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

gave her nothing to brace against. And without that, she found tears slipping down her face again. “I’m sorry,” she said, breath hitching as she fought for control.

But there was no control to be had, especially when Donaia’s tears started to flow again, and then Giuna’s breathing became unsteady, too.

“Oh dear, there’s the lot of you done for,” Tess murmured. She nodded at Giuna. “You’ve brought a carriage, yes? Why don’t you let me call it and send you home.”

“Yes. Th-thank you.” Giuna had an arm around her mother. She slid the other around Renata. “You’ll come home with us.”

Donaia’s grip on Renata’s hands tightened, preventing her from pulling away. “Of course she will.”

Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Cyprilun 19

Just when Donaia thought she was emptied out and couldn’t possibly shed one more tear, a new wave of grief would pass over her. It started as a tightening in her throat before settling in her gut. Her head filled with the rushing sound of her own blood, like the spring flooding of the Dežera, and all she could do was curl up and clamp down and wait for the anguish to pass.

She remembered when she’d gone into labor with Leato. At the time, she’d thought she would die from the pain. It had been a wretched, grueling experience, only made tolerable because in the end, she had her precious boy.

That pain was nothing compared to the anguish of his death. And there would be no end to it, no Leato to hold and make it all worthwhile. Not until she died.

But she had to try to be strong. Renata was here and drowning in undeserved guilt. And Giuna deserved a chance to mourn. She’d loved her brother as much as any sister could. More, because they’d seen each other through the loss of so many others.

The cheerful peach upholstery of the salon’s furniture seemed to mock her with all those losses now: her parents, her husband, their family, their wealth and power, and now, worse than the rest combined, her son.

“This family truly is cursed,” she whispered, while Renata hunched on the settee and Giuna moved to pour them all wine. Donaia’s hands tightened on the back of her favorite chair. In a surge of rage, she twisted and threw it to the ground. It didn’t fall far; she wasn’t strong enough for that. Just as she hadn’t been strong enough to protect her children. She kicked the fallen chair again and again, ignoring Meatball’s anxious whine and Giuna’s attempts to hold her back, relishing the pain shooting from toe to hip.

“We’re cursed! And it won’t pass until every one of us is dead.” She spun to face Renata, stumbling on her aching foot like a drunken woman. She didn’t care what a sight she must be, with her face red and streaked and her hair falling in witch-locks out of its pins. “You should leave. Go back to Seteris. The curse didn’t follow Letilia there. Maybe you can escape it as well.”

Renata’s pale face looked like a mask, her hazel eyes sunken deep. “Cursed? Leato told me…” The words died off. She cleared her throat and forced herself to continue. “That you’ve lost so many. But surely you don’t mean… cursed?”

“How else do you explain this?” Donaia’s gesture encompassed more than just their mourning clothes, the unheated salon, the faded Traementis glory. “You’re the only luck to have come to this house in twenty years. Gianco always said Letilia took our luck when she left.” Her throat was so raw that laughing was painful. “I’d actually started thinking you might have brought it back with you. More fool I.”

As quickly as it had risen, the anger receded, leaving her hollow once more. Her chair was overturned, and she didn’t have the heart to right it. She sank to the floor, crouching there like a street beggar, while Meatball crept close to press at her side. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his ruff. “Leato is gone. What else can I call that but a curse?”

“Malice.” The word burst out sharp enough to bring Donaia’s head up. Renata crouched in front of her, speaking urgently. “Somebody did this to us. On purpose. Mettore Indestor, or—or—I don’t know who. Or why. What they want. But this isn’t the hand of the gods at work; it’s… something else.”

Taking the glass Giuna pushed into her hands, Donaia stared into the red depths of the wine. “Gods or men or monsters, the results are the same. Ill fortune haunts us, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

She raised her gaze to meet Renata’s. There was so much of Letilia in the girl, at least as far as looks went. But her kindness and intelligence and fire must come from her anonymous father. Perhaps her luck did as well. “You should protect yourself.”

Renata went very still. She seemed to be looking straight through Donaia at something else—or at nothing at all.

Her voice sank low and rough, the cultured elegance of her accent cracking. “If you want me to leave, I will. I—don’t want to be a burden, at a time like this, when you can’t afford more weight on your shoulders. But if you’re saying that only for my sake…” She shook her head. “I will not abandon you.”

A soft sound from Giuna broke through Donaia’s self-pity. Of course losing Renata would be another blow for Giuna. As it would be for Donaia, if she was being honest.

She grasped Renata’s hand as though the girl meant to hie off that very moment. “For your sake, I should urge you to go. You have better, safer options—more than you might know—” She shook her head. She couldn’t talk of parents now, not when she’d just sent her own son to the Lumen. “But now’s not the time for that. You’ve been the opposite of a burden. Forgive me. I’m just a pathetic old woman