Winds of Fate [Books IV-VI]

Interlude: Winds of Fate (Part One)

"Buenos días!" The young Conde's voice echoes in the cavernous golden hall, where aside from the mere hush the warm sunlight from the open city beyond the gilded glass gallery windows fill the space. "Señores, Señor Fraile." Reserved for the family's intimate dinners, Anton Del Santo now uses it for timely, yet odd reason. He beams at his honored guests. "Mi querida madre."

At the other end of the table, Doña Margareta flicks her fan open and smiles.

"Sí. Bueno." Anton takes courage in that and continues, "I've gathered everyone for a very important discussion about the estate's plans for the ongoing dry spell, the Semana Santa... and—"

He swallows.

Mama glances at her companions.

"And the family's... our future... bueno." He hastily smiles at a beaming and proud Señor Castelo—Papa's auditor— and Señor Facundo, who curtly nods in turn. Beside the trusted caretaker, is the scraggly, droopy-eyed Fraile de Salas, with his tired and exhausted gaze and perpetually clasped hands, a golden chain with a cross forever looped between his fingers.

Anton slowly looks away. De Salas is the Archdiocese's right-hand man, who ensures the nobility knows their place in the shadow of the Savior's great power in faithful Sevilla.

Give to Caesar, what is unto Caesar... the young Conde comforts himself with words from the Holy Book as he dispenses copies of the report compiled from his past efforts. "The Crown of Seville has always been indebted to your support, señores," Anton begins, not exactly meeting their eyes, "unfortunately, recent troubles have strained our resources. The Guadalquivir is silting. Our farmlands are suffering from the drought. Madrid is also in dire need of money, and I am afraid..."

Fraile de Salas raises his thin gray brows, and Señor Facundo closes his eyes. Señor Castelo, however, having seen the report himself prior meets Anton's eyes and nods solemnly.

"I'm..." Anton takes a deep breath. "Cadíz will be the Empire's new asset. We would be left on our own, for the time being."

Fraile de Salas, being the only one equal in respect—perhaps even more—to the members of the noble family in this room, clears his throat. "Is that... a definite outcome, mas ilustre señor?"

Anton looks down at the table. "Quite, Fraile." He releases his long-held breath and procures a letter. "This is a notice I received earlier this week. The rumors swirling in court is true, after all."

And he slips the paper to the gentlemen.

Doña Margareta remains stiffly sitting at the other end, eyeing the letter as it passes Facundo's hands and into the Fraile's.

Meanwhile, Señor Castelo adjusts his spectacles, briefly scratching his scalp under the damned white, heavy wig all auditors are required to wear. "The Crown isn't willing," he explains, "Sevilla is becoming a liability, with each passing year. Our trajections—" He looks onto Anton for approval, which the Conde grants immediately. "Our trajections, that is, the auditors, we opine that the King would be advised to invest heavily in Cadíz, for immediate returns."

Doña Margareta's eyes widen. "That's why all those new roads... highways they are building in Huelva, Cadiz!" She gasps, before scoffing, "And did they ever think of the journey those poor horses must endure, to ride wagons full of cargo all across the Valley?!"

Señor Castelo raises a finger, but decides against it.

"But they cannot move La Casa," Señor Facundo breathes out. "What about Triana?" He frowns. "What about the marineros in Seville and Triana? Triana even more!"