Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 6: Exposing Don Mateo
By the time I reach Doña Esperanza’s house, the sun is sinking behind the Alhambra’s red walls, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Nearly a decade has passed since the fall of the last Nasrid emir and the beginning of the slow but steady purge of Moors. Granada is progressively becoming a city of ghosts that opportunists and the Inquisition seek to repopulate with devout Christians.
Rosalia waits for me in the library, pacing like a caged doe. She turns sharply when I enter. She’s shocked to see a twelve year old girl, and only recovers when my corporeal body dissolves into my ethereal form.
“Well?” she demands. “Has Caballero Alonso forgotten me already?”
“Not forgotten, my lady. But he is distracted by another for the moment.”
Her eyes narrow. “By whom?”
“By Doña Carmelita de Haro,” I reply. “A widow of charm and confidence. The bracelet guided me to her. She has already captured his attention.”
Rosalia exhales in relief, although she tries to hide it. “Good. Very good. That buys us time.”
But her relief lasts only for a moment before her expression hardens again.
“And my father? What have you learned?”
I hesitate. Not because I doubt the truth, but because I know it will wound her.
“Don Carlos was betrayed,” I say quietly. “Not by the Inquisition’s suspicions, but by a man close to him. A man who hopes to profit from his downfall.”
Rosalia’s face pales. “Who?”
“Don Mateo.”
The name strikes her like a blow. She grips the edge of a table to steady herself.
“My cousin?” she whispers. “He grew up in this house. My father trusted him.”
“Trust,” I say gently, “is often the first thing a traitor uses as a weapon.”
She closes her eyes, fighting back tears. When she opens them again, they burn with fury.
“What proof do you have?”
“The bracelet’s magic confirmed that the man I saw is Don Mateo,” I say. “He was passing forged accusations to a hooded figure behind the magistrate’s hall. He spoke of ensuring your father’s continued imprisonment. And of Caballero Alonso and you.”
Rosalia’s jaw tightens. “I should have known. He has always envied my father’s position. And he would happily sell me to Alonso if it meant securing his own future.”
She begins pacing again, her silk skirt whispering across the floor.
“What must we do?” she asks. “Tell me, Jeannia. You said we must work together. So tell me how to stop him.”
The bracelet warms against her wrist, urging me to speak.
“We must gather more information,” I say. “Mateo may have accomplices. We must find anything that exposes the deceit. The Inquisition will not release your father without evidence. And Mateo won’t stop unless he is cornered.”
Rosalia stops pacing. Her eyes meet mine with a look of desperate determination.
“Then you must go,” she says with a trembling voice. “Find what you can. You are my only hope, Jeannia.”
“As you command, my lady,” I say, bowing my head.
Again I feel something shift in the bracelet’s magic. A slight realignment of the Realms of Earth, Heavens and Soul. My spirit once again transforms into the solid body of young woman. Rosalia’s intention is embedded into the bracelet and it flows through to me. Go, whispers something in my mind, the truth waits in the shadows.
And so I leave Doña Esperanza’s house again, stepping into the moonlit evening of Granada, where danger and revelation walk hand in hand. My mission is clear. I must find sufficient evidence to expose Don Mateo and free Don Carlos. I don’t doubt that, once free, Don Carlos will protect Rosalia from the vultures circling her.
However the path ahead is treacherous, and I am no longer certain whether I am merely fulfilling Rosalia’s wishes, or beginning to shape my own. I too am the victim of false testimony to the Inquisition.
The city is quieter now with only the distant murmur of taverns and the occasional clatter of a horse’s hooves disturbing the stillness. The ancient Alhambra palace looms above the city, its towers catching the last embers of twilight. I move through the narrow streets like a shadow, guided by the bracelet’s images flowing into my mind.
Don Mateo’s residence lies near the old silk market, a modest but well‑kept house with a courtyard garden. A lantern burns at a window, suggesting that he’s at home and awake.
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