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

Ren recall she had one more part of the rite to endure. Others had already risen from their seats, passing by a priest who stood ready with a tray of black tapers. She followed and took a candle. The wax already felt warm and soft from being so near the heat of the active numinat. All she had to do was touch the wick to the border for it to catch flame. As the mourners returned to their benches, their lights became stars in a sea of black—a reflection of the cosmos to which Leato’s spark returned.

Or so the Liganti believed. Despite the heat of the crematory blaze and the warmth of candle wax dripping onto her gloves, it seemed like cold comfort to Ren.

When the ceremony ended, she wanted nothing more than to flee. But the crowd flowed out of the cremation chamber to a room laid with simple food. “I’ll get you a bite to eat,” Tess said, and hurried off. Unable to replenish her energy through sleep, Ren was making up for it by eating more than they could afford.

Unfortunately, that gave Scaperto Quientis a chance to drift up alongside her. So far she’d avoided talking to anyone who’d been in the Charterhouse when they drank the ash-laced wine, but she could hardly dodge him now.

“Alta Renata,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I apologize for not greeting you yesterday at the Sebatium. I don’t imagine you were in the mood for niceties any more than I was.”

She kept her mouth shut while she tried to remember. Yesterday? Yes—he was leaving when Tanaquis summoned her in. She cast about for something to say. “I’m glad you weren’t drowned, Your Grace.” Shit. I hope people have gossiped about that. Yes—Tanaquis had told her. She was safe.

“You heard about that?” Quientis asked. His eyes narrowed as he searched her face. She fought the urge to touch her skin, as if that would ensure her makeup was still in place. “Did you see her, too? The Vraszenian woman?”

“No, I—I only heard.” What would Alta Renata say? “She sounds dangerous.”

“Dangerous? No.” His scowl was for the room in general, but she felt the weight of it all the same. “Only as dangerous as anyone who’s afraid—which I suppose is enough. But I don’t think she was trying to harm me. I suspect she couldn’t swim.” His scowl turned to Mettore Indestor. “But some seem more inclined to pin blame rather than seek truth. Probably best that Simendis handed the investigation to Meda Fienola.”

Was he trying to send her some kind of coded message? She couldn’t tell, and Tess hadn’t come back yet; she was still gathering a plate of food. Ren caught her eye and tugged on her left earlobe.

Much too late, she remembered that she’d meant to arrange a different signal.

“Your Grace,” Vargo said, sliding in next to Renata like he belonged there. “Alta Renata. Here, let me dispose of that for you.” He tucked his walking stick under his arm and took the burned-out candle from her limp grip.

“No, I can take it,” Tess said, breathless from hurrying across the room with a plate and a cup. Somehow, in the juggling act that followed, Scaperto ended up with the candle, Vargo with Renata’s food and drink, and Tess with Vargo’s cane.

Which left Renata empty-handed, and empty-stomached as well. She didn’t realize she was staring at the food and drink Vargo held until Quientis said, “I’ll go put this candle where it belongs. Good day to you all.”

At Tess’s pointed glare, Vargo cleared his throat. “It appears you don’t need me anymore,” he murmured, handing the food to Renata and accepting the cane from Tess. He leaned closer in what she briefly mistook for a bow, before she realized he was taking a better look at her in the dim light of the temple. “At the risk of being rude, you look ragged about the edges. Go home. Get some sleep. There’s nothing more you need to do here.”

She wished she could take his advice. But before she could escape, Donaia found her.

Tess took the plate back again so Renata could accept Donaia’s hands in greeting. “You’ve ruined your gloves,” Donaia said, thumb pressing into a spot of soft wax curving over the back of Renata’s hand.

After so much time spent worrying she would say the wrong thing, Ren found herself utterly void of words.

Donaia supplied enough for both of them. “Thank you for being here. Have you eaten? Oh, I see you have. The food isn’t much, but you should eat. I know it must be hard after… after the past few days, but don’t think your youth will protect you from ill health. You have to take care of yourself. There’s more than—”

“Mother.” Giuna’s hand on Donaia’s arm stopped the flood of concern. “Don’t badger her.”

Donaia released Renata to wrap her arms around herself. “Yes. Of course. I apologize. It is only… you don’t look well, and…” She released an unsteady breath.

“You should hate me.”

For one terrifying instant, Ren wasn’t certain which accent she’d said that in. But Giuna’s confused reply of “Hate you?” and Donaia’s terse “Don’t be ridiculous” gave no sign that she’d spoken like a Vraszenian.

“I—if I hadn’t taken him with me—” If I’d made the Rook save him first. If I hadn’t been who I am.

“If, if, if. I thought you had more sense than Letilia—”

“Mother.” Giuna touched Donaia’s arm again, but her mother shrugged it off.

“No. I’ve flogged myself with ‘if’ since that night, and I am tired of it. This wasn’t my doing, and it certainly wasn’t Renata’s.” Donaia dashed away tears as though she was as impatient with them as she was with the rest of it.

“I only mean… it’s hardly fair for you to be harsh with Renata for not being to blame.”

“She knows I don’t mean it like that. Don’t you?”

Ren wished Donaia would mean it like that. This lack of resistance, this unwillingness to hurt her back,