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by all his que st ions. “Only a little while ago. I swam to the mouth and then to the big boat . . .”
    The “big boat” would be the Ferreira family’s yacht, moored out pa st the Bicalho Quay. “I see.”
    “. . . and then I walked here with the man.”
    Duilio chewed his lower lip as he calculated. Aga had swum out to the mouth of the Douro, almo st three miles again st the current, back to the yacht, and then she’d walked nearly a mile up the st eep st reets of the Golden City. How long had that taken her? Perhaps two hours? Three? “So, was it before the moon rose?”
    “Yes.” Her tone sugge st ed he might be dense.
    Women did not swim in the river in the middle of the night. Mo st human women never learned to swim at all. “Did you see the woman, Aga? What did she look like?”
    The girl st epped closer and laid graceful hands on his velvet-covered che st . She didn’t quite reach his chin. “She wore black. And white.”
    His gift told him that this conversation was
important
, that he needed to know something this girl was telling him . . . or not telling him. He wasn’t sure what que st ions he needed to ask. “Were you close?” he pressed. “Did you see her face?”
    Aga rubbed her cheek again st his che st . “No. Wrong way.”
    He wished Tigana hadn’t been in a mood to be generous. He didn’t need this sort of di st ra ct ion now. Duilio set his hands on the girl’s shoulders, st epped back, and tried again. “This is important, Aga. Can you tell me anything else? Did she fall out of the boat?”
    “No, it was waiting when she came up,” Aga said, her shoulders slumping.
    Came up? From the houses? Why would someone come
up
from the houses? If they wanted a better look at them, they could ride out to the site on one of the submersible boats that sold tickets to curious folk who wished to see the work of art. He’d even gone to look at them himself. And at night it was too dark to see them anyway.
    “You don’t want me?” Aga’s hands began to roam his che st , drawing Duilio’s wandering mind very firmly back to the present.
    Oh, what a vexing que
st
ion.
His body had clearly noted the girl’s lithe form. Heaven knew she was attra ct ive enough, and once he got her out of Erdano’s garments, the di st urbing scent of male selkie would be greatly diminished. But she was part of Erdano’s harem . . . and there was a servant outside in the hall, waiting. Both fa ct ors dampened any ardor she aroused in him. “He’s my brother,” he told her. “I want to keep on his good side.”
    “Why?” She sighed again, sounding petulant. “Tigana said . . .”
    He held her at a di st ance. “All the same.”
    “They said you were nice,” she added plaintively.
    Oh, good Lord
. The only time he’d gotten involved with any of the women from Erdano’s harem had been when he was fifteen. That was half a lifetime ago, and evidently they st ill talked about him being “nice.” Well, it could be worse. “I’m sorry, Aga, but I need to sleep.”
    That only made him sound like an old man.
    Her lower lip thru st out in a pout. “What do I do?”
    “There’s a room down the hall where Erdano sleeps when he’s here. You can st ay there for the re st of the night or go back to the boat if you wish.”
    Her face took on a calculating look. “Is the handsome man from the boat st ill here?”
    Duilio resi st ed the urge to laugh at her eager tone.
Poor João
. “I believe so.”
    The corners of her pretty lips lifted. “Is he nice?”
    Duilio wasn’t going to speculate about whether João was nice. “You would have to ask him, I suppose.”
    “I’ll do that,” she said brightly, then her brows drew together. “Do I leave now?”
    “Can you think of anything else to tell me about the woman in the water?”
    Aga took a deep breath and appeared to be thinking hard, her lips pinched together. She finally pronounced, “She had webbed hands.”
    Like a thunderclap inside