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

“You don’t know the source of power for the Traementis curse—but clearly, pattern knows. It showed a connection nobody even suspected, and perhaps offers a path for invocation that lies outside the standard Enthaxn sigils. How fascinating would it be if we could use the conduit of Ažerais’s pattern to channel the energy of a numinat!” With her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Tanaquis almost resembled a woman in love. She belatedly tamped down her excitement to add, “And it should break the curse, too.”

The only part of that Renata had followed was “break the curse.” Cautiously, she said, “That’s… good?”

“Yes. Perfect.” Tanaquis’s enthusiastic nod shook additional wisps of dark hair free of her bun. “It might be possible to use those three cards in a numinat laid out in a tripod configuration to supplement the focus. Essentially, drawing on Ažerais. In theory—but the theory is sound. Would you say that the three cards match somehow to yourself, Donaia, and Giuna?”

Renata blinked. “I… no. It was indicating where the Traementis are now—The Mask of Ashes—what path they will follow, which was The Mask of Night, and where they’ll end up, The Face of Gold. I wouldn’t call either Era Traementis or Alta Giuna destruction or ill fortune.”

The pencil paused. The glow dimmed. “That’s too bad. It was ever so tidy that way. Well, we’ll work around it.” Tanaquis resumed writing. “So, you can bring them?”

“Bring—” Renata pressed her lips together, inhaling through her nose. “Meda Fienola, I’m not an astrologer, nor an inscriptor. What are you talking about?”

Donaia was better at it, but Renata’s clipped question still drew Tanaquis’s attention back to her visitor. “Your deck is connected to pattern, and thus to Ažerais, the way a focus connects a numinat to a divine aspect of the Lumen. The three cards you drew are connected through pattern to the curse and to its source. Usually, that power flows from the Lumen, through the god’s focus, and into the numinat—but I believe I can reverse that flow. I want to scribe a numinat that uses your cards as subsidiary foci in order to draw the power of the curse off you, Donaia, and Giuna, and shunt it back to its source. Does that make more sense?” The furrow of her brow suggested she’d simplified as much as she could.

Motes of chalk dust drifted through the sunlight as Ren sat, wordless. The problem now wasn’t that she didn’t understand. It was that she did.

“The cards…” Her throat was too dry. She swallowed and tried again. “Our hair went up in flames. Please tell me the cards won’t do the same.”

Tanaquis bit her lip. “That wouldn’t be my intent. But I don’t know that anyone has tried using cards from a pattern deck as foci. It may not be… stable.” Her hand covered Renata’s in an unexpected show of compassion. “I know they mean much to you. They must have, for you to defy your mother to protect them. But the alternative is to remain cursed. Donaia and Giuna as well.”

In a flash, she remembered the other two decks—the ones she’d bought for street use. “But pattern decks are common here. We could—”

A shake of Tanaquis’s head killed that hope. “It should be the cards you used in the reading. They have the strongest, clearest connection.”

Of course they did. Tanaquis might not understand pattern, but she understood that much.

But they’re my mother’s cards. The last remnant she had of Ivrina.

Ren closed her eyes. Risk the cards… or risk all three of them dying.

She knew which one Ivrina would tell her to choose.

“Very well,” she said grimly, opening her eyes. “We will try.”

Whitesail, Upper Bank: Cyprilun 33

Tanaquis worked fast. Complex numinata often took hours or even days to draw, but the astrologer must have been ready to begin as soon as she had agreement on the cards. The very next evening, Tanaquis summoned all three affected women to her house.

It was cruelty and mercy both. Ren wasn’t yet ready to face the possibility of losing part of her mother’s deck. But at the same time, the curse now hung over them all like a scythe, and she wouldn’t breathe freely until it was gone.

The skylights were open to the moons, Paumillis dark, but Corillis waxing full enough to provide as much light as the stones embedded in the slanted ceiling like stars. The floor that had been bare of all but circle and spiral was now an intricate web of lines and arcs, the chalkwork clean and confident. The tripod Tanaquis had mentioned was a flimsy structure, a small plate hanging from the ceiling, with braided copper threads attached to the floor at three points around the enclosing circle. The circle itself was bordered with a ring of nine triangles within vesicae piscis: three already holding foci, three large enough for a person to sit in the center, and three with an empty, waiting square the size of a pattern card.

“Did you bring them?” Tanaquis asked Renata, holding out a hand dusted with chalk.

Even Ren wasn’t a good enough liar to hide her reluctance as she handed the cards over. Only the three she’d drawn for that pattern: The rest of the deck was safe with Tess downstairs, far away from this numinat. Mismatched decks were hardly uncommon, cards getting torn or too badly bent for shuffling, szorsas and gamblers swapping in replacements as needed. She could do the same if she had to.

Ir Entrelke Nedje, she prayed, don’t make me have to.

“Tanaquis, are you certain this will work?” Donaia asked.

“No,” she said, studying each card in turn. “But if it doesn’t, we’ll try again.”

“I mean—” Donaia eyed the numinat warily. “Will it be safe?” She too had to be remembering their hair going up in flames.

Setting a hand on Donaia’s shoulder, Tanaquis said, “I won’t hurt your family, Donaia. Trust in me.”

With anyone else, Renata wasn’t sure