Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 172.3: Our Fates Intertwined

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The Past
El Palacio del Conde de Sevilla
Sevilla, Andalucia
Corona de Castile, España

Don Pedro takes a deep breath as his carriage nears the grand palace. He wearily meets Alcaunex' watchful eyes, vibrant green in the meager moonlight, thoroughly drowning her radiant yellow gown that they bought two days ago. He weakly smiles at her and turns to little Guacabo who is the one sitting beside him, and has bowed his head, peering carefully at the window. They have combed back his wild curls... dressed him in a fine suit that only made the poor boy itch. Pedro resists the urge to sigh. Just one night, he promised them, which meant he needs to find the Conde and accomplish their goal.

But to find the Conde, during a grand feast, and petitioning him so brazenly, Pedro might as well have led himself to hung in the town square. He briefly thinks of stowing away the fugitives for another trip, down, to Cadiz, or up to Barcelona, in Catalunya, just to keep them away from the conquistadores. They are sick. He chastises himself. Even more than that.

What little influence he has as hereditary knight, is in Sevilla.

"Ho!" Their rider, Señor Simon, calls and the carriage jerks to stop. Pedro nods although no one speaks, and he holds both of their hands... His throat tightening once he feels his old mother's wedding ring on Alcaunex' finger. "Ana Caterina," Pedro calls to remind her, and Alcaunex gently nods. "Gabriel."

Guacabo presses his lips tight and looks on to her cousin.

Alcaunex kisses his cheek. "You do not have to speak, cousin," she promises, but Guacabo's eyes still water. "And that will be your name only outside. Just for tonight."

The little boy then agrees and clutches her skirt. Don Pedro nods at them and gently presses the child's tiny shoulder. Just then, the Conde's guards come forward and open the carriage. They remember Pedro, or rather the noble coat of arms on his breast, cloak, and his golden ring. They address him as "Don Vera Cruz" and asks him of his companions. Pedro steps out and holds his hand.

Alcaunex obeys and alights easily. Quickly, she turns and opens her arms to her cousin, and Guacabo jumps, making her almost fall. Pedro steadies her. "My betrothed, Doña Ana Caterina," he says, holding his breath, "and her cousin, Don Gabriel."

The guards take a good, long look at her. Before them, the Palacio's grand, ancient doors—as tall as eight men standing atop each other's shoulders—are wide open to give a glimpse of a vast inner courtyard brimming with flowers and alit by a hundred candles that every golden baluster, every shining glass crystal and window, every brass hinge and handle, glimmers with the guests' twinkling gowns and suits. Alcaunex stares with wonder. For the books and the Spaniard sailors' tales fall short of the opulence of Spain, and bitterly, she remembers Padre Bernardino's golden Bible...

And the gold from Habana's caves and mountains.

But the golden light also shone against her and Guacabo's skin, their odd features. The guards both look at each other. She vainly reaches for her hip, for a blade, only to remember she left it under her bed. A strong hand holds her own. "Do you have a problem?" Pedro says, his voice dark, one he uses only when he wants to be obeyed. "Why are you looking at us like that? She is my betrothed, did you not hear me?"

The guard nearest him raises a brow and makes a disapproving grimace. "Noble Don," he just says, "Forgive us. The Conde welcomes you and your family warmly to his home."

"Sí. Muchas gracias." By now, a line had formed behind them. Pedro takes this chance, and Alcaunex had to brace Guacabo to her as he ushers them past the guards, assisting her with her gown. Once they are secure inside, and walking along the courtyard, Alcaunex sees Pedro's eyes dart everywhere. His hands grow colder in her own.