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

Ren couldn’t have run even if the Vigil really were on their way to arrest her. She’d burned out the last of her fire fighting the Rook. “No. I’ll take the medicine you brought, but…” She took Tess’s hands in her own, all too aware of how feeble her grip had become. “Tomorrow, we tell someone. Donaia. Tanaquis. Whoever. We cannot fix this on our own.”

Tess sagged, her brow coming to rest against Ren’s. “Oh, thank the Mother. Coming back here, I was thinking the same thing, but…”

But they were used to doing for themselves. Trusting anyone else with an admission of weakness was hard—and there was usually no point, because who would help?

Only now it might be different.

“First thing in the morning,” Tess said, tucking the blanket back around Ren, “we’ll go to Traementis Manor.”

16

Three Hands Join

Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Cyprilun 21

Donaia’s foot ached. Even bandaged and propped up on a stool, it pulsed with a dull pain that sharpened whenever she put weight on it. But she was grateful for that pain, because it provided an ongoing distraction from the howling grief of losing her only son.

She was also indescribably grateful for her only daughter. Giuna didn’t know her way around politics and business, not nearly as much as she would need to… but when Donaia tried to retake the reins of management from her daughter, Giuna had said firmly that she’d rather help Donaia than hide in her room.

They’d both had a good cry after that. The next morning, dry-eyed, they settled in Donaia’s study and dug into the charter work that wouldn’t wait for their convenience.

Giuna’s golden head bent over a lapdesk as she reviewed a complaint from Era Destaelio that alterations to the West Channel would shift trade away from Whitesail in the east. Donaia had a query from the offices of Iridet, demanding to know what inscriptor she intended to hire for the replacement numinat—but she found it hard to concentrate. Every few breaths, her gaze fell on Giuna, and she fought the urge to cling tightly to her only remaining child.

Colbrin’s knock on the door startled her. It couldn’t be time for lunch already, could it? “Alta Renata is here,” the majordomo said. “With her maid.”

That should have been good news. Of course Renata would visit them, even during the nine days of strict mourning; she was close enough to family to count. But something in Colbrin’s expression made Donaia’s gut clench with foreboding.

She saw why the moment he escorted Renata into the study. She’d eschewed fashion in favor of warmth, but still she shivered. Her maid had done the best she could with cosmetics, but they weren’t enough to hide the dullness of Renata’s skin and hair, the bruise-purple hollows around her bloodshot eyes. The maid had to assist her through the room as though she might lose her way between door and sofa.

Giuna made a stifled noise. “Cousin—”

“Apologies, Era Traementis,” Renata said as her maid lowered her to the cushions. She made no attempt to carry out the usual greetings. “I took the liberty of asking someone else to meet us here today.”

With the study door open, Donaia could hear the front bell ring again. Colbrin gave his mistress a mystified look; at her nod, he disappeared to let the new visitor in.

“Renata, you look…” Giuna barely managed to bite back the hurtful truth. “Do you need anything?”

Her maid jumped in to answer. “A lap blanket, if you have it. And would the era mind if I stoked up the fire? It’s that cold in here.”

Not nearly as cold now that spring had arrived, but Donaia nodded. She nudged Meatball over to Renata; the hound curled up like a comforting foot warmer while the maid tended the fire and Giuna fetched a blanket from the pile Donaia kept hidden in a cabinet.

By the time that was done, Colbrin had brought the second visitor. “Tanaquis?” By reflex, Donaia held out her hands in greeting. “What is this about?”

Renata roused herself with visible effort. “Since the Night of Bells, I’ve been completely unable to sleep.”

Like a sea wind worsening to storm, the foreboding grew to full-blown dread. Donaia caught her balance on the edge of her desk. Not again. Not her, too!

Thank the Lumen, Tanaquis retained a level head. She perched across from Renata, journal flipping open to a fresh page, eyes bright with an inquisitiveness that felt wildly out of place in response to calamity—but also, in its way, comforting. “When you say unable to sleep, what do you mean? Since when? How does it feel? What steps have you taken to remedy it?”

Renata began answering in a faltering voice, but she repeated herself and often lost the thread of her thought. After a while her maid took over, rendering the account in a brisk tone that couldn’t quite hide her fear. Donaia had thought her simply a talented dressmaker, but the strength of her loyalty and concern reminded Donaia of Colbrin.

“We thought it was just the alta’s nerves—that it would pass,” the maid said at the end. “But it hasn’t, and I’m that worried for her.”

“Yes, going too long without sleep can cause irreparable harm,” Tanaquis said absently, still scratching away with her pencil.

“Tanaquis!” Donaia snapped. The woman was a dear friend, but sometimes she forgot that others didn’t see the world as a puzzle to be solved.

Jerking out of wherever her thoughts had gone, Tanaquis blinked at Donaia’s scowl. “Oh. I apologize,” she said, though Donaia would bet what little money she had that Tanaquis didn’t know what she was apologizing for. “Our first task should be to relieve Alta Renata’s sleeplessness.”

“Yes. It should be.” Donaia sat at Renata’s other side, taking her hand. “What do you suggest?”

“In the usual course of things, I’d calculate the subject’s birth chart and compare it to the day the sleeplessness set in, but…”

“I see,” Donaia said, before Tanaquis could go on. “Giuna, why don’t you