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

“Was that your only nightmare,” Tanaquis asked when she was done, “or were there others?”

Had other people had more than one? Probably—but her brain, fogged with lack of sleep, failed to come up with anything else Renata Viraudax might plausibly fear. “No, that was the only one.”

More marginal notes, making Ren nervous. She wished she had pled exhaustion; then she might have been able to gather information before coming here, and give the right answers instead of fumbling through.

“Did you happen to see a Vraszenian woman at any point?” Tanaquis asked. “She would have been young—about your age—and pretty. But plainly dressed, not like the clan leaders and their retinues.”

“A Vraszenian woman? There aren’t any of those in Seteris. Not that I’m aware of, at least.” She wished she’d worn a scarf; that might cover the rapid beating of her pulse. She was too tired and too mud-headed to keep it under control. “Why do you ask?”

Tanaquis waved the question aside. “It isn’t important. A few people have reported seeing the same woman, despite being in different nightmares. She tried to drown Eret Quientis. And she was seen leaving the amphitheatre with the Rook.” She tapped her notes with her pencil, thinking. “What about the Rook? Did you see him?”

“Lumen, no. You think this was his doing?” Renata shuddered.

“The initial attack was on the Cinquerat. That’s exactly the sort of thing the Rook would attempt.” Tanaquis’s frown showed her dissatisfaction with that answer. “But I’m here to learn the truth, not leap to conclusions.”

Setting her pencil down, she studied Renata with eyes as shrewd as any szorsa’s. “If there’s anything you’re keeping back, for whatever reason, I need to know. Otherwise, the wrong people might be blamed.”

Hoping Tanaquis would take the unsteadiness of her voice for trauma, Renata said, “Do you think I don’t want answers? I can barely recall what I went through without wanting to curl up in a ball and never move again. Not knowing how or why it happened only makes it worse.”

“I can imagine,” Tanaquis said, softening to frank sympathy. “I have to keep details of the investigation confidential, but since several people have guessed this already, I can tell you that the aža intended for the wine in the Charterhouse was replaced with a drug called ash. It causes hallucinations, along with increased strength and resistance to pain and cold. I’m not certain what was different last night, that people were drawn into those hallucinations as though they were real.”

“They weren’t real?” Renata let out an unsteady breath. “Then why…?”

“I’ve learned that the cup you and Altan Leato drank from contained a double dose,” Tanaquis said. “So your reaction may have been different—more extreme than the others. I’ve been asking everyone to write out an account of their experiences, in as much detail as possible. I know it isn’t pleasant, reliving what happened… and of course when it comes to nightmares, everyone has things they’d rather hide. But yours may be particularly important. I promise you that all the written accounts will be kept private; only I will read them.”

The patient compassion of her gaze was seductive. A double dose: Could Ren use that to explain away what really happened to her? It would mean backing down on her earlier claims, but Tanaquis was clearly no stranger to this kind of inquiry, and would know how often people—even innocent people—tried to hide behind lies at first.

But Ren knew that once she admitted to part of the truth, she’d have a harder time keeping the rest back, and the next thing she knew, Tanaquis might realize she was the Vraszenian woman people had seen.

And whatever Tanaquis said about not leaping to conclusions, others were already looking for an excuse to blame her. Her and the Rook.

“Thank you,” Renata said. “I know you’re a friend of Donaia’s, and it’s such a relief to have you leading this inquiry. I promise, I’ll be as detailed as I can.” Out from under her shrewd gaze, it would be easier to come up with some additional material—things Renata Viraudax might have experienced, but been ashamed to admit.

Her stomach twisted with unease as Tanaquis went through what sounded like well-rehearsed comments about avoiding aža and alcohol until they were sure the ash was purged from her body. Then the acolyte returned and guided her to another room, where she was given pen and paper to write out her account.

It took far too long. The world felt distant, like it was on the other side of a pane of glass—like the nightmare was still holding her trapped. The truth of the situation was lowering onto her with crushing, inexorable force: The investigation wasn’t going to discover what had happened, because Ren was doing her damnedest to hide it.

It is not my fault, she thought fiercely, staring at the page until her careful handwriting blurred. It’s Mettore Indestor, and whoever else did this to us.

And I will make them pay.

Isla Traementis and Isla Prišta: Cyprilun 18

After Renata left the temple, she didn’t go home. Instead she forced herself to tell the sedan bearers, “Isla Traementis.”

Colbrin was wearing black when he answered the door. Renata wasn’t; she didn’t own anything black, and as neither a member nor a servant of House Traementis, nothing required her to change to Ninat’s color. But when Giuna came out to greet her in full mourning, all Ren could hear was Leato’s voice, reciting the litany of family he’d lost.

Of course the Traementis owned mourning clothes. They had constant need of them.

The worst part was that Giuna didn’t blame her. If she had, Ren might have fallen back into her usual defensive habits of thought, and it would have hurt less. But when Renata tried to say she was the one who’d brought Leato to the Charterhouse, Giuna only hugged her tight and sobbed thanks to the Lumen that at least one of them had come out safely.

Donaia will blame me. She