The heavy door of my father's study clicked shut, sealing me in the silent, oppressive aftermath of the "negotiation." The gilded wallpaper in the hallway seemed to press in on me, the portraits of my stern ancestors judging my failure to see this coming. I had been so proud of my cleverness, my subtle manipulations, my grand plan to become a ghost in the machine.
And in one fell swoop, I was reminded of my true station: a commodity. A well-bred mare to be sold to the highest bidder to strengthen the herd.
A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, threatening to turn into a sob. All that talk of redirecting energy, and I didn't see the stampede heading straight for me.
I walked toward my room, my steps heavy on the polished floor. The weight of the sapphires and the locket felt like chains. This is why Sol never married, a bitter voice inside me whispered. No entanglements. No one to hand you over like a business contract.
But as I reached my door, a different thought emerged, cold and sharp. Sol wouldn't have crumpled. She would have found a way. She would have looked at the problem from a new angle.
I had just declared a silent war on the Spanish empire. Was I really going to surrender to a marriage prospect?
No.
The resolve hardened in my gut, crystallizing from the panic. The game had just gotten more complicated, that was all. I had to play on multiple boards at once.
I entered my room and locked the door. The first battle was already underway; Felipe was suffering for a crime I had committed. I could fix that. Right now.
I focused, and the world blurred. The scent of perfume was replaced by the sterile, cool air of my pharmaceutical warehouse. The silence was a balm. Here, I was not a debutante or a bargaining chip. I was a woman with resources.
I moved with purpose. Antibiotics. Pain relievers. Antiseptic. Clean bandages. A small, sharp scalpel for removing bullet fragments, if it came to that. I packed them not in a modern first-aid kit, but into a simple, unassuming drawstring pouch made of rough, homespun cloth—the kind any servant might own.
Back in my room, I rang for Liza. When she entered, her eyes were wide with the residual excitement of the ball.
"Señorita, you were wonderful! Everyone is saying—"
"Liza," I interrupted, my voice low and serious. I pressed the pouch into her hands. "I need you to do something for me. It is a secret. The most important secret you will ever keep."
Her smile vanished, replaced by nervousness. "Señorita?"
"You must take this to Miguel. The footman. Give it to him when no one is looking. Tell him it is for Felipe. For his… injuries. He will understand." I held her gaze, letting her see the absolute gravity in mine. "No one can know. Not my mother. Not the other servants. No one. If you are caught, you must say it is yours. For… a female problem. Do you understand?"
Liza looked from the pouch to my face. She was a smart girl. She had seen the arrest. She knew what this was. Fear warred with loyalty on her young face. Finally, she nodded, her fingers closing tightly around the pouch, hiding it in the folds of her skirt.
"Yes, Doña Ines. I understand."
"Thank you, Liza." I squeezed her hand. "You are a true friend."
She slipped out as silently as she had entered, a ghost in her own right. The first move of my new, complicated game had been made. I had no idea if it would work, but the act of doing something, of fighting back in a tangible way, loosened the knot of despair in my chest.
I fell into a fitful sleep, my dreams haunted by the faces of leering suitors and the sound of Felipe's terrified breathing.
--------------------
Morning arrived too bright and too early. I descended for a late breakfast, feeling fragile. My mother, however, was radiant, floating on a cloud of social triumph.
"Mija, you must tell me everything!" she gushed, pouring coffee. "Señora Arroyo said Don Sebastian de Leon himself complimented you! And the Alonzo boy couldn't take his eyes off you! Oh, the possibilities!"
I forced a smile, pushing a piece of fruit around my plate. "It was a blur, Mama. So many faces."
"Nonsense! This is the most important part! We must discuss prospects. Don Enrique Castilla's son, Carlos, his family is very well-connected to the—"
She was cut off as Liza entered the dining room, her eyes downcast. She carried a small silver tray with the morning post. Among the stiff, cream-colored envelopes of social calls, there was a small, rough square of paper, folded unevenly.
My heart stuttered. Liza met my eyes for a fraction of a second before placing the tray beside my mother and quickly exiting.
My mother, engrossed in her marital scheming, didn't notice. She picked up the social calls. "Ooh, from the Governor-General's wife! We are in demand!"
My hand shot out and I palmed the rough note, slipping it into my lap under the tablecloth. My blood was pounding in my ears.
"Excuse me, Mama, I just remembered… I promised Tita Rosa I would help her with… some lace. This morning." I stood up, my breakfast untouched.
"But your food!"
"I'm not hungry!" I called over my shoulder, already hurrying out of the room.
In the privacy of a sunlit alcove, I unfolded the note. The script was messy, written in haste, the letters labored.
Doña Ines,
The package was received. It is a miracle. His fever breaks. The wounds are clean. He will keep his arm. He says his life is yours. We will not forget this. Your secret is safe with us. We are yours to command.
- M
I leaned against the wall, a sob of relief catching in my throat. He would live. I hadn't just made things worse. I had helped. Truly helped.
And more than that, I had gained something invaluable. Not just an ally. An army of two. Miguel and Felipe. Men who were loyal not to my name or my wealth, but to an act of mercy. It was a currency more valuable than gold in the world I was entering.
The victory was small, but it was mine. And it filled me with a fierce, new courage.
The problem of the suitors suddenly seemed less insurmountable. I couldn't refuse them outright. But I could delay. I could obfuscate. I could redirect.
An idea, brilliant and perfect, began to form. It was audacious. It was modern. It was exactly the kind of thing Sol would have proposed.
A slow smile spread across my face. I straightened my spine, the note clutched in my hand like a talisman.
I turned and walked, not to my room, but toward my father's study. My steps were no longer heavy. They were quick and determined.
I didn't knock. I opened the door. He was at his desk, already immersed in the day's work.
He looked up, surprised. "Ines? What is it?"
I took a deep breath, the idea fully formed now, ready to be pitched not as a daughter's plea, but as a strategist's proposal.
"Papa," I said, my voice clear and steady. "We need to talk about my education."