Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Interlude: Gratia et Justitia

Always the adventurer, in contrast to his father, Mama glances first at the drab, mortar walls, the meager furniture of a single table and five chairs—one with a mishappen leg—the cracks of the dried wood gleaming under the sunlight streaming from a large hole overhead... before she finally meets Señora Posadas' uneasy smile.

"Doña." Carmen dips to a shaky curtsy; she is an amiable woman, with no hint of mischief in her tired eyes. She is even fooled by his simple camiso, not recognizing who Anton is until Mama glances at him. The poor peasant woman gapes. "Ay... you..."

"Sí," Señora Facundo says with a curt nod. "This is the new Conde de Sevilla, Don Antonio."

"Ant—oh," Carmen softly says, joy flashing in her eyes as she briefly glances to her own tinier Antonio, before she drops to an even deeper bow. "Buenos días, Don Antonio. It is an honor—" She smiles. "To have you in my... erm... home." Carmen wearily glances at what she calls her home; a stone dwelling stripped down to its bones. "Perdoname. We have no sumptuous meal to welcome your excellencies. We do have water!"

"Oh, it's alright," Anton immediately says, waving his hands to stop her. "We shan't be long anyway."

Carmen twiddles with her apron and glances at them all. "Wh-what can I do for you, Señor?"

Anton glances away to think, but Mama holds up a fan to stop him and Facundo both. The children sink by the stool, eyeing their mother... afraid for her and their secret, no doubt.

"Let us not begin with that, shall we?" The Doña walks over to the table and sits down. "We have come to visit, and happened upon your family."

Anton raises a brow, especially when Carmen hastily nods to that, barely hiding a sniffle. "Sí, Señora?"

Mama smiles briefly and wraps her shawl tighter. "I am certain you have been worried for your two angels," she says, to which Carmen stares at her wide-eyed, "my son found them in the grove."

Carmen presses a hand over her heart and looks on to her children. "In the grove? In this heat?!" And she finally realizes what the basket contains. "Dios mi—"

But the woman cannot continue that, for a cough takes her breath away, rattling her frail form. Before Anton can even leap to help, his tiny namesake has scooped a ladle into a barrel of cool freshwater and dashes back to their mother.

Mama and Anton share a glance, and she barely raises a finger to tell him to leave it to her. He presses his lips together, brows furled.

Ana has taken to rubbing her mother's shoulders, but Carmen keeps her eyes closed. "Forgive me, Don. Doña... this has never left me, but I shall be well." She tries to smile, to assure them, even with tiny tears in her eyes. "Wha-what is..." And turns to her children. "What did you do?"

Ana hangs her head and refuses.

Carmen wipes her face with a trembling hand. "Por Dios, Anita."

"You... are alone?" Mama tries to ask, glancing about them again, probably seeking the beds—which is nothing but a sackcloth on the floor and a wooden pallet outfitted with worn blankets, where two makeshift pillows rest. Anton scowls and lowers his eyes. In his palace, such are mere garbage, not even worthy to be the servants' foot rug.