said Esteban had the Key." "Yes, but what good will it do him, if he does not go through the Doors of Life to reach the Gates of Life? What good will it do him to stand before the Gates with the Key in his hand if he does not carry life inside his body?" "What good will it do him?" she echoed. *** Lita returned to her and Eduardo’s bedroom and found the door ajar. A flicker of fear washed through her as she slowly pushed the door open. Had the brothers argued? Was it arrogance to think they argued over her? Would she find a bloody, dead or dying body on the floor? And if so, which brother did she want to be the victor? If Eduardo won, he would be a murderer. Emmanuel was her hero, her champion, but not her lover. Not the one who had sat across the campfire from her and made her laugh, danced with her on board the ship or feared for her when Esteban captured them. Emmanuel had lied by letting her believe he was dead, and Eduardo had warned her not to love him. The room glowed softly with scented candles. The bed was turned down and ready, and a lacy, long nightgown lay across the sheets, waiting for her. Eduardo was nowhere to be seen, but the coat he had worn to dinner hung on the chair at the little table. The door to the bathing room stood open, full of candlelight, and she saw the coals glowing under the copper tank. A hot bath would be good, before bed. She needed something soothing, to help her relax and sleep. No, she decided a moment later. What she needed was Eduardo’s kisses. She needed his arms tight and warm around her, to be pressed against him and feel his body reacting to hers. The door leading to the balcony also hung open. A soft breeze came through, barely stirring the candles. Lita studied the door for a few moments, absently tugging the combs from her hair and letting it down. She unbuttoned the jacket of her dress and hung it up on the second chair. With a shudder, she shook herself out of her hesitation and tossed the combs down onto the table. In her linen shirt and skirt, she swept through the door and down the short tunnel, up the stairs to the balcony. "Eduardo?" she called, before she saw the dark form perched on the half-wall, where she had sat that morning. Had it only been that morning? She felt like a totally different person, with an entire lifetime behind her. How would she feel, she wondered, once she had fulfilled her

destiny? "I was planning on telling you I would leave, sleep somewhere else, if you wanted." Eduardo didn’t turn to face her as he talked, but looked out over the valley of Los Cielos. It glowed in the moonlight. Not with the ghost-light of the dead, as Lita had sometimes dreamed in the last few months. There was something warm in it that defied the blue-white gleam from the moon. The rough, dry ground revealed shadows where paths and homes and vineyards once stood. Where such things would stand again, Lita silently promised. "Planning?" Something leaped inside her, as his words registered in her mind. "I lied to my brother." He turned now and watched her, shoulders slumped, that sad, crooked little smile glowing like a beacon in the shadowed mask of his face. "I told him if I died, he would have his chance to win your heart and marry you. But I lied. If I die, I don’t want you to welcome anyone into your life, into your bed." He shrugged. "Selfish, I know, but there have been so few good things, pure and sweet things in my life. I don’t want to share them with anyone, even after I’m dead. Especially not you." "Then don’t die." She couldn’t feel the stone under her feet as she walked to the wall and looked up at him. "I am certainly not eager to be a widow. Stay with me, Eduardo. Live." "Give me a reason to live," he whispered, and slid down to stand face-to-face with her, his warmth enfolding her just seconds before his arms wrapped around her and drew her up tight against his chest. Lita lifted her arms to wrap around his neck and draw his head down to her before he could bend to kiss her. Eduardo’s eyes glittered with sparks and kindled that warmth that made her forget everything. His hands slid up her back, her thin shirt very little defense against the warmth, the strength in his flesh. Could he feel the way her heart tripled its pace from the moment he touched her? She pressed herself against him, knees to shoulders, as he had taught her in the velvety darkness just the night before. Eduardo groaned, the sound muffled against her lips as they kissed. Hours later, she woke, still enfolded in his arms. Her father’s words echoed in her dreams, making her press a hand against her belly before she knew what she was doing. Had she conceived tonight? Did she want to? Logic and duty said to conceive as soon as possible, so the Doors of Life would

open and provide the swift, straight path to the Gates of Life. Duty shouted for her to restore life to Los Cielos. Her heart begged for a few more days, a few more months, even years, safe here underground, protected by the Black Monks, warm in Eduardo’s arms every night. *** The days passed in preparation for war. A war of sneaking through the shadows and infiltrating Los Cielos. A war of knowing everything their enemy had done, guessing everything he would do, to prevent them from bringing life back to the valley and maintain his dominion. A war of the mind and heart and soul. Lita studied maps and listened to the holy folk and soldiers recite the histories of the valley and the people who remained loyal, though their families had not lived in Los Cielos for centuries. She visited the gardens and studied the six varieties of grapes that had once flourished in the valley, now kept alive by some miracle that could only be attributed to holy magic. She wore trousers and worked with the Black Monks, expanding the self-defense tactics they had taught her over the years. Her nights passed in blissful discovery. She delighted in learning everything Eduardo could teach her, and reveled in learning to pleasure her husband. They laughed together and teased and lay awake in the darkness, content to hold each other and whisper of ordinary things. Bittersweet happiness touched her when she and Eduardo spoke of the future. Of filling the valley with vineyards and making it once again famous for its wine. Of a simple home and children for them, despite all the trappings, pomp and glory that other royalty claimed as their right around the world. "We will be farmers. Landlords only a few steps above our people," Eduardo whispered on their seventh night. "Visitors coming to the valley won’t know us separate from our people. That will be a good thing. No scraping and bowing." "No restrictive rules of etiquette and class barriers," Lita murmured, remembering long, lively, sometimes bitter discussions with Aunt Ermengarde’s Suffragist friends. "Maybe..." He sighed and stroked his fingertips through her tangled hair, all the way down her back. When he ran out of hair and brushed across her bare skin, Lita squirmed a little against him. He chuckled and turned on his side so they were face-to-face. "Maybe, if we can’t be told apart from our people, there will be no enemies trying to kidnap or kill us. Or our children." "Or our children," she agreed, and gladly closed her eyes when he pressed her onto her back and resumed kissing her.

Hours later, she woke in the darkness to press her hand over her belly and wonder if she carried Eduardo’s child. *** The next morning, instead of meeting with Brother Carlos to study the fermentation records of the master vintners, she and Eduardo were summoned to the chapel. Every Black Monk had packed into the chapel. Lita and Eduardo couldn’t find an open seat anywhere. She considered the possibility of sitting on his lap if they found at least one seat, but there wasn’t any to be seen. Then she glimpsed Emmanuel and her father at the front of the chapel, standing next to the altar. Emmanuel gestured for her and Eduardo to come to the front. "I guess we aren’t staying long enough to sit," Eduardo murmured. He slid his arm through hers as they walked down the aisle. The chapel grew still enough, Lita thought she could hear everyone breathe, perhaps even their heartbeats. The kneeling bench used for their wedding sat before the altar. Lita felt a tiny knot in her chest loosen. This was just another ceremony, something to dedicate them to the fight. She wasn’t sure what she had anticipated. Then she intercepted the angry stare Emmanuel aimed at his brother. The older prince’s expression softened when their gazes met and Lita looked away, feeling guilty and terrified, so her heart raced and her legs wobbled as she knelt with Eduardo. They hadn’t brought her here to challenge their week-old marriage, had they? To ask her to consider renouncing her vows to Eduardo, the passionate nights they shared, and take Emmanuel as her husband as originally planned. Were they? "The first testing time has come," Prince Miguel announced. The silence in the chapel actually deepened, as if everyone there held their breaths. As if the figures in the stained glass windows listened. Lita bowed her head in relief when her father moved into a long prayer of dedication, in Latin and Greek. Did that make the ceremony more holy, she wondered, or bring up the holy magic her father claimed resided in this place and in their family’s bloodline? Mentally slapping her own wrist, she tried to concentrate on the words. The ceremony of dedication lasted two hours, with communion and anointing everyone’s forehead with incense-infused oil. She fully expected everyone in the chapel to come with them when her father gestured for her and Eduardo to stand. Instead, Emmanuel pushed Prince Miguel’s wheelchair, with the Mother Superior

next to him, and Lita and Eduardo following. Just the five of them. They went down a long, curving tunnel that took them further underground. Lita had a good sense of direction and had memorized all the maps of the underground complex. When they came out into a chamber carved of silver stone with golden speckles that caught the lantern light, she estimated they were at the very border of the valley. Ten steps would take them under Los Cielos. But a door carved into the stone wall stood before them, blocking the way. The bar holding the door closed was of stone. Dust lay thick everywhere in the room. She could only imagine how it would sparkle and reflect the lantern light if the dust was washed away. "The Doors of Life," she whispered, and caught her breath as she remembered that conversation with her father, the day Emmanuel returned. "Yes." Prince Miguel tried to smile, but it was thin, flat and strained. Somehow, it comforted Lita to know he worried about this step. "Open the way, Lita." "How?" Eduardo blurted. "If the time is right, if the conditions have been fulfilled according to the prophecy, then the doors will open of themselves." "What conditions?" He turned to his brother. Any other time, Lita would have laughed, because Eduardo had done everything he could to avoid his brother. Whether guilt or anger or fear, she could never decide. Emmanuel shrugged. "Knowing the conditions, I assume, would violate some rules." Lita caught her breath and glanced at her father. He met her gaze with a bland look, as if he had no idea what she was thinking. Yet her father had told her, the Doors of Life would not open until she came before them carrying a child in her womb. This is not how I would like to learn I am pregnant, she barely managed to refrain from saying aloud. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, disengaged her arm from Eduardo’s, and stepped forward. One step. Two steps. Three. She felt nothing. Lita had no idea if she was supposed to feel anything. Did she actually believe some holy magic would touch her, to test her? Finally, her slow steps took her close enough to the doors, she only had to lean forward and she could touch one with her nose. Lita considered doing that. Was she supposed to touch it? Push on it, at the very least? Or was she supposed to

take hold of the bar and push it upward, and pull the door open? Nothing happened. Someone adjusted booted feet on the dusty, sandy stone behind her. Lita rested her hand on the crossbar. Still nothing. No unusual warmth. No tingling of any kind of energy. No unusual cold, either. She pressed her hands under the bar, trying to lift it. The bar felt as if it were one piece with the stone door. Lita let her hands drop to her sides and turned to face the others. "The time is not yet right," the Mother Superior said. She nodded and gestured for them all to leave the room. No sign of disappointment on her face. No condemnation of Lita for not fulfilling her duty. "Should I try, next time?" Eduardo murmured, as they followed the other three up the inclining, curving tunnel. "Papa says the heir is a true-born daughter, and only she can open the door." Lita looked at the others ahead of them and considered telling him what else her father had said. But would it be wrong to tell Eduardo? Would he feel pressured? Would he feel that he was being used, if he knew she needed to be pregnant before the door would open? Would the need for him end, the moment she carried life in her womb? That jolt of fear stayed with Lita, lingering and putting an odd, ethereal light on everything she did for the rest of the day. When Eduardo took her into his arms that night, she could barely respond to his kisses. They lay in silence in the darkness of their room, wrapped around each other, but separated farther than they had ever been.

Chapter Fifteen The next week repeated the first. Lita wondered if they would mark every week’s end, every weekly anniversary of her marriage to Eduardo, with a trip down the long, corkscrew tunnel to the stone doors. She wondered sometimes, how could they be sure the doors were ever meant to open? Perhaps some sadistic lunatic in the past carved the doors and started the legend about the elder daughter coming through them, closing them with her broken heart and her prayers. Maybe it had always been solid, unbroken rock all these centuries. If that were so, then she and Eduardo would spend their lives here, training for an invasion that would never happen. She would give birth to her children here and raise them in darkness and lamplight, feeding them on tales of their heritage and hopes that would never be fulfilled. No, she corrected herself, when that thought come. She would never give birth to her children here. If she became pregnant and the door still wouldn’t open, that would destroy everything, wouldn’t it? It would prove the legends false. She and Eduardo would leave. And everyone left behind would have nothing but shattered dreams and hopes, and no reason to live. She got that far in her twisting, tormented thoughts, and realized she couldn’t tell Eduardo she needed to become pregnant. This was what it meant to be a queen, she knew. Keeping secrets to spare others, laughing when she wanted to scream. Pretending the weight of responsibility, destiny and doubt resting on her shoulders wasn’t about to crush her to powder. The second week ended and the test of the door failed. Her father didn’t seem concerned, and that both irritated and comforted her. Lita and Eduardo continued with their lessons, studying the history and geography of Los Cielos. Emmanuel seemed to have become philosophical about the entire situation. He relaxed and learned to smile when she and Eduardo were in the same room with him. Two days after the second testing, Lita had proof in her own body she wasn’t pregnant. Eduardo caught her crying over it, picked her up, held her on his lap and begged her to let him try to make it right. In a moment of weakness, she confessed part of her reason for her tears. "You want to be pregnant?" His stunned look was enough to jolt her out of the guttwisting, free-fall sensation. Before she could interpret his reaction as horror, he smiled and kissed her. "You want to have a baby with me?"

"No, you silly man." Lita scrubbed her tears off her cheeks with her fists. "I want to get fat and not be able to fit into my trousers and get indigestion and swollen legs and--you don’t think I throw myself into your arms every night just because I can’t resist your touch, do you?" Eduardo stared at her for two seconds, his mouth dropping open. Then he barked laughter and squeezed her tight. And he kissed her until she forgot how to breathe, much less tease him. "A man can always hope," Eduardo murmured, when he finally drew back to let them both breathe and open their eyes. "Querida...you will be beautiful, no matter how fat you get. I will still adore you, no matter how vile your temper." "You think that will happen?" She let him draw her head down to rest on his shoulder. A sigh of satisfaction escaped her. The world seemed perfect when they were like this, wrapped up in each other, no one around to remind them of their destiny and duty. "I’ve seen enough pregnant women, I’ve seen all the variations of beauty and beastliness. You will be beautiful. Perfect. A Madonna." He sighed and tipped his head so his cheek rested against her forehead. "But...don’t hate me, mi corazon...it won’t be safe for you to have a baby until we’ve settled things with Esteban." "I could never hate you." Lita swallowed hard and tried to ignore the little flutter she felt when he called her ‘my heart.’ Could it mean he felt something for her, beyond their friendship and the sweet hunger that bound them together? "You’re right. We have to awaken Los Cielos and bring back the water and settle Esteban before it’s safe to have children." "We’re going to have children." He snorted, the sound melting into a sigh. "Ah, well, let’s see if you still want me around in a few more months, let alone in a year or ten years. One child with my manners and mischief might be more than you can handle, Princess." "You should go talk to my papa, and find out what a hellion I was as a child," she retorted, deciding to turn this into teasing instead of tears. "You? A hellion? What have I gotten myself into? Maybe I should talk to Emmanuel and see if he’ll still--" He yelped when Lita punched him in the arm. She tried to leap off his lap, but he wrapped his arms tight around her waist. They ended up on the floor, laughing and wrestling and it turned into sweet, warm, deep kisses. Eduardo remembered that she was in no condition for making love, and didn’t take their foolery and foreplay any further than that. Lita woke in the night, warm and

relaxed and safe in his arms and realized something that brought tears to her eyes. She did want Eduardo’s baby. Not because of duty and her destiny, but because she wanted his child. A part of both of them, to live forever, no matter what happened to them in the weeks and months ahead. *** Three tests, three weeks later, a sensation like lightning in the air moved through the room when their party approached the Doors of Life. Lita stepped back and reached for Eduardo, caught between excitement and apprehension. She looked at her father. He didn’t react. Had she imagined it? Ghost light flickered along the bar of the door when Lita touched it. Eduardo inhaled sharply and caught hold of her arm. She glanced back and met his gaze. "What is it?" Prince Miguel asked. "Didn’t you see that, Papa?" Lita turned around to face the others. Emmanuel and the Mother Superior frowned and shook their heads. "See what?" Emmanuel stepped up to the bar and touched it. A large spark snapped against his hand, making everyone jump. "Interesting," Prince Miguel murmured. "Emmanuel...perhaps you should alert your men that..." He shook his head and flashed a tight smile at them all. "No, there is time. If we rush into this, after all these years, we could lose all we have worked and suffered for." He gestured for Lita to lift the bar. She pressed her hands on the underside of the bar. More light flickered across its surface. Lita looked back at Eduardo and he nodded that he saw it. "Papa, did you see it now?" "No, my dear. Nothing." "I saw something," Eduardo said. "That means something, perhaps?" the Mother Superior said. "Lift with me, Eduardo." Lita moved over, so they were spaced equally along the stone bar. Her heart skipped a beat when he moved into place without hesitating. More lights flickered along the bar when Eduardo touched it. The pale, blue-white streaks thickened and took on green and rose tints. The sharp inhalations and murmurs behind her told Lita the others could see the light now. She glanced at Eduardo. He nodded. She pushed up. The bar resisted. A flash of panic shot through her. Why would this holy magic taunt her?

Stone ground against stone, low and rumbling at first, but the pitch rising as the bar slowly lifted, pivoting on the left end. Eduardo gasped with effort and moved over, crossing behind her so he could keep pushing the bar as it rose. His arms stretched up over their heads. Lita wondered what they would do when the bar was out of reach and still needed to be pushed. The bar left her fingertips and kept moving. The light grew stronger, changing to gold, enveloping the solid stone and obscuring the grain. Lita caught her breath and stepped back. Eduardo kept pushing for another few seconds, his reach longer than hers. Then the bar lifted out of his reach, and kept moving. It pivoted upward until it pointed straight up in the air and completely cleared the door. Two knobs in the center of the door, which had been blocked from view all this time, were now revealed. "Papa, should we try to open it now?" Lita whispered. "He who hesitates is lost," Prince Miguel said, his voice rich with amusement. "What if Esteban--No." Eduardo shook his head. "This is the only way to reach the Gates of Life." "If Esteban found the Key, which has been hidden all these years," Emmanuel said, "then he could find some other way. A cave-in revealed the hiding place. There could be other cave-ins, revealing the tunnel. I say we need to hurry." "But with caution," the Mother Superior said, nodding. "If time is of the essence," Eduardo grumbled, "why didn’t the doors open before?" "The conditions weren’t...right." Emmanuel frowned and turned to stare at Lita. She felt her stomach twist--or was that reaction lower in her anatomy? Did Emmanuel know what her father theorized, that she had to be pregnant for the Doors of Life to open? The realization hit her for the first time. She was pregnant. Eduardo’s baby grew inside her. When could she tell him the happy news? Her elation died almost the moment it leaped inside her. Would Eduardo consider it happy news, when he learned the conception of their child was required to open the gates? "Congratulations, Princess." Emmanuel bowed low, pausing a moment with his head lowered. Lita felt a pang around her heart when she saw the faint threads of silver in his thick mane of curls. Then the moment passed and he raised his head.

"Now, let us see if the doors will actually open." He flashed a grin at the entire group, but his eyes held shadows. Lita realized she had hurt Emmanuel, the handsome prince she had adored with a child’s pure, guileless love. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault, but she had hurt him. Part of it was his fault, for letting her think he was dead, but that didn’t make it all right to hurt him. What could she do to make recompense? "Lita?" Prince Miguel prompted. He rolled his chair over and caught hold of her hand. "My dear?" "I’m sorry, Papa. I was..." She licked her lips and attempted a little laugh. "Woolgathering, I suppose. I didn’t truly believe..." She shrugged and stepped up to the door. With a glance, she asked Eduardo to join her. He stepped up next to her and mirrored her actions. Had the bar lifted for the two of them, because they both had made the child inside her? Did the magic react to his presence because he was necessary to this? Lita shook her head, mentally shoving all those questions aside for consideration later. Much later. Hunching her shoulders, she pressed both hands flat against the carved handle on the door. Eduardo did the same. She took a deep breath, then put her whole weight against the stone door. Lita imagined giants carving the enormous slabs and setting them in place. Had time and erosion and the trickling of water in the tunnels and caves sealed the doors shut more thoroughly than the holy magic had? Now was the time to find out. Air hissed through the thin line between the two panels, with enough force to disturb the sweaty strands of hair hanging around her face. Lita gasped, amused to realize she was sweating, and pushed harder. Sand whispered against stone. The door panels tingled under her hands, just like the bar had done. Lights flickered, slipping across the doors like mist lit by lightning, pale blue and white and violet. Lita stumbled forward and would have gone to her knees, but Eduardo caught her and pulled her up against his side. They clutched at each other and watched in awe as the doors swung apart, vanishing into the darkness of the tunnel, beyond the reach of the lanterns’ light. The air that whooshed up through the darkness beyond smelled of scorched stone

and plants that had baked to death in heat, dust and the bitter smell of something that had died and desiccated before it could finish rotting. Lita prayed it was an animal and not a person. "Well," Emmanuel said, and sniffed loudly. "That answers that question." He stepped up to the doorway, but didn’t go past the point where Lita and Eduardo still held onto each other. "Something has broken through," Eduardo said, nodding. "Between here and the Gates of Life, I hope." "Shouldn’t we smell water? Don’t the Gates of Life hold back all the water of Los Cielos?" Lita said. She wanted to step into that darkness, taking a lantern with her to drive away the shadows. She wanted to find the Gates this very day and get this over with. Would Los Cielos come back to life before her and Eduardo’s child was born? "If we smelled water, I fear we would already be too late," the Mother Superior said. "My predecessors speculated that the Gates are even larger doors than these. Thick enough, wide enough, to hold back a hundred rivers." "An entire ocean," Prince Miguel murmured. He held out his hands. "Well done, my Lita." He muffled a chuckle. "Well done, both of you." "Yes, congratulations, little brother." Emmanuel held out his hand to shake Eduardo’s. "For what? I did nothing but help Lita." Eduardo released her to shake his brother’s hand. He laughed. Lita hoped he would laugh when she finally told him she was pregnant. Should she tell him? If their roles were reversed, her first thought would be to wonder if he had slept with her specifically to conceive their child. Lita wished her father hadn’t told her about that detail. She wished she didn’t know about her baby until the changes in her body told her. *** All their weeks of preparation made the next few hours easy. Everything was ready, weapons, tools and maps prepared for the journey. Lita and Eduardo went back to their room and changed into sturdier clothes for the journey. Lita shivered a little as she braided her hair, and knew she would never see this room again unless she came back victorious.

"I’ll miss this place." Eduardo held up her coat and she thanked him with a nod, turning to slide her arms into the sleeves. "Especially when we sleep on the ground?" "Not the comfort so much as the privacy." He shook his head and looked away, a crooked smile lighting his face. "I’ll be in agony, unable to hold you while we sleep." "Then let’s accomplish our quest and return here as quickly as we can." She had to force her voice to be light. Turning, she gestured for him to look over her outfit of high boots, thick trousers, man’s shirt and vest, coat and wide-brimmed, floppy hat. "Do I pass muster?" "No one will ever guess you’re a queen. Disguising the fact you’re a woman...well, no one can hide that." Lita couldn’t think of a response to that, either teasing or flattered. Something like a sob rose in her throat, choking her momentarily. She nodded toward the door. Eduardo bowed slightly and moved ahead of her to open it. They were the last to arrive before the opened Doors of Life, which spoke about the efficiency of the soldiers who had gathered under Emmanuel’s leadership. Lita tugged her gloves just a little tighter before stepping down the aisle between the soldiers to approach the doors. What if the next set of doors would not swing open? Did it mean she was unworthy, or merely that the doors had been sealed by sediment and time? Or maybe she wasn’t pregnant, after all, and the first doors had only opened by accident, or for some reason the Black Monks had not guessed? Did she want to be pregnant? Did she want to linger here in this twilight kingdom, planning and theorizing but never quite accomplishing her destiny? "Show them what a true queen is like," Eduardo murmured, leaning close enough his breath brushed her ear. Lita nearly jumped, startled out of her circling thoughts. She bit her lip, tears in her eyes but something like laughter in a thick lump in her throat. Thank God for Eduardo. What would she do without him? Did she love him? In that moment, she could believe it. Did he love her? "Stop wasting time," she breathed, so quietly she could barely hear herself. Lita resolved to solve that question later, when all the other problems and duties and questions of her life had been answered. If she lived that long.

She turned to Eduardo. He flashed her a fierce grin, more challenge and excitement than humor. The Mother Superior stepped forward with a censor full of incense and began chanting in Latin. Lita understood just enough to know the woman spoke a blessing on their endeavor. She shivered, wondering just how much blessing they would need. Emmanuel gestured, and four soldiers stepped up to the doorway with their torches raised high. The tunnel lay fully revealed to them, black and dull, swallowing up the light from the lanterns and torches. Lita had expected the walls to glisten with water, but they looked dirty, dry, as if crusted with years of soot. She wondered if water had ever flowed through this tunnel, if it had been carved by water at all or by the hands of men. Or holy magic, perhaps? The torchlight only extended so far, and then it was all blackness down into the depths, with no end or angle of descent visible. "Lita." Prince Miguel held out his hands to her. For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize him and that frightened her. It reminded her of a dream that fled her grasp when she woke, and left a chill sensation down her back. Biting her lip against a torrent of questions that were useless now, she crossed the rough stone floor to him. She started to kneel, but he caught hold of her hands and pulled her into his arms. She fought back a sob, and for a moment she was still a little girl and he was her papa and the gaping black hole in the rock behind her was only part of a faerie tale, not her destiny. "Go in peace, my darling," he whispered before he released her. Lita stepped back on trembling legs. "We will pray for you at every stroke of the hour. Go swiftly. Go in peace. Go in safety." He made the sign of the cross and all the soldiers standing behind Emmanuel returned the blessing. "Come back in victory and the blessing of new life you carry into Los Cielos." Lita pressed her hand over her belly without thinking. Eduardo didn’t seem to notice. He bowed and offered his bent arm to her, as if they stepped onto the dance floor. Emmanuel, however, noticed. One corner of his mouth twisted up in a bitter smile that brought tears to her eyes. She knew what he was thinking, as if he had spoken aloud. The child in her belly should have been Emmanuel’s, not Eduardo’s. She shivered and leaned a little into her husband’s support. Would it harm them, that the firstborn of the de Veritas line wasn’t the father of her child? There were rules to magic, whether holy or profane. She had learned that from faerie tales and other esoteric studies. What rules did they bend, or possibly break? And would that harm them or simply disqualify them for all the blessings and protection they needed?

No. Lita shook her head and took the first step to the black tunnel mouth. The Doors of Life had opened for her, hadn’t they? That meant the life in her womb was acceptable to the magic that guarded sleeping Los Cielos. They would succeed. Eduardo let her lead the way, walking half a step behind her, his hand sliding down to grasp her hand instead of holding her arm. He carried a lantern in his free hand, thrusting it forward to light her steps. Emmanuel walked on her other side and the soldiers followed four abreast, five rows of men in black jackets and trousers, with Queen’s Crown embroidered on their collars and the cuffs of their sleeves. Lita knew better than to look back for one last glimpse of her father and the Mother Superior as she stepped into the tunnel. The light from Eduardo’s lantern went before her, and she hoped it was only her imagination that it shone a little weaker, with a touch of blue instead of warm gold, when it touched the blackness of the tunnel walls. "Courage," Eduardo whispered. "I swear, I will be your shield." "That is only one side protected, little brother," Emmanuel said. "Think like a warrior." "I do the best I can." Eduardo squeezed her hand. "I depend on you and your men to take up my slack." Emmanuel snorted, and Lita dared hope his smile softened and grew a little warmer. *** Eduardo fancied that time had stopped, so he, Lita, Emmanuel and the soldiers walked an endless tunnel in the blackness. He could have checked his pocket watch, but that would have meant letting go of Lita’s hand. How long had they been walking? Maybe half an hour. It felt much longer, but he counted his paces. Eventually, the tunnel stopped descending and leveled out. He counted two hundred steps before the tunnel bent gradually to the right. Moisture drove away the dusty taste and feel in the air. Eduardo grinned into the emptiness beyond the globe of lantern light. That couldn’t be an illusion, could it? Then something glimmered softly before them. Distances were impossible to estimate in the blackness. A breath of air touched his face, and that was no illusion. Was he seeing things, or did that tiny breeze make the gleaming spot

ripple? "Water." He licked his lips and made sure. Yes. The air didn’t taste quite as desiccated, didn’t smell of dry, dead stone as strongly as before. If anything, it smelled of damp stone. "Water?" Lita echoed. "Do not drink," Emmanuel said. He raised the lantern he carried and turned, to walk backwards and address his men. "The ancient records say this well is poison. It erupted from the rock to tempt those who followed the elder daughter, and keep them from capturing her when she fled for her life with her heir in her womb." Eduardo flinched at the bite in his brother’s voice. He didn’t like the way Emmanuel’s gaze flicked to Lita and then away, as if his words had special significance for her. Lita took pains not to look at his brother. Something existed between them, and he was left out. What was he missing? It amused him a little to realize he was jealous. Really, was there reason? Lita was his wife, and she hadn’t said or done anything in the weeks since Emmanuel joined them to indicate she wished she had married the elder brother. She certainly seemed to enjoy sharing his bed. Eduardo knew he was a maudlin fool, but he found a quiet joy in waking in the night to find Lita snuggled up against him. She wouldn’t be so comfortable with him in her sleep if she didn’t want to be with him. Would she? They reached the well Emmanuel had warned them about while he thought. No one paused. Eduardo wondered if anyone would ever test the water to be sure it was poisoned. For all he knew, one of his ancestors had heard about the well and created the story that it was poisoned, just to frighten anyone who managed to travel the tunnel in search of the Gates of Life. The tunnel ascended after that point, just enough to be noticed in the backs of his legs. He watched Lita, waiting for the first sign of strain or weariness, but she kept on with her steady, long-legged stride. A flash of unwarranted pride warmed him. He had nothing to do with her training, so why be proud of her success? Maybe the pride was in having any claim at all on this vibrant, strong woman. "Lanterns out," Emmanuel snapped, pitching his voice low. Darkness swallowed them all, and Eduardo muffled a shout of fury. What was his brother thinking? Before he could open his mouth, his eyes began to adjust, and he realized what prompted the order. A faint, gray glow reflected on the left hand

wall of the tunnel, nearly swallowed by the blackness. A few more steps closer, a few more seconds for his eyes to adjust, and he saw the muted, soft beams of light coming from the right hand side of the tunnel. It turned at that point, and obviously there was an opening somewhere close. Jealousy, Eduardo decided a moment later, chopped a man’s brains into tiny, useless pieces. Why hadn’t he noticed the miniscule bit of light? "We haven’t walked far enough," Emmanuel muttered. "The records say the well is exactly at the halfway point." "Then there’s either been a cave-in, or we’re about to have a family reunion," Eduardo said. A tiny snort from Lita was her only response. He squeezed her gloved hand, and she squeezed back. Emmanuel was better prepared, and most likely would make a better king, Eduardo decided, but Lita held onto his hand right now and she appreciated his attempt at humor. Stop wasting energy being jealous, he scolded himself. Worry about your marriage when she’s safely out of here. Emmanuel rapped out orders and his men obeyed instantly, walking soft-footed, sliding past Eduardo and Lita through the darkness. Eduardo tightened his grip on her hand, remembering fragments of a childhood dream where someone had been torn away from him. Rationalizing that it was nothing more than a dream didn’t change his sudden fear that she would vanish into the darkness. Even knowing his brother stood on her other side to guard her didn’t calm Eduardo’s fears. All his life, he had felt inadequate, never good enough--or evil enough, when it came to Esteban or some of the despotic things their father encouraged his three sons to do. Eduardo had convinced himself that he didn’t care, that he didn’t want to be like either of his brothers, that he didn’t want to be a hero or a gentleman. Until now. When it came to Lita, everything mattered. "Cave-in," the man in the lead announced after four soldiers had walked down the tunnel to the lighted area. They looked upwards, muttering among themselves. Eduardo watched them, waiting for a rain of bullets or something worse to fall down on them. "Cave-ins seem to be a common occurrence lately," Lita said, when their company continued down the tunnel. "Unfortunately," Emmanuel said, with a grunt of agreement. "I think it’s from all the empty places in the ground, where water should be. It’s taken centuries, but the rock is finally falling apart."

"A cave-in put the Key in Esteban’s hands," Eduardo mused. "I don’t like that kind of luck." "I read nothing in the records about how I’m to use the Key," Lita said a few moments later. No one answered, all eyes turned to the gap in the roof of the tunnel as they walked by below it. Eduardo was relieved to see signs of water erosion on the sides of the gap, and even some vines trailing down. All signs that the cave-in had happened years ago and wasn’t the result of Esteban trying to blow holes in the floor of Los Cielos until he found the long-withheld water. "You’ll laugh..." Emmanuel sighed. "I’ve come to the conclusion that the Key doesn’t actually open the Gates of Life." "Then what is it for?" Her plaintive tone, slightly disgruntled, made Eduardo laugh. He muffled the sound as best he could without either yanking his hand from hers or hitting himself in the mouth with the darkened lantern in his other hand. "One bit of gibberish--the ravings of a very old, very mad old monk--claims that the Key has the power to steal life, and only in the hands of the true heir will it be safe. When you open the Gates, you must destroy the key and ensure it is never used for death again." "So it’s even worse for us than before, that Esteban has it?" "Who knows? I would like to see the Key and study it before I can really know how it can take life away." "What about this holy magic your--that Father Miguel talks about?" Eduardo asked. "If there’s holy magic, then it stands to reason there is evil magic." "And the Key is actually evil magic, put away to restrain it?" She shook her head. "I think I’d rather do without both, thank you all the same." That earned a bark of laughter, hastily muffled, from Emmanuel. The two brothers exchanged a smile over Lita’s head. Lita stopped short and raised her free hand. The hand Eduardo was relieved to note his brother wasn’t holding. "Do you hear that?" Emmanuel rasped an order for silence and all the soldiers before and behind them halted. Eduardo thought everyone held their breaths, the tunnel became so still. He tried to look ahead, through the pools of lantern light and between the soldiers who walked ahead of them.

"Have them put out their lights," he muttered to Emmanuel. His brother looked at him, visibly considering for a moment. Then he nodded and rapped out the order. This time, their eyes adjusted more quickly to the loss of lantern light. "Who goes there?" a harsh voice snapped from the far end of the tunnel. A manshaped shadow fell across the pale light that seemed to ooze down the tunnel toward them. Eduardo stepped in front of Lita and tripped over Emmanuel, who had the same thought. He swallowed a curse and caught himself against the tunnel wall. Harsh light spilled into the tunnel, revealing the ponderous mouth of the cave at the far end, dripping with stalagmites like giant, sharp teeth. "Back," Emmanuel whispered, and snatched up Lita in his arms. Eduardo remembered hundreds of times in his childhood when he had received a toy, a treat, or found something he treasured--and Esteban stole it away, to hide or destroy. Emmanuel had always been his champion, trying to retrieve the stolen treasure before it was ruined. Now, though, he fled away into the darkness carrying Eduardo’s wife. In that moment, Eduardo understood how Esteban could smile through the worst cruelties. He wanted to draw his gun and blow his brother’s legs out from under him. Common sense and the control learned through six years of penitence overruled that hunger. He followed close behind Emmanuel and Lita, his gun drawn and ready to defend them. Emmanuel carried his wife. If his brother fell, Lita would be harmed. Gunshots rang out through the tunnel, explosive and deafening. Eduardo felt the concussion, heard the scream of bullets against stone, smelled the gunpowder and blood. How many of Emmanuel’s soldiers would die because of this ambush so close to their goal? "Can you climb?" Emmanuel huffed, and dropped Lita onto her feet just a few steps short of the gap in the roof of the tunnel. She nodded and stepped up onto a pile of rubble, reaching up to the opening and the sunlight spilling through. "Let me go first." Eduardo jammed his gun into his belt and stepped forward. "If there’s an ambush here, there could be another one just watching the hole." "Then shouldn’t I go first?" Emmanuel watched Lita reach for roots dripping down

into the hole. "You don’t want to make your bride a widow, do you?" "Men are idiots," Lita muttered, and stretched up on her toes to get a higher grip. "We need you to guard our backs. Our feet, rather," Eduardo said. He climbed up on the other side of the gap and jumped, reaching for what looked like a tree root hanging down. He missed, and in the process of falling, saw a man’s dark, bearded face looking down at him in astonishment. "Back," he grunted as he landed. His left leg tried to fold under him. "Get back." "Stay right there," a man ordered, above their heads. The unmistakable sound of rifles cocking punctuated his words. Emmanuel’s men staggered around the bend in the tunnel toward them, bringing the smell of blood, sweat, and gunpowder. Torchlight flickered behind them, and running feet, dozens of heavy boots clattering against the stone floor. "Stay where you are, or you die," the man overhead ordered. *** The hole in the tunnel roof opened into the rough yard of a guard station full of Esteban’s men. Judging by the sturdiness of their shelter and pile of supplies, they intended to stay there as long as necessary. The soldiers let down a rope ladder. Emmanuel insisted on climbing up first. The leader of the men who captured them looked like he wanted to contradict him, maybe even punish him for giving orders when they were clearly prisoners. Something in Emmanuel’s face stopped the man. Lita speculated that his resemblance to Esteban made him pause. Or maybe the man had known Emmanuel long ago and some old loyalty remained. Such speculations were useless and wasted energy and attention better spent on finding a means of escape. Lita watched Emmanuel climb, and waited for the first sign of what to expect at the top of the rope ladder. She heard no scuffle, no blows to knock Emmanuel to the ground. Nothing but silence, until he called down for her to come up. She was grateful for her leather gloves when the rough hemp tried to dig into her flesh. Lita didn’t look up until her head emerged from the hole in the rock. The thickness of rock she had to climb through was nearly the length of her body. That was some comfort, she supposed.

Emmanuel reached down to help her the rest of the way. Lita gratefully leaned into his support until she was solidly on the ground again. The guardhouse sat several yards from the opening, perhaps to avoid anyone falling into it if the rock crumbled any more. Soldiers surrounded them, rifles pointing down, but ready to be raised if anyone resisted. A few men raised eyebrows or muttered curses when they looked at her. She supposed it was a shock to realize she was female under the sturdy male clothes. Eduardo climbed up next, and it made her heart skip a beat when he looked all around, expression stern, until he found her. He put a good three feet between himself and the hole when he circled around it to come stand by her. One by one, the surviving soldiers of Emmanuel’s band climbed up. Lita fought tears, when she counted and realized they had lost four men. Were they dead or simply too injured to climb the ladder? Or had they managed to escape in the darkness and excitement? Their captors put them all in the guardhouse and barricaded the windows and the door. Lita supposed they were sending word to their commander, maybe to Esteban himself. Did anyone realize who they were? How soon could they expect to be killed, or tortured to find out what they knew? Or was she just being melodramatic, having read too many florid novels in secret, despite the Professor’s good influence? Eduardo and Emmanuel both insisted on standing, letting her have the only bench in the cramped room. There was plenty of room for both to sit with her, though it would have been close. Lita supposed some twisted sense of honor or chivalry or even rivalry made them stand. She told herself she didn’t care. "We’re not alone," Emmanuel murmured, when she opened her mouth to ask what he thought of their situation. He gestured at the barred window. Lita detected movement between the cracks in the shutters. She nodded that she understood, and settled down to be quiet and wait. Their captors didn’t provide them with food or water, but neither did they take the explorer’s supplies when they took everyone’s weapons. When their wait turned into an hour, Emmanuel whispered orders to his men. They brought out all their canteens, their packets of food, and put them on the small, rickety table to tally what they had. Lita brought out the two knives she had secreted down the side of her boots and put them on the table. Eduardo grinned and snatched up her hand to kiss it. Emmanuel looked at the knives and shook his head. "They were afraid to search you," the elder prince murmured. "Because of the legends they’ve heard, or because they know who you are?"

"Because Esteban has already put his claim on her," Eduardo growled. "He’ll cut their hands off for touching his woman, then castrate them, then cut their eyes out." "He’s grown soft in his old age," Emmanuel said, nodding. He managed a flicker of a smile for Lita, and handed one knife back to her. She nodded that she understood. No matter what happened, she had to break free. Her heart skipped a beat when Emmanuel handed the other knife to Eduardo after a long, pensive moment. Eduardo bowed to his brother and tucked the knife into his belt, hidden under his coat. "If I’m not able to end my life, you depend on Eduardo to do it for me?" she murmured. Eduardo swore under his breath. Emmanuel stood very straight and stared at her with an expression somewhere between quelling, frozen and stunned. "Princess...you are the last woman I would ever expect to need that escape of the last resort." He nodded to her, then turned to his men, effectively shutting her out of the whispered instructions. "You wouldn’t, would you?" Eduardo whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "I’ll take a dozen of them with me, if I have to go." She bared her teeth at him in what she hoped was a fierce grimace. She couldn’t manage a smile, for some reason. "Esteban won’t kill you, you know. He needs you to cement his hold on the valley." "No, I don’t know that. He has the Key. What makes him think he needs me? He can’t know all those bits of prophecy and legend." Lita fought not to shiver, as Esteban’s hungry, assessing, cold expression filled her memory. She could think of several reasons why Esteban would want to keep her alive, even if he didn’t need her to ratify his claim on the valley. What if they were all wrong, after all, and it was the Key that brought water and life back to Los Cielos, and not her? But why had the Doors of Life opened once she became pregnant, if she wasn’t integral to the whole convoluted scheme?

Chapter Sixteen Emmanuel organized his men. They moved the table to the corner of the guardhouse furthest from the door and settled in front of it, by the windows, and on either side of the door. Lita decided not to protest or ask questions when Emmanuel led her to the bench placed behind the table. He and his men believed she was valuable enough to die for. She couldn’t take that away from them by resisting. The shadows thickened in the guardhouse, meaning they had been there quite a few hours. She tried to remember where the sun had hung in the sky when they came up through the hole in the tunnel. Just a little bit after noon? Then they had been eight or nine hours in their prison. Torchlight and the sound of horseshoes ringing on stone interrupted her thoughts. Lita moved to stand, but Eduardo pressed his hand on her shoulder to keep her seated. He moved to put himself between her and the table. He also blocked her view of the door, which was probably his major concern. Voices barked orders. Torchlight grew stronger, spilling through the gaps in the walls and shutters to draw sharp-edged lines across the floor. The door banged and rattled as the bar holding it closed was removed. The soldiers all turned to Emmanuel. He drew his forefinger across his throat. "Too many," he whispered, and shook his head. Lita surmised one of their plans was to ambush whoever came to open the door. She felt a sudden weakness and realized it was relief. Then the door was flung open. The soldiers inside stepped back, away from the door. Esteban’s soldiers stepped in, four men forming a short aisle, keeping the prisoners away from the door with their bodies. Esteban appeared in the doorway, in a uniform like his men wore, wearing pistols and sword. He snapped his fingers and a lantern was thrust into the doorway. He took it and raised it high. "Little brother." He bared his teeth in a chill smile aimed at Eduardo. "Somehow, I doubt you are the girl disguised as a boy that my men reported to me." "They obviously didn’t mean me, either," Emmanuel said, and stepped into the stream of light from Esteban’s lantern. The two brothers simply stood, glaring at each other, saying nothing, and yet the air seemed to ring with some powerful clash of wills and furies. Lita was pleased to see Esteban go white. Did sweat actually gleam on his forehead? Otherwise, he didn’t react.

"I would accuse you of cowardice," he finally said, and lowered the lantern a little. "By those scars, it certainly appears you put up a fight. You can’t charm the ladies with your angelic face any longer, can you?" Then his expression sharpened, turned hot. "You sent for her. I thought she was mad, delusional, when she said she had come in response to a telegram I never sent." His mouth worked, as if he couldn’t speak the words churning inside him. "Where is she? You can’t have her." "My claim is first." "Everyone who matters believes you’re dead." Esteban rested one hand on the pistol at his hip. "What’s to stop me from making it the truth?" "You didn’t succeed the first time you tried to kill Emmanuel," Lita said. Eduardo glared at her, but he stepped away to give her an unobstructed view of all three brothers. Esteban’s eyes lit up and he smiled, and for a moment he was as handsome as his brothers. Lita had seen the coldness, the cruelty in him, heard the filthy oil of his voice, the harshness of his anger. She had looked long at the scars on Emmanuel’s face, from his brother’s attempt to kill him. And for what? The throne of a kingdom that might never return to life. Esteban could take Emmanuel’s advice and try to win her heart, her trust. He might try charm and bribery and even threats to get her to comply. Lita vowed to do everything in her power to keep Los Cielos out of his hands. He could threaten to kill both Emmanuel and Eduardo, to make her obey him, but she knew better. He would kill them once the life returned to Los Cielos. Better that she die, too, and the valley never regain its water and the prophecies remain unfulfilled. Better that, than to let Esteban rule and turn all its bright beauty and sweet wine into something bitter and poisonous. The only thing that frightened and sickened her more than the thought of her own death was knowing she would also kill her baby, only a few days after being conceived. A moment later, she realized something else with a sweet, sharp pang. She didn’t want to risk Eduardo’s life, any more than her child’s. Maybe she loved him? "Elizabelita." Esteban swept her a low, courtly bow. "I have been worried about you." "I have been quite safe and content with my companions. I was delighted to learn Prince Emmanuel did not die, as I once believed. I admire him. Anyone who strikes at my friends, I consider an enemy, to me and to Los Cielos."

"But my dear princess--" His smug little smile snapped the leashes on her temper. "I am not your princess, and I never will be." "You and I will both do our duty, to bring life back to the land cursed by our ancestors." A hint of ire burned away the triumphant gloating in his face and voice. "We are, ultimately, farmers, are we not? The vineyards of Los Cielos lie in our hands. A good farmer knows sometimes he must sacrifice plants to ensure a healthy, abundant crop. This one--" He jerked his thumb at Emmanuel, "is a weakling. He sits and thinks and considers and loses the chance when it lies in front of him. He wastes opportunities, left and right. For the good of Los Cielos, he had to be removed. Pruned from the vine, before he sucked all the life out of our inheritance." "We are not plants. We are people. Blood does not water the ground, but poisons it." She stood and braced her hands on the table. "You have cursed yourself by trying to kill your brother. Both your brothers." She glanced at Eduardo and realized instantly that was a mistake. He watched her with pride and a fierce gladness that made her hungry for his touch, his kisses. The worst thing she could do was to let Esteban know that Eduardo held her heart. "None of that matters. If you want to marry Emmanuel, that is your mistake to make. After we have opened the Gates of Life." Esteban stepped back and bowed again, gesturing for her to go out the door. This time it wasn’t courtly, but mocking. He would kill them all, she knew. Would he wait until the words of the prophecies had been played out, the future of Los Cielos assured? Or would he scorn all the warnings, everything she had just said, and slaughter them after she opened the Gates of Life? Their blood would mix with the water, there underground where it would gush forth, according to the prophecy. Their blood would poison Los Cielos and curse it forever, irrevocably. What the two sisters had done, centuries ago, was nothing compared to what Esteban could do now. Blood was life. What was it Emmanuel had said about the Key being a taker of life, rather than being integral to opening the Gates? "Where is the Key?" she said, when Esteban frowned at her refusal to move. "Key?" He blinked, pursed his lips as if in confusion, clearly trying to make her think he didn’t know what she was talking about. "We know you have the Key," Emmanuel said. "Your men found it in a cave-in, just like you found a way into the tunnel through a cave-in. Or have your men been digging holes all over the valley for the last six years?" "Just six years?" Esteban snorted. He focused all his attention on Lita as he

approached the table. Now she knew how a mouse felt, being stalked by a cat. No, not a cat--a cobra. "I’ve been working for this moment far longer than you could guess, my dear, departed brother." He held out his hand. "Come with me, Princess. This is your destiny." "Do you really think you can hold Los Cielos if you harm her?" Eduardo said. Esteban swung, striking like a snake. Eduardo was faster, ducking under the fist aimed for his face. He bared his teeth in a fierce grin and resumed his spot next to Lita. "I’m surprised. Your life of wine and whores seems to agree with you." Esteban again held out his hand. "You will not be harmed, Princess. I swear on my own life and blood." "Blood has little value to you," Emmanuel said, with the calm of a rich man discussing the stock market over brandy. "You spill so much of it." "Yours isn’t so easy to spill," he snapped, then instantly resumed his cool and turned back to Eduardo. "I’m curious. Why aren’t you a tottering wreck?" "Who told you I was?" "My man, Reynaldo." Eduardo barked once in laughter. "My man, Reynaldo. He’s been lying to you while I’ve been sober and pursuing the academic life. Did he tell you I was still a self-indulgent idiot?" "Running a whorehouse." Esteban seemed displeased when Lita didn’t react to the revelation. "Yes, Princess, your champion has been a very bad little boy." "I know of Eduardo’s past. I also know you had his daughter killed. More blood on your hands." She pointedly looked at the hand he still held out. "That hand will never touch me." "You will beg me for my favor, and soon," he whispered, with flames in his eyes. Then Esteban shook his head and laughed, switching so easily from demonic to lighthearted, it made her nauseous. "Ridiculous talk. Nothing matters but fulfilling our destiny. I honestly don’t care which of us has you when this is all over." He smirked. "Maybe all three of us should share you, eh? Since we all seem to have a claim." One of Emmanuel’s soldiers muttered a curse and stepped forward. Esteban’s

guard flung a knife, impaling the other man’s shoulder. He went down with a strangled cry. The soldiers on either side caught him. "Empty threats," Lita snapped. "Where is the Key, Esteban?" "Where it is useless." He made a cutting motion with the hand he had held out. "Enough foolishness. Come. Prove your royal blood." He snapped his fingers and his men withdrew. "You couldn’t get the Gates to open. You had the Key, and you couldn’t make it work." "There is no lock. What use is a key without a lock?" he growled. "Come. Try and fail, and then we’ll see how proud you are." Lita hesitated. She suspected Esteban intended for her to go with him, and no one else. She could be brave, she could fight, but she wasn’t so stupid as to believe he’d be a gentleman. Emmanuel stepped forward and offered her his arm to escort her. Eduardo bracketed her and did the same. She linked arms with both men, and as one person they turned to Esteban. "How charming." His mouth twisted in disgust. With three soldiers ahead of them, three soldiers behind and one on either side of Eduardo and Emmanuel, Esteban led them from the guardhouse. Sunset spilled bloody light across the scorched landscape. Esteban stalked, anger visible in the stiff, straight line of his back and his long-legged stride. Lita knew better than to be amused by his pique. He was unstable, a madman, after all these years of searching and trying to bring the valley to life without her. Serves him right for ignoring me, instead of trying to charm me into trusting him, she mused. If she had met Esteban first, if he had used his charm on her, she might have believed everything he said, and done what he asked. In time, she might have learned to think and to feel as he did, and never noticed the death of her soul. The entrance was little more than a mound of boulders and the remains of a house. Chunks of mortar and brick, roofing tiles and eroded, dressed stone were scattered among the rubble of the years. Lita speculated that at one time, a simple shelter had marked the entrance to the underground. More soldiers waited with lanterns for Esteban and his prisoners. He took two more guns from his men, then gestured for them all to step aside. "Ladies first." He bowed to Lita, mocking her. She had to fight the urge to kick his

face while it was so invitingly near her boot. The stairway carved through the rock was narrow, so she had to walk alone. Esteban didn’t offer her a lantern. She refused to look back and give him the satisfaction of seeing her hesitate. "I’ll go first," Eduardo said. "How chivalrous. But no, let her prove she is the heir." "How?" "The same way she proved herself by opening the Doors of Life," Emmanuel rumbled. He released Lita’s arm and squeezed her hand once. "I will be right behind you." He winked, offering a ghost of a smile. "If Eduardo lets me." Then he nodded, urging her to go through the gap in the rubble and down those stairs, dusty except where large boots had beaten a path. Emmanuel believed something important would happen. Why else would he have mentioned the Doors of Life, if he didn’t think so? Lita inhaled sharply at a brief pang of regret that she hadn’t gotten to know Emmanuel better. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded once, clenched her fists, and stepped forward. She walked softly, balancing on the front of her feet, ready to leap to safety if something fell on her or leaped at her from the darkness. She cringed once, cursing her overactive imagination, when it occurred to her that the cavern could contain bats. She slipped three times, each time catching herself just before she tumbled down. Once, she slammed her wrist against the wall as she reached unthinking for a banister. There was none. The second time, she twisted, sliding on a patch of something wet, hidden under the dust that dulled everything, and her shoulder slammed into the wall. The third time, she hit one step with her knee and slapped both hands against the wall to keep from sliding further down. Lita sat there until her heart stopped thundering so fast in her ears, until she could breathe without wheezing. In that quiet moment, when she honestly didn’t care what Esteban might do if she didn’t make it to the cavern, she realized it wasn’t quite so dark ahead of her. The light coming down the stairway from behind her had almost entirely been lost in shadows. Had her eyes adjusted, or was the luminescence ahead easier to see because it didn’t have to compete with the fading, bloody daylight from above? "Are you at the bottom?" Esteban’s voice was too close. Lita looked up and saw heads and shoulders blocking the daylight. No, that was torchlight. She had taken so long picking her way down the stairs, sunset had come and gone and night

cloaked the land above. "Next time, Prince Esteban, kindly provide banisters, and perhaps carpet the stairs to make it easier for your guests to descend safely." "I will keep that in mind." His voice rang out entirely too jovially. "You will remind me, won’t you?" Lita decided it was wiser not to answer. She wanted to retort that he wouldn’t be around to remind, but it occurred to her that Esteban assumed she would still be alive, to remind him. Somehow, she didn’t like that idea. If she was going to survive this adventure, this mission cast on her by destiny, she wanted to do it with Eduardo and no one else. I love him. Or something close enough that I don’t like the thought of doing without him. Lita finished descending the steps, only six more, and the luminescence seemed stronger, the further she ventured into the cavern. She saw stalagmites and stalactites, and the air was heavy with water. What kept the moisture from ascending up the long stairwell? It felt as if an invisible door blocked the dampness in the air from moving away from the cavern. Holy magic? Evil magic? In a few hours, she supposed, that would be a moot point. Lita took off her gloves and rubbed her face, wiping away the dust and exhaustion that had coated her. She tasted mold and minerals in the damp air. Her hands took on a faint gleam. She wondered if her clothes would glow softly, reflecting the luminescence, if they were anything but black. When the rest of the party came down the stairs, torchlight drove away the ghostly light. How many people had come into this cavern and waved torches around, driving away the shadows and silence, and thereby missed a quiet marvel? "Are you all right?" Eduardo asked, as soon as the first gleam of torchlight touched her and showed them where she waited. Lita shrugged and looked down at herself. Her fall had torn the knees of her trousers. Her gloves were gritty. She supposed she had a long streak down her back from hitting the wall. From the dull ache growing from her shoulder down, she would likely have a long, deep bruise. "This way." Esteban gestured with a negligent wave of his immaculately gloved hand. Lita wondered if he had fallen against others when he fell, or perhaps demons helped steady him, so he didn’t damage or dirty his clothes.

Again, she had to go first, down a passageway perhaps ten feet long, low enough she had to bow her head to avoid scraping the top against the ceiling. Eduardo and Emmanuel followed, with Esteban right behind them, and a handful of his men following, with torches. Lita wondered what previous explorers had seen, that they wanted her to face it first. Then she felt that tingling sensation that she had felt when she faced the Doors of Life. Was it just that morning? She stepped into a room much like the one under the Black Monks’ sanctuary. Coincidence, or deliberate? She shook her head and scolded herself to consider such questions later, when her life wasn’t at stake. The luminescence was here, strong enough to see the source. Streaks of something ghostly blue and ivory gleamed softly on the walls and arched ceiling. It had to be lichen or mold of some kind. She had read of plankton and other sea creatures that had a light of their own. Perhaps there were cave-dwelling, microscopic animals, also? She shivered once when she realized the glow did not cover all the walls. Lita crossed the room before she realized it, and rested her hands on the bar of a door exactly like the one she had opened this morning. The luminescence didn’t touch the door. The stone felt warm, vibrating softly under her fingertips. She saw streaks of soft, muted sparks moving along the bar, much like it had done on its twin earlier that day. "It knows I’m here," she murmured. "Does it indeed?" Esteban said. His boots cracked against the stone floor as he strode into the room. "What do you see? How do you know this?" She gaped at him a long moment, and wisely kept silent. Whatever she said, it would irritate him. Lita glanced at Eduardo, questioning. He nodded. He saw the ghostlight moving along the bar. Why couldn’t Esteban see the light? Esteban, Eduardo and Emmanuel had the same father. So why didn’t Esteban see what she and Eduardo saw? "Emmanuel?" She looked at him, praying silently that he would see the flickers of light that streaked up and down the bar, coming close enough to touch her fingertips, then retreating. "I see nothing, Princess." He gave her a short bow of the shoulders. "What are you talking about?" Esteban snapped. "Magic." Lita’s lips curled up despite the shivering sensation crawling up her spine.

"Bah! There is no such thing. There is only power and those strong enough to use it." He strode up to the bar and rested his hands on the top surface. The lights flared bright, snapping audibly. Lita saw all three princes flinch. Esteban jerked his hands away. He stared at the bar. She counted her heartbeats until he moved again. Six beats. "That has never done that before," he murmured. He looked at her, looked at the bar holding the door closed, then back to her. "Lift it." Lita wrapped her hands around the bottom surface of the bar and pulled as hard as she could, straining until sweat started to bead on her forehead. The bar wouldn’t budge. "Well, isn’t that interesting?" Esteban seemed almost pleased that it wouldn’t budge. Lita stepped back and tugged off her gloves to wipe her face. She speculated sourly that her captor wanted an excuse to punish her. "You came through the Doors of Life," he continued, frowning at the door that was all one solid block of stone. "Knowing my dear older brother as I do, you scrupulously kept to every rule and instruction in all the prophecies and visions collected in the last two hundred years. You wouldn’t start your quest for the Gates of Life until you had opened the Doors of Life. So how did you open that door?" Lita opened her mouth to say that everything was exactly the same as it had been that morning. Then she realized that was a lie. Eduardo had helped her lift the bar. "What did you do differently?" he said, turning from the door to stare at her. Lita could have sworn she saw pinpricks of fire in his eyes. Was he a madman, or so utterly evil that there was no difference? "Tell me!" He raised his hand, poised to slap her. "We did it together," Eduardo said. He crossed the room, escaping Esteban’s men. One actually reached for him and missed grabbing hold of his coat. "It takes the two of us." "Why?" Esteban shook his head and waved the question away. "Never mind. Just do it." Eduardo stepped up next to Lita and nodded to her. He took a deep breath, bent his knees a little, pressed his hands flat against the underside of the bar, then looked to her. She nodded. He silently counted down from three. When his lips formed ‘one,’ Lita pushed. Eduardo pushed.

The low, gritty scraping of the bar moving filled the chamber. Through the rasp of stone moving against stone, Lita heard the clatter of boots as men stumbled backwards, away from the door. She muffled a burst of slightly hysterical laughter and kept pushing. The bar pivoted, and Eduardo moved over closer to her as the side he lifted went up over their heads. The grinding of stone over stone slowed and stopped as the bar passed beyond the dividing line of the two panels of the door. Unlike the other doors, these swung open, silently, and the scent of damp stone and fresh water gushed into the chamber where they stood. Lita stepped back, expecting something to come at her with the damp, heavy air. Esteban strolled up to the threshold and stopped with the toes of his boots just touching the line of dust that marked where the doors had stood closed for so long. Eduardo took a step closer to his brother, putting himself between Esteban and Lita. "Why is it that the Princess needs your help, I wonder?" He looked Eduardo up and down for several seconds. Then, instead of the vicious scowl Lita expected, his eyes lit up and a bark of laughter escaped him. "You don’t have any idea, do you?" "I doubt you do, either," Lita snapped. If not for the men standing with their guns pointed at her, Eduardo and Emmanuel, she would have slapped Esteban. That urge surprised her, because she despised women who resorted to slapping. At this moment, she understood why it was so effective and satisfying. "Tell me, dear Emmanuel, how does it feel to know your wife has been sleeping with your brother?" Esteban sneered. "I have no wife," Emmanuel said. He stepped up next to Lita and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You don’t know what you’re talking about." "On the contrary, I know quite a bit more than all your allies put together. Could it be that I have access to knowledge you passed by?" Esteban shook his head, eyes sparkling with vicious amusement. "Tell me, Princess, when did you decide to break your promises and take a lover? On the ocean voyage? Camping in the mountains with my brother? Perhaps it rained and you slept too close together? Who seduced whom, eh?" "What makes you think I broke my promises?" She tried to keep her tone cool, to show nothing but disdain on her face, but panic made Lita’s heart race. Esteban knew she was pregnant and Eduardo was the father. That was the only reason why she needed his help to raise the bars on both doors. The existence of their child in her womb bound them together. He was affected by the holy magic, by the

laws of the prophecy, just as much as she was. What would Esteban do, now that he knew? "You must bear life in your body. You must carry your heir with you when you come to open the doors. I thought it was all foolish talk, faerie tales, wishful thinking. Something your ancestors devised to discourage my ancestors. But the Key doesn’t work. I worked to open this door for weeks, and nothing happened. Until you stepped into the room. Pregnant with Eduardo’s child." He took a step back and raised a hand. Two soldiers stepped forward, pointing their rifles at Eduardo. "Tell me why I shouldn’t kill your lover, Princess?" "For the same reason she couldn’t lift the bar without his help," Emmanuel said. "They can only do it together. Kill Eduardo, she won’t be able to do it." "Not while she has his child in her womb, no. And if I force a miscarriage, well, there’s no guarantee she’d ever have another child." Eduardo had been standing still, his eyes glazed as he listened and visibly digested their words and argument. Then as Esteban snarled his last words, Eduardo roared and leaped at his brother. The men with their rifles flinched at the sound that seemed to bounce off a thousand surfaces and multiply with all the echoes. By the time they got their wits together to focus their rifles at Eduardo, he had Esteban on the ground, his hands around his older brother’s neck. Esteban lay perfectly still, watching his brother with icy eyes. Eduardo sat on his chest, just as still, but for his chest moving like a bellows. The tableaux held for perhaps five seconds, then Esteban’s men dove at him and pulled him off his brother’s chest. As he was hauled to his feet, Eduardo turned and met Lita’s gaze. Pleading. Stunned. Maybe even a little angry. Lita had to look away. She didn’t want to see his expression shift to disgust. "I should thank you, little brother," Esteban said, his voice dry. He got to his feet and tugged his clothes straight. For a moment, Lita expected to see Esteban beat her husband while he was helpless. Strange how hearing someone else say what she had just discovered for herself made it so much more real. She was married to Eduardo and he had fathered a child on her. She was pregnant. "Yes, I should thank you. I heartily dislike having to break in virgins. Always so squeamish and fluttery." He glanced sideways at Lita, then back to Eduardo. "Is she any good?" Emmanuel slapped him, hard, the sound of open palm connecting with flesh a sharp whip-crack. "A gentleman never speaks of such things, when the lady is

present in the room. Especially when that lady is his wife." "Wife." Esteban nodded. "Of course. The honorable virgin princess and the scholar. How poetic." He stalked away a few steps, then turned to glare at them. "I suppose you think you’re safe? You think I can’t kill you, because she can’t do it without you?" "We’re all just pawns of destiny," Eduardo said. "I don’t think that anything we try to do or not do much matters. Go ahead and try to kill me. It won’t make any difference." Wrong, Lita silently cried. It will make a world of difference to me. She shivered, imagining Eduardo’s blood spilled in this damp, dark place, his bones lying here in the darkness for eternity. It would be sacrilege of the worst sort, to mix death with the waters that would give life back to Los Cielos. Something went very still inside her, as if a part of her sat up and listened very intently. Enough sacrilege, she wondered, to break down walls of magic and let the water gush out of its prison? The water had been stolen, imprisoned, because of the treachery of one sister against another. Perhaps the walls holding it back could be broken by the treachery of one brother against another? Or a willing sacrifice? "We are wasting time," she said, and stepped forward, over the line into the glistening black tunnel that opened before them. "You need me, Esteban, no matter how much you would prefer not to. Yes, I believe I am pregnant, as you guessed. Because the magic or the curse or what have you, the thing that holds back the water of Los Cielos requires new life as the key, to open the doors." She didn’t dare look at Eduardo as she spoke. She didn’t want to see the pain she might cause him. How did he feel, knowing they had married just so she could conceive a child? Yes, she had been used, manipulated by destiny and the prophecies, just as much as he had been. At least she had an idea of what was going on, what would be required of them. He had been kept ignorant of a few key details. Such as the child in her belly. Lita remembered the night he found her crying because she wasn’t pregnant, and how touched and pleased he had been that she wanted to carry his child. Would he remember that moment and see it differently now? "Let us finish this matter." She gestured into the darkness. Her voice bounced back to her from a thousand surfaces, shimmering like candlelight shimmered on dozens of mirrors. Or dozens of pools of water.

Lita took one step to go back into the chamber to fetch a lantern, but something seemed to hold her back, an invisible net, as soft and fine as Ermengarde’s hair nets, but as strong as iron. She had stepped over the line into the chamber, and she wouldn’t be allowed to leave until the magic’s requirements had been satisfied. Lita wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she knew it just the same. There was no turning back, only going forward from this point. "Yes, let us finish it." Esteban gestured, an imperious wave that brought his men forward, rifles raised and ready to shoot anything that might swoop down from the glistening darkness around them. He stepped over the line and bowed, a courtly gesture made evil by the hints of flames in his eyes. He didn’t offer his arm so much as snatch at Lita’s and tuck it against his side. The men holding Eduardo came next, marching him along between them. Then came Emmanuel, his face calm, as if this were a particularly boring walk he took for his health. Then came the rest of the soldiers. Lita noted that the light from the torches didn’t penetrate the darkness until the first man carrying a torch actually stepped across the threshold. Then lights danced and shimmered and gleamed softly off glistening black velvet and midnight diamonds. The air felt heavy with cool, refreshing damp on her skin and tasted sweet in her mouth, moving like wine in her blood with every breath she took. "The birthplace of life," Esteban murmured. "Soon, very soon, this life will fill Los Cielos." He nodded sharply and yanked on her arm, making her stumble and fall against him. "My valley, my vineyards." Lita bit her tongue against retorting, and regained her balance. She didn’t move away, though it made her shiver to lean against him. Her hip pressed against something hard hidden inside the pocket of his coat. She lingered as long as she could, trying to comprehend the shape of the thing, trying to understand the tingle of energy, much like the humming, buzzing sensation in her fingers when she had touched the bar of the door. Could it be the Key? Esteban took a step and she regained her balance and walked along with him, to avoid being dragged. The air thickened, until moisture collected on her face and weighed down her clothes. Lita sighed, weary laughter, at the thought of how burdened she would be if she wore her layers of skirts and petticoats. She was very glad Ermengarde had raised her to be sensible rather than worry about fashion. Every step they took brought an increase in light. Soft at first, so she nearly

blamed the illumination on the lanterns. Then, after about ten steps, she realized the light came from elsewhere. It shimmered and moved with a swaying rhythm, like light bouncing off ripples in a fountain. The tunnel turned, taking them upward in a gradual corkscrew, the light became stronger, and the sound of running water came to them. Lita held her breath, sure she had guessed right. There was a fountain ahead of them. Then she felt the vibrations through her boots, the gradually increasing rumble of a geyser such as she and the Professor had seen in the American West. Two more steps took them around the final turn and the light spilled out to encompass them, liquid and soft. Rock arched high over their heads in a dome, pierced in dozens of places so sunlight came through. It fell in pillars filled with fine dust that came through the holes in the rock, so they seemed like solid gold. The light fell on a vast cauldron of churning water, with a thick pillar of water gushing up constantly in the center, maybe eighty feet high. Fine mist filled the air. Lita blinked her eyes against the droplets forming on her lashes and laughed at the energy that drenched her. "Have we walked all night?" Esteban growled. He released her arm with an impatient shrug and reached into his pocket to draw out a gold pocket watch. He pressed the stud and the cover snapped open. He held it up to his ear, then shook it. "It’s stopped!" "Magic," Lita whispered. Esteban backhanded her. She went down to her knees, too stunned to even cry out. Eduardo shrugged off the soldiers holding his arms and lunged at Esteban. He got his brother to the ground and had his hands around his throat before the soldiers could pull him off again. In the struggle, something hard clattered to the ground. Lita edged her way across the ground, feeling with her foot, praying no one saw what she was doing. If she was right...well, she wasn’t quite sure what would happen. "What’s to stop me from having you killed right now?" Esteban snarled. He struggled to his feet and tugged his collar straight. "You need Lita." Eduardo didn’t look at her. "Oh? And you think that the new young bride is so infatuated with you, she’ll refuse to work with me if I kill you?" He spat to show his contempt. "I think that just like the magic links us so it takes both of us to open the doors, the magic still requires both of us to release these waters." He gestured behind

himself at the cauldron of water. "I think it links us deeply enough that if I die, she dies. And I don’t think you’re such a madman that you’d risk losing her." "A madman, am I?" Lita’s foot encountered something hard and heavy, as long as her foot, that scraped slightly when she nudged it with her toe. She put her foot on it, in case someone turned to look. No one reacted, all too intent on the standoff between Esteban and Eduardo. No one but Emmanuel. He gave Lita little sideways glances, never turning his head, never drawing attention to her. One corner of his mouth quirked up when their gazes met, and he nodded slightly. Esteban muttered a string of obscenities and stalked to the edge of the cauldron to look down into the bubbling waters. He went down on one knee and reached a hand out, then hesitated. He gestured one of his men over. That soldier knelt and dipped his hand into the water. "Cold, Majesty." Lita rolled her eyes in exasperation. She could have told them it was cold, just from the feel of the air. She saw her chance, while everyone watched Esteban, and bent quickly to retrieve the item under her foot. It was a key of golden stone. It buzzed through her gloves, more felt than heard. With every heartbeat that passed, the buzz grew stronger, until it vibrated in her teeth. Light spilled from the key, growing around it like a corona around a star. "What are you doing? How did you get that?" Esteban swore and raced across the chamber, reaching out a hand to take the key. Light exploded from the key, forming a globe around Lita. Esteban hit it and bounced off, falling backwards to land on his bottom. Eduardo laughed, the sound sharp and fierce. The vibration became audible, a rising shriek, as if the stone itself screamed. The key shifted under her hands, shuddering, hot and tingling. Lita jerked and tried to drop the key, but her hands were frozen together around it. Then the stone turned to sand, bursting out through her fingers, spilling to the ground. Where there had been a key longer than her hand, Lita now held a thin, gleaming silver blade with a handle of ebony set with rubies. The gold knob at the end of the haft was carved to resemble the flower of the Queen’s Crown. "Lita!" Eduardo shouted, echoed by Emmanuel. She looked up and realized the light surrounding her had vanished. Esteban lunged at her. Before she could blink, he snatched the knife from her hand and punched her in the gut with his other fist. She went down, gasping, to her knees.

Eduardo leaped on Esteban, grappling for the knife. Emmanuel dropped to his knees and put his arms around Lita. Light sprang up from the knife when Eduardo got one hand on it. He shouted, the odd halo effect vanished, and he staggered back with blood dripping from his hand. "Kill him!" Esteban shrieked, and chopped downward with his free hand.

Chapter Seventeen Rifles spat. Eduardo jerked backwards. The copper smell of blood fought with the sulfur stink of gunpowder. Lita screamed and shook herself free of Emmanuel to race to Eduardo. She caught him before his knees started to fold and held him up in an embrace, as if they danced. The heat and warmth of his blood soaked into her clothes. "I’m sorry, Princess," he choked out, before the first shudder of pain wracked him. He staggered backwards. Rock shrieked and rumbled. Emmanuel shouted and lunged at them, to slam them both to the ground under him. A single small piece of rock fell from the vaulted ceiling. Lita lay half-buried under both brothers, breathless, and watched in a daze as the piece of rock seemed to take forever to fall. It grew as it fell, until it was the size of a grown man’s body, and slammed into the edge of the cauldron with enough force to smash it into dozens of pieces. The reverberation caused more chunks to fall from the ceiling. "Sacrilege." Emmanuel grunted and rolled off them and reached to help Eduardo sit up. "Blood has been spilled, brother against brother. Move!" He dragged Eduardo after him, aiming for the mouth of the tunnel, as more pieces of the ceiling rained down around them. Esteban’s men screamed and swore and dodged, also aiming for the tunnel mouth and solid walls around them. Three men fell under chunks of stone twice their size. Lita shuddered at the image in her mind of some invisible hand aiming the stones at those men. Esteban stood rooted in place, arms raised to the ceiling and screaming obscenities, cursing, commanding the stones to stop falling around him. He waved the knife with Eduardo’s blood on it, and for a moment, it seemed to hold some power to protect him. The rubble fell around him, but never on him. He ignored his fleeing men. Lita and Emmanuel dragged Eduardo between them, dodging falling rock, aiming for the tunnel mouth, constantly turned back by near misses. It would have been amusing, but for the growing pallor of Eduardo’s face, as each heartbeat spilled more of his blood out of his body. The tunnel mouth collapsed, with two men inside it. Lita shuddered as their screams reverberated, loud enough to compete with the rumble and crash of rock falling all around them. "The water!" Emmanuel shouted, and swung around so quickly Lita nearly went off both feet for two heartbeats. She barely had time to understand what he intended,

just enough time to fill her lungs with air, before they plunged into the cauldron. A giant hand snatched at them and pulled them down. She held onto Eduardo, and Emmanuel held onto him. There was no use in trying to swim as the current pulled them down, spiraling like some underwater tornado. All she could do was hold onto Eduardo and hold her breath and pray. Then suddenly she was falling through air. Emmanuel shouted. She nearly lost her grip on Eduardo and screamed. They landed hard, splashing. Hard rock slammed against her ribs, knocking the breath out of her. Lita lay still, only aware of the ache through her entire body, Eduardo’s arm still clutched tight in both her hands, and the impossibility of getting her breath. She struggled, hearing her heart beat louder with the effort and terror. Something seemed to snap in her chest, and suddenly her ribs moved, her chest expanded and breath rushed into her paralyzed lungs. A moment later, she rolled over onto her hands and knees, gagging and coughing up water. "Lita?" Emmanuel’s hand shook and felt clammy cold when he grasped her hand. She looked down, and by moonlight saw that her sleeve, in fact all her clothes, were tatters. Barely enough for decency, held on with the water that slicked the cloth to her body. "I’m all right." She raised her gaze with an effort to look at him. All her childhood adoration and affection for Emmanuel came rushing back. "I knew you would save me. My prince. My knight in shining armor." A tiny, breathy giggle bubbled from her lips, making her chest throb raw from the water she had inhaled. Was this what happened when someone was in shock? It was an unusual sensation. "Eduardo?" he asked. That one word shredded the hazy euphoria, wrapping her with cold and doubling the pains wracking her body. Lita moaned and scrambled around on her knees until she found Eduardo. Exactly where she had left him, lying too still, too pale. Between them, she and Emmanuel got him up onto his knees and then bent him over so his forehead touched the ground. They pounded his back, trying to bring up the water he had inhaled. Lita punched him in the juncture of his ribs, trying to force him to cough. He was too wet and cold for her to find any blood. Had he bled dry in that short time they were underwater? That was an irony, she knew. She refused to accept the idea that Eduardo could be dead. "Please," she whispered. Anger sliced through her. "Eduardo, you are not leaving me to raise our baby by myself! Do you hear me?" She clenched her fist to hit him again, when a trickle of water ran out of his mouth. The next instant, he reared up, clutching at his throat, coughing and gagging and choking up more water.

Tears filled her eyes, mixing with the water already drenching her. Lita flung her arms around him and Eduardo clung to her, shuddering. *** "Magic." Eduardo laughed raggedly, his chest still aching from all the water he had inhaled. "It’s the only explanation." He referred to the lack of bullet holes in his chest, but that explanation covered many other inexplicable things the three of them had discovered while waiting for daylight to return, so they could determine where they were in the valley and find their way to safety. Emmanuel’s pocket watch worked, and indicated they had been underground five hours. The cavern that held the cauldron of water had collapsed entirely, and the geyser of water had shot up in the air high enough to throw the three of them clear. It continued to gush, filling the cavern, so that by the time the first pearly cold gleam before dawn touched the horizon, it overflowed the cavern entirely and began running across the landscape. The three of them stood on a high ridge, watching the water run across Los Cielos in every direction. Eduardo hazarded a guess they stood in the exact center of the valley, the highest point, where the queen’s castle once stood and looked out over all the vineyards worked by her people. Appropriate, he mused, that the water of life should flow from the heart of the kingdom. If he had any say in it, no more castles would be built here. The water would flow freely, and everyone would have access to it. "Magic," Lita agreed with a sigh. She shrugged his coat a little closer around her and slid her hand into his. "Eduardo...I have something important to tell you. Ordinarily, I would wait to be sure, but...well...today has been rather...unusual." "That, my dear princess, is an understatement," Emmanuel said. He gestured at a large, relatively flat chunk of rock a dozen steps behind them. "You two sit here while I scout around." A bemused look touched his face. "I think you need to have a long talk." When they didn’t move right away, he grasped their shoulders and turned them and gave them a shove toward the rocks. He didn’t leave until they were seated. Eduardo kept his hold on Lita’s hand. He knew in that moment he didn’t ever want to let go of her. "What do you want to tell me?" he said, after Emmanuel marched out of sight. He could guess, and his heart squeezed in pained affection for her. How like Lita, to feel the need to formally tell him she was pregnant. He just wished she had told

him earlier that a child in her womb was required to awaken the magic and open the doors. That was the true key, not the stone key that hid the knife. "You warned me--no, you practically ordered me not to love you. If we’re going to have a life together, you should know that I don’t take orders very well. We’ll get along much better if you simply ask me to do something." She shifted her hold on his hand so their bare fingers interlaced. Eduardo liked the sensation of her smooth flesh against his. "Then if I had asked you politely not to love me--" "I would have laughed in your face, and most likely given you a black eye." "So..." He grinned, delighted at how her eyes shifted away shyly, despite the bravado in her words. "Does that mean you love me?" "You should be warned, I’m a stubborn, willful girl. You’re the man I want, yes, the man I love, and I’m going to do whatever I can to make you love me someday." "Too late." He laughed when she froze and her eyes widened. Eduardo caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head up. "I don’t know when it happened, Princess, but you stole my heart long ago. I think it’s in much better hands now than when I had control of it, so if you don’t mind--" "Eduardo, please shut up and kiss me." They were still kissing when Emmanuel returned, leading a dozen men on horseback with supplies and clothes and weapons.

Epilogue: Eduardo stood on the platform looking over the winepress filled calf-deep with the first grapes of the harvest. He held six-year-old Florinda, perched on his shoulder. The barefoot little girl giggled and drummed her heels against his chest and held onto his hair. As if her doting papa would ever let her fall. A cheer rang out from the hundreds of people filling the vast courtyard and surrounding the winepress. Lita emerged from the stone manor house, riding in a sedan chair carried by eight young women, all betrothed, all her attendants for the harvest festival to gain a blessing on their future marriages. The ancient traditions of Los Cielos were gladly followed here. Lita was seven months pregnant, barefoot, wearing a deep purple smock and crowned with a wreath of Queen’s Crown. It was the only crown she would let their people put on her head. She laughed with her attendants and called out greetings to all the people who crowded around to see her take the ceremonial ride to the winepress. The queen always treaded the first grapes, to ensure a bountiful harvest and sweet wine. The fact that she was pregnant with her third child delighted the people, who had carefully preserved the lore and legends of their parents and believed that the ancient traditions were the best. Eduardo lifted Florinda high off his shoulders, so her mother could see her. The little girl laughed and waved and begged yet again to be allowed to tread the grapes with her mother. "Not yet, my darling," Lita called. "You must stay with Papa and keep him company. Can you do that?" "Yes, nina, you must keep Papa out of trouble," Emmanuel said, stepping up to join them. Eduardo laughed and fought to muffle the sound. Florinda took her duty of taking care of her papa very seriously. So seriously, she didn’t demand to ride on Tio Emmanuel’s shoulders, so she could dig in his pockets for the barley sugar candy he always carried, just for her. Eduardo settled her back on his shoulder and tried not to wince when she grabbed an extra-deep handful of hair. He held his breath as the young women set the sedan chair down next to the winepress. Eduardo didn’t release that breath until Lita had safely walked down into the winepress and took the first ceremonial step. He had suffered nightmares of her falling among the pulp and juice. Lita looked up at him and wrinkled up her nose, mocking him for his fears. She lifted the hem of her smock, revealing her knees, making the old grandfathers roar and the young girls blush. Slowly, she

walked around the perimeter of the winepress, treading the grapes, seven times, before her attendants climbed in to join her and share the blessing. Sitting on a platform where he could see the ceremony, Father Miguel made the sign of the cross and chanted blessings in Latin, and held three-year-old Miguelito safe on his lap. Grandfather and grandson were nearly inseparable, which was a relief, because Florinda was more than enough for Eduardo to handle right now. Eduardo had long ago stopped questioning what was mere tradition and what bordered on magic. This was their life, the way they did things, and it was good. They were little more than peasants themselves. Only foreign visitors referred to them as king and queen. Their people referred to them as Lord and Lady, and that only occasionally. They were simply Lita and Eduardo, the vineyard owners, friends and benefactors to the people in the valley kingdom of Los Cielos. Eduardo watched Lita walk to the steps out of the winepress, now that her part of the ceremony had ended. She turned to look up at him and laughed, love and exuberance shining bright in her eyes. This was their life, and it was good. ~The End~ To learn about other books Awe-Struck publishes, go to the Awe-Struck E-Books website at http://www.awe-struck.net/