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

I came here hoping to rejoin the Traementis. Because what I knew of you was what Mother had described: a wealthy and powerful family, who surely wouldn’t feel the burden of an extra cousin.”

“You must have been so disappointed.” As disappointed as Giuna was now. She didn’t even try to hide her bitterness. “And now that Leato’s gone, you’ve lost your easiest path into the register.”

“No,” Renata said urgently. “I was not trying to marry my way in. Lumen burn me, Giuna—if I were that coldhearted, don’t you think I would have turned around and left after he died? When Vargo approached me, I took on his proposal because I thought it would help House Traementis. Yes, I came to Nadežra thinking I could simply live off your wealth. I’m not proud of that. But even before the nightmare, that was changing, and since then…”

She trailed off, eyes lost. Was her grief feigned? Sibiliat had pointed it out months ago, how Renata excelled at playing the people around her. Making them like her, while hiding the truth of herself.

“I’m sorry.” The words were almost too quiet for Giuna to hear. “I know I’ve hurt you, at a time when that’s the last thing you need. All I can do now is try to make up for it.”

The urge to comfort was strong. Soft. Naive. Giuna tightened her fists, clenched her teeth, and resisted. “How.”

Renata met Giuna’s eyes for the first time since she began her explanation. “What your mother said the other day. After L— After your brother’s funeral. She was more right than she knew: Your family is cursed. I don’t know why, but I’m sure your constant ill fortune isn’t mere chance, and I’ve told her so. I’m working with Meda Fienola to lift that curse. Once that’s done…” The will seemed to drain out of her. “Then I’ll go back to advocating for you in the Charterhouse, if you wish it. If not… then I’ll simply go.”

A curse. All Giuna’s bitterness compressed into a knife-point prick of fear. Why hadn’t her mother told her?

That was a question for Donaia, not Renata. In fact, Giuna had many questions for her mother, and until they were answered, she wouldn’t be able to decide what to do.

She stood, back straight enough to make Sibiliat proud. “Thank you for your honesty. I’ll see myself out.”

She heard the intake of breath and braced herself. Renata was going to ask how she’d found out, and Giuna was going to refuse to say, because she wouldn’t betray Sibiliat like that.

But all that came was a soft exhale. “I truly am sorry, Alta Giuna.”

The apology dogged Giuna’s steps all the way back to Isla Traementis. Or perhaps it was the title. She’d been so happy when Renata had started using her name without it. Had that also been calculation?

Did Leato know? She’d forgotten to ask. She hoped he hadn’t.

Giuna’s father had died when she was too young to remember him clearly, but she knew the stories about her family in generations past. The Traementis had been legendary for their vendettas, for the ferocity with which they destroyed those who crossed them.

She couldn’t imagine what they would have done to Renata—and she didn’t want to.

Soft. Naive.

Giuna refused to call that a bad thing.

“Colbrin,” she said as the majordomo took her wrap. “I noticed Renata’s rooms had a chill. Send over a few scuttles of coal.” She began to head for her mother’s study, then stopped. “Oh. And a mattress.”

Isla Prišta, Westbridge: Cyprilun 30

The following morning brought an odd assortment of deliveries. The first came from Traementis Manor, and Ren had to fight back an absurd urge to cry at the sight, because she didn’t want the footman wondering why she’d teared up over coal and a mattress.

There was no note, but the message was clear. Whatever Giuna’s feelings were toward her now, they hadn’t turned entirely hostile. And that was more than Ren could have hoped for.

On the heels of that came a whole series of baskets from Vargo, containing a variety of foods with helpful notes on how they would fortify her against any diseases she might have contracted in the Depths. Sedge laughed when Ren asked him about those. “The man en’t afraid of much, but he loathes sick people. Hey, it saves you larder money, right?”

It did indeed. Then came the last and most startling item—a plain-wrapped package left by the servants’ door. “Something from Pavlin?” Ren asked when Tess brought it in.

“If this is bread, somebody forgot to bake it,” Tess said, dropping the package on the table. “It’s heavy.”

Ren unwrapped it with wary hands, and then gasped at what she found inside. It was a beautifully embroidered Vraszenian shawl—the sort of thing a respectable szorsa might wear. A heavy shawl, and she had to search carefully to figure out why: The fabric’s edge was weighted down with seven cunningly hidden throwing knives.

“Isn’t that a fine piece of work.” Tess rubbed the fabric between her fingers, admiring the imbued concealment of the knife pockets. When she unfolded the shawl, a slip of white fluttered to the floor.

Its slanted script was brief and to the point. So you aren’t disarmed again. Meet me outside the Three Eels in the Shambles. Fifth earth. We need to finish our discussion.

Ren’s pulse thundered in her ears. No signature, no identifying mark of any kind… but the source was clear.

Even rapture over excellent craftsmanship couldn’t make Tess miss Ren sinking onto the bench. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Ren showed her the note. Tess bit her lip. “What are you going to do?”

“Go,” Ren said, resigned. “What choice have I?”

A sudden thought made her reach for the instructions from Vargo. The handwriting on the two notes didn’t match at all—she would have been disappointed if it had—but she still had to check.

Before she could face the Rook, though, she had another appointment to keep.

Grednyek Close, Seven Knots: Cyprilun