They had little time to act. Luzia was afraid that she could be taken for another interrogation at any time. She didn’t want to drown again.

Despite her anger and her fear, some part of her had believed Santángel would come for her, that he would find a way, but she couldn’t hope for that any longer. No one would carry her, so she would find a way out herself.

And if Teoda’s angel was right and they were all meant to end here, so be it. Better to be hunted and brought down than to bare her throat for the slitting. She would die as a wolf did.

Teoda was able to get a note to her brother Ovidio, but only by convincing their guard Rudolfo that Luzia could perform love spells. He was infatuated with a beautiful wool merchant’s daughter named Mariposa Baldera.

“But I can’t,” Luzia had protested.

“You’ll suggest killing a guard but you won’t lie to one?” “What do we do when he realizes we’ve swindled him?” “We’ll be gone by then,” said Teoda. “Or dead.”

When Rudolfo brought Ovidio’s reply, he asked what Luzia needed for the spell.

“First you must prepare yourself,” Luzia said, eyeing him up and down. “The … incantations won’t work if you’re not clean of mind and heart.”

Rudolfo had nodded as if this made perfect sense and repeated back their instructions to wash his body thoroughly every morning, wear only unstained garments, brush the crumbs from his mustache, and use polish on his teeth.

They had debated whether to include Neva and if she could be trusted not to share their plans, but the question had been answered one night when her snores stopped and she said, “I already know of your schemes and I want no part of them. I am old and my children are here. I want to go home.”

Luzia hoped she would get there before life in a cell killed her.

Teoda fretted that they should wait for Ovidio to secure papers for Luzia.

But when Luzia thought of the water, her throat filling, her lungs fighting the flood, she shook her head. “No. We go as soon as we can.”

Only four days after Luzia had been subjected to the toca, they were ready.

Night came on slowly, as if afraid of what they might do. They needed to look as reputable as they could, so they washed their faces and hands, and Neva braided Luzia’s hair. Then they could only wait. They told time by the chiming of the church bells. Luzia couldn’t name the parish. In Madrid, she would have known.

“San Vicente,” Teoda told her. “It’s said he converted his jailer.”

Luzia remembered that story and the ravens that had watched over his body.

They counted the chimes, listening to the prison fall asleep, the whispered conversations fading, the sounds of business being attended to in the inquisitors’ chambers, the slamming of doors and shuffling of bodies.

“What was your plan?” she asked Teoda, keeping her voice low, trying to pass the time. “If you had won the torneo and the king had made you part of his court?”

“I would have learned all I could and shared it with Spain’s enemies. I would have made the king doubt his precious saints and himself. I would

have been the greatest spy in all the world.” Her dimple appeared. “And the smallest.”

Outside, the hoofbeats of horses and the rattle of carriage wheels gave way to the calls of night birds and the gentle hoot of owls from the woods and meadows beyond the city walls. They had only a stub of candle to burn, and soon the darkness of the cell was complete.

At last, a single bell rang out, different from the chimes of the church bells, a clanking sound, like a cow that had strayed away from its herd.

Teoda’s hand brushed Luzia’s and they held tight to each other, waiting.

Again they heard the clanking bell.

Teoda squeezed her hand and they rose as quietly as they could.

Luzia laid her palm against the door and reached for the refrán. She could feel that secret song, that larger magic, eager to be sung, nearer since she’d faced the inquisitors, but she pushed it away. Santángel had been right. She wanted to live.

Boka dulse avre puertas de fierro. Words she’d used to open locked

trunks or cupboards rather than go searching for a key. Sweet words open iron gates. Help me, she prayed silently to the unknown author of those words, someone sleeping in his bed across the sea, or rising to nurse her child, or laboring away by candlelight somewhere. Help me find my way.

The lock clicked and the door seemed to sigh as the catch released. They waited, listening, but they heard no sound of alarm, no footsteps racing toward them. They slipped out into the dark passage.

They couldn’t risk a candle and so they crept slowly down the hall. Teoda led the way, her steps barely a shuffle, Luzia’s hand resting on her shoulder.

Luzia tried to picture the map Ovidio had drawn for them, counting off her steps. But she began to doubt herself. Had she already counted fifty? Was her stride too long? Too short? Then Teoda hissed in a breath and halted. Luzia managed to keep her footing and reached out in the dark.

They’d arrived at the door that separated the cells from the entrance to the prison. What was waiting on the other side? Two guards? Ten?

There would be no turning back from what happened next. She and

Teoda flattened themselves against the wall and Luzia let new words and a new melody take shape in her whispers. Kada gayo kanta en su gayinero. Every rooster sings in his own chicken coop.

But she didn’t picture a strutting cock. She envisioned the biggest woman she could, thick-necked and bellowing, her face red with blood, her brow sweaty, her fists balled. A mighty giantess, a titan.

The sound that burst from the cells behind them was the thunder of a wave, a dam giving way with a tremendous, shuddering roar. Beside Luzia,

Teoda released a startled gasp. But Luzia didn’t waver. She kept building

the song as the roaring from the cells rose ever higher. The walls and floors trembled with the sound. It was as if the inquisitors had placed a demon on the rack, its screams filling the building. She hoped the sound would haunt the friars in their beds.

Luzia turned her head to the side just in time. The door to the entry slammed inward and struck her ear and the side of her face. She fumbled for the handle and just managed to get her fingers hooked into it as torchlight flooded into the passage and the guards rushed inside, hands on their swords, boots thudding over the stone floor.

Luzia gave the song a last long bellow, and then she and Teoda slid past

the door to the unmanned entry. She had little memory of this place, though

she knew she must have seen it when they brought her to the prison.

“Teoda.” The whisper nearly startled a scream from her, but it was just Ovidio. He looked gaunt compared to the elegant figure he’d cut at La Casilla, and Luzia thought there might be more gray in his hair. “Follow me.”

He peered through the small sliding wood casement the guards used to identify arrivals and visitors, then opened the door and waved them through. The courtyard was quiet. If the judges and scribes and servants had woken in their beds at the din coming from the prison, they hadn’t roused

themselves to investigate. Maybe they were used to the sound of screams. There was no reason to move slowly now. Ovidio swept Teoda up and they ran, keeping close to the building in case anyone might be watching

the courtyard from the windows above.

They reached a niche carved into the stone and hung with the green cross of the Inquisition. Ovidio reached behind it and removed what looked like a rolled-up blanket.

Inside were a uniform for Ovidio, a cloak for Teoda, and a fresh gown for Luzia. Where is your modesty? she wondered as she stripped down to her linen and Ovidio helped to tie her laces. She supposed it had drowned in the inquisitors’ chamber.

They looked almost respectable.

Ovidio tucked their filthy prison clothes behind the flag and they hurried toward the gates that would lead them into the city proper.

“Are you prepared?” Ovidio whispered.

But there was only one answer to give. They turned right and passed beneath the arched entry. Ahead were the gates and a pair of guards at their posts.

“Alto!” barked one of them. “What purpose?”

“These ladies need escort to their coach,” said Ovidio.

“Talk sense.” The guard hadn’t drawn his sword, but he had his hand on its hilt. “What are you doing out here at night? Are those prisoners?”

“Who’s talking nonsense now? They’re visitors for … well, that’s not for me to tell. But let’s say that he hasn’t seen his wife or daughter in some

time.”

The guards exchanged a glance. It was well known that some of the clergy kept secret mistresses and even families.

“Why are they here so late?”

“I can’t answer that,” said Ovidio, a sly lilt in his voice.

The guards peered at them and Luzia lay a protective hand on Teoda’s shoulder, a mother’s hand. Outside, she could see the streets that would lead past the city walls and a team of six horses tethered to a coach. Two

outriders and a coachman waited in the moonlight.

“I wanted to see Papa,” Teoda said in the high sweet voice she’d used at the torneo.

“You know they could be whores,” the other guard said.

“Señor!” Luzia exclaimed with all the righteous horror she could muster. “Where’s your sword?” the guard asked Ovidio.

“God’s tongue, man. I didn’t think I’d need it when Fray … when I was pulled out of my bed at this shit hour. Can you just let us pass so that I can go back to bed before someone wakes up and starts asking questions none of us want to answer?”

Again the guards exchanged a glance.

The first eyed Ovidio. “If your pocket is being weighted, ours should get heavy too.”

Luzia wanted to cheer. A bribe they were prepared for.

“Oh, very well,” grumbled Ovidio. “I’m the one who was fast asleep. I’m the one playing nursemaid. But certainly, let me share my hard-earned pay with you.”

He dropped silver reales into their hands.

“Come now,” protested the guard. “Don’t be miserly.” Ovidio scowled. “Fine, but this is the end of it.”

The guard grinned and bowed. He unlocked the gates and stepped aside.

Teoda clapped her hands and skipped ahead and Luzia followed. The guard offered her his hand to help her cross the threshold and she took it without thinking.

“Wait,” he said, his grip tightening.

“She is not for you to enjoy,” said Ovidio. “You’ve been paid in silver, you don’t get to collect her purse too.”

“Shut your mouth,” snapped the guard, and the other drew his sword, keeping it on Ovidio.

The soldier dragged Luzia toward one of the torches burning in its sconce and yanked her hand close to the firelight.

“Calluses,” he said. “But she’s dressed like nobility. So is the child.” Ovidio’s gaze met hers.

“Go,” he growled. Then he drove his dagger into her captor’s throat. “To arms!” shouted the other man.

Luzia stumbled away from the bloody guard, who was still trying to keep his grip even as he crumpled to the ground.

Ovidio snatched his sword away. “Run!” he shouted. “Protect her!”

Luzia lurched toward Teoda, who was halfway to the coach now. The

outriders had leapt down and drawn their swords to come to their aid, but it was too late. Guardsmen were pouring into the courtyard and through the arch.

Teoda screamed and Luzia looked behind her. Ovidio was on his knees, a sword through his chest. He clawed at the air as if trying to pull himself to his feet, then toppled.

My angel says I will die here. We all will.

“Not all,” she whispered. “Run, Teoda!”

Luzia didn’t stop to think. She focused on the cobblestones and let the song roar through her, the words like bursts of fire in her mind, blinding in their light. Onde iras, amigos toparas. May you find friends. May you find friends. May you find friends. The stones rose in a heap, a tide of rock that exploded between Teoda and the soldiers, blocking Luzia’s path to the coach.

One of the outriders seized Teoda and ran for the coach doors. “Luzia!” Teoda cried as she was shoved inside.

Luzia thrust the walls of rock outward, trying to give the coach time, closing off the road. But she could feel the song trying to split, her fear pulling her toward escape, anywhere but here. If she couldn’t keep to the melody she might tear herself in two. So be it. It would be the death she chose.

Something struck her from behind. Luzia fell forward and then they were on her, kicking and punching. Her head struck the stones. The song slipped away.

It has to be enough that one of us got free, she thought as darkness crowded in. Fate was wrong once; maybe it can be again.