The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (different e readers txt) 📕

Donaia hunched over a small table in the corner. Her dress was thin cotton, mended and stained, and her hands were knobbled claws from clutching a pen. She was scribbling in a ledger, and even from where she stood, Ren could see the numbers there were enormous.

She didn’t spot Giuna at first. The girl knelt near the desk, in a cheap imitation of the dress Renata had worn to the Gloria—sleeveless and daring, but on Giuna it draped like a banner of sale.

Giuna kept her eyes low as she spoke. “Sibiliat said she wasn’t in the mood for my games. I failed—I’m sorry—but I’ll do better next time, cousin, I swear it.”

Renata studied the wine in her glass. “You’re calling me cousin again. Need I remind you that you lost that privilege the last time you failed?”

The hand crushing hers brought Ren back to herself. “What have you done to my sister?” Leato hissed.

“I—” Ren stared, unblinking. “I know not what this is. I only wanted money, I swear—not to make your family my servants!”

The study door opened, and Leato—another version of him—entered. Gone was the bright-haired, laughing, gallant young man who’d offered Ren his glove and kissed her so softly only a few hours past. This Leato had more in common with Vargo: hard-faced, scarred, and ruthless.

He tossed a cloth bag onto Renata’s desk. The blood soaking through it smeared the shining wood. “That’s the Rook taken care of.” His voice grated, no more a light tenor. Something had broken inside.

“You took his head?” Renata eyed the bag with a moue of distaste.

“His hands. This city will think twice before challenging you again, cousin.”

Casting a poisonous smile at Giuna, Renata said, “You see? Your brother knows how to please me.”

Leato—the one standing beside Ren—went slack in her grip. “What did you do to me?”

The answer drifted out of Ren, a hollow whisper. “I turned you into my Fingers.”

And turned herself into Ondrakja.

She’d been in the imaginary Giuna’s place too recently to hide from the truth. Now the other half of the coin was right there in front of her. The satisfaction in her tools, the way she’d molded them to serve her purpose. Her approval was the music they danced to, because she had manipulated her way not just into House Traementis, but all the way to the top of the city. She’d felt the seed of it when she faced the statues in the Charterhouse. Here was the fruit.

After all… didn’t she deserve this? Didn’t Nadežra owe her for all she’d suffered? If she had everything now, it was simply the prize for finally winning: She’d outplayed even Ondrakja, proving herself better and smarter and—

Renata rose and caressed the other Leato’s scarred cheek with one hand. Her long red nails dug into the ridged flesh, and Leato’s eyes flashed with a dull hatred Ren knew all too well. “If only you’d been good enough to keep him from ruining this pretty face.”

Ren clamped her hands over her mouth, as if that would keep the bile down. She backed away, shaking her head, but this time the wall stayed behind her; there was no escaping as she watched the twisted future version of herself reign over what remained of the Traementis.

And then Leato, the real Leato, was standing between her and the awfulness of what she’d become, taking her hands and drawing them down from her mouth. “Cousin—Renata—Ren.” He tugged harder, forcing her attention to him. His blue eyes were wide, fierce… and understanding?

“This is your nightmare,” he said urgently. “Everything here is nightmares. Don’t let it pull you in. Whatever you did before, you need to do it again, and get us out of here.”

Out. There was no out but through. If this was a pattern, they had to finish it. And the next card was Three Hands Join—allies.

She knew exactly where to go.

“And don’t come looking for me, neither,” Tess said, shoving her sewing basket into the half-filled rucksack on the kitchen table. Her breath frosted the air, with no fire in the hearth to give the room warmth. The breadbox was open and empty. Tugging at the little embroidery sampler she’d hung on the wall—their only decoration—Tess threw that into the bag, too. “I know you’re smarter than me, can find me if you set your mind to it, but don’t. Let that door stay shut. I don’t want to end up another victim of this mad scheme of yours.”

She paused in her packing, looking around, but they had so little, half a rucksack was all she needed. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to face Ren. “We could have lived simple and honest—a dressmaker’s shop and you sweet-talking the clients. But that wasn’t smart enough for you, and now see where it’s led us. I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. I can’t.”

This time there was no other Ren—not even that tiny shred of distance to protect her. It felt like someone had torn the ground from under her feet, and she was falling into the abyss. She reached out, hands shaking. “You cannot—”

Tess struck Ren’s hands away. “I have to, before the Traementis sell you off as an imposter. Before someone does to me what Vargo did to Sedge. He told you Vargo was dangerous. He told you he shouldn’t share secrets. And now Vargo finished what Ondrakja couldn’t. I’m cutting before the same happens to me.”

Reaching into her rucksack, she pulled out a pair of shears and slashed them across the scar on her wrist—a shallow cut, just enough to bleed. Just enough to scar when it healed. She held her arm out and let the blood drip to the floor. “There. It’s done. You’re no sister of mine.”

Tess could have slashed Ren’s wrists open wide and it would have felt less like she was bleeding to death. They’d been together through everything. Ondrakja. Ganllech. Coming back to