Luz did not seem afraid. She drew up one foot. It was milk-white on top and rosy underneath; the foot of a saint from a sacked altarpiece. Sneering, she delivered two savage kicks, one after the other, to the dog’s ribs.
The dog wailed once, sprawling on its side, feet scrabbling against the ground. Luz said something to it that Fatima could not hear: it sounded like Latin, though she could not be sure. She stood frozen outside Lady Aisha’s chamber, unsure of what to do or what to feel. Luz, white-robed and silent, retreated into her room. For a moment there was no sound. Then Fatima heard a series of stuttering gasps, like someone crying silently. Making up her mind, she slipped through the garden, pausing briefly behind a convenient pot of rosemary until she was sure Luz was not coming back. The dog, when she reached it, was attempting to stand, favoring one leg as it tried to make do with the other three. Ugly as it was, Fatima felt a stab of real pity: it was a happy creature and had done no one any harm.
“Sh-sh,” she soothed, squatting down in front of it. “Be quiet and I’ll help you.”
The dog immediately ceased its odd little gasps and looked at her expectantly. Fatima hooked one arm under its chest and another around its hindquarters and braced herself, prepared for the thing to be heavy. It was not. She lifted it so fast that she almost fell over, clamping her mouth shut to keep from shrieking in surprise. The dog was as hot as a fever and just as intangible.
“You must be starving,” she whispered to it, carrying it across the courtyard. “You weigh nothing at all.”
The dog only grunted. Warmth and snoring issued from Lady Aisha’s room: Fatima hesitated in the doorway.
“You have to be very quiet,” she said. “Otherwise, I’ll be in a lot of trouble.”
The dog put its chin on her shoulder. Fatima maneuvered awkwardly to her sleeping mat and set it down. She was so tired that she threw herself beside the dog with a thump, and without bothering to change out of Nessma’s dress, though she knew this would be a source of mild hysteria in the morning. She didn’t care: the heat radiating from the dog’s body lulled her heavy limbs into a stupor. She was dreaming before she even shut her eyes.
Chapter 4
She awoke to strong sunlight. Her hair was damp with perspiration, her dress—Nessma’s dress—clinging to her torso like a silk noose. The heat was unbearable and suggested a very late hour of the morning; so late, in fact, that it might well be afternoon. Fatima sat up and ground the heels of her palms against her eyelids. Why hadn’t anyone woken her? Lady Aisha’s divan was awash in rumpled coverlets but otherwise empty. The dog, too, had disappeared.
Fatima struggled to her feet. Her head was pounding; she needed a tincture of willow bark. She peeled Nessma’s dress over her head and draped it across Lady Aisha’s divan to dry. There was a basin of rose-scented washing water and a towel, only slightly damp, on the floor near the foot of the divan; availing herself of these, Fatima washed her face and her hands and underneath her arms and between her legs. She yanked a plain tunic and trousers from the dressing pole and hurriedly pulled them on.
Laughter came from the garden. Shuffling out, shielding her face from the sun with one hand, Fatima saw Luz seated next to Nessma on a pile of cushions, plucking experimentally at a lute. She had forsaken her widow’s gown for Andalusian dress: a light chemise beneath a long tunic like the one Fatima herself was wearing, the same loose trousers gathered at the ankle. She was even barefoot. Nessma was leaning toward her like an old friend, pointing at this lute string and that one, praising Luz’s efforts.
“Just so,” she chirruped. “Give me another two weeks, and you’ll be playing ghazals.”
“You’re an excellent teacher,” said Luz, laughing. “But I’m a very clumsy student.”
Nessma’s ladies tittered politely around her. A short distance away, in a safe patch of shade, Lady Aisha was reclining on a sheepskin with a book, ignoring her guest in a way that suggested there had already been an argument. Fatima padded toward her and lay down, setting her head in her mistress’s lap.
“You got dressed without me,” she yawned.
“I’m not yet incapable,” said Lady Aisha, stroking her hair. “You were so fast asleep that I took pity on you. And I was somewhat alarmed to see that scrofulous canine in my very own bedchamber, as relaxed as if he was lord of the—”
Fatima sat bolt upright and looked Lady Aisha in the eye, pleading silently. She tilted her head toward Luz. Lady Aisha paused, eyes narrowed, and nodded.
“You’ll tell me later,” she said in a quieter voice. Fatima’s back was suddenly cool; a shadow had fallen over it.
“There you are,” said Luz with a smile, standing above her. “I’m freshly amazed to see you in the sunlight. You know, Lady Aisha, I think you’ve managed to acquire the most beautiful girl since Helen laid eyes on Troy. Such cheekbones, such eyes—”
“Her cheekbones and her eyes are regularly praised,” said Lady Aisha, leafing through her book. “If she hears it too often, it’ll go to her head. Praise her good sense, if you must praise anything. It will serve her much better than her cheekbones will.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Luz pulled up a cushion and sat down with a happy sigh. “My abbess would agree with you. She always says that beauty is a test, a temptation to the sin of pride. The nuns cut off all their hair when they take holy orders, and never touch a pot of rouge or white lead ever again. Yet they radiate beauty of another kind. Their faces are always full of light.”
“You didn’t become a nun,” said Fatima, feeling suddenly shy. Her own face was not full of light.
“No,” said Luz, eyes flickering a little. “Only a lay sister. I’m too restless to spend my days in a cloister, though the other vows came easily enough. That’s my great failing. I need to move, to have many tasks and many uses. We are all made for different things—sometimes not the things we want.”
Discomfited, Fatima studied the pattern of tiles on the ground. A small beetle was making its way toward her, its carapace iridescent in the sun. It hesitated when it reached the sole of her foot. Fatima laid her hand flat against her heel and coaxed the beetle onto it, then held it up close to her face. What was she made for? The beetle’s carapace split apart to reveal ash-gray wings: it unfolded these and was gone in a moment, possessing no answers.
“What would you like to do today, Baronesa?” asked Lady Aisha. She clapped her book shut with an air of finality, as if the silence had become onerous. “How do you intend to spend your time with us? You’ll forgive me for being blunt, but I’m still not certain why you’re here. Whatever terms Ferdinand and Isabella have to offer us will surely be discussed by the general and my son, for I’m in no position to negotiate independently.”
“Please call me by my given name,” pleaded Luz. “I’m no more a baronesa than Fatima is. We’re both servants who own nothing—I serve Our Savior as she serves your house.”
“Very well. Luz.” Lady Aisha’s voice was getting dangerous. Fatima cast about herself for something to do or say. “I’m relying on your honesty.”
Luz considered Lady Aisha’s face for a moment, her own expression inscrutable. “I’m here on behalf of Queen Isabella, just as the general told you,” she said finally. “She wanted to send you a personal emissary, queen to queen, mother to mother, as a show of good faith. I hope you’ll consider me your advocate, even your friend. You will need friends in the weeks ahead, if you’ll forgive my candor.”
Lady Aisha threw her book at the ground. Fatima seized her arm.
“Would you like to see the rest of the palace?” she asked Luz, her voice louder than she had intended. “It’s very large, and you should see it while the light is good.”