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

Well done. Through the gate and on to the next cycle with you.’” She crossed her arms. “Do they say something else to you?”

It was petty to feel satisfaction that Tanaquis couldn’t read the cards when she’d just saved all of them from the curse, but listening to a Liganti woman try to explain Ažerais to her had left Ren feeling a touch petty. She had to rein in the desire to speak with utter confidence, even though she had no doubt what the cards meant. “The Ember Adamant is obligations, yes, but… perhaps it would be better to think in terms of burdens? I think it’s saying the burden has been lifted. Or that your promise to help us has been fulfilled. Or both.”

“Then it worked?” Donaia asked—not Tanaquis, but Renata.

“Yes,” she said, and gestured at Labyrinth’s Heart. “When the pattern consists of three cards, the second one is the path ahead. This one does indeed mean peace—although…”

She glanced up and saw Donaia and Giuna stiffen at her words. “No, the curse is gone!” she hurried to say. “I was only looking ahead to the last card. Puzzles and riddles—we still don’t know why we were cursed. And though I’m glad to be free of it, I should like to know where it came from.” She shifted her attention to Tanaquis.

“I’m curious myself,” the astrologer murmured absently, earning a snort from Donaia and a soft giggle from Giuna. From what Renata knew of Tanaquis, “curious” was an enormous understatement.

But for once, she was in complete agreement with the astrologer. She herself wouldn’t be at peace until she knew the answer… because there was a final piece to the pattern she hadn’t mentioned. Labyrinth’s Heart was the stillness of the eye of the storm. The Traementis might not be cursed anymore—but the force behind the curse wasn’t gone.

Tanaquis clapped her hands briskly. “It’s enough for now that it’s been dealt with. I need to clean up before this numinat burns my house down.” Then she paused, blinking at all three of them. “That’s a joke. Inscriptor humor.”

She shooed them out of her workroom, leaving them to show themselves out. In the misty street outside, while Tess went to hail three sedan chairs, Donaia stopped Renata with one hand on her arm.

Her brown eyes were weary, but softer than they’d been in weeks. “With everything that’s happened, I’ve been remiss with my gratitude. Thank you. I wish we might have learned of this before—” Her words caught and she swayed, until Giuna steadied her. With a visible effort, Donaia pressed down her grief. “Thank you. Go home and get some rest. In the morning, if you wish to come by, I believe we should discuss something long overdue: inscribing you into the Traementis register.”

“Mother!”

“I mean it,” Donaia said to Giuna. “We’ve had enough of endings and loss. Let’s mark this turn with good fortune.”

Donaia turned her attention to Renata, who kept her face carefully startled. Giuna, out of her mother’s view, was staring at her with mute wariness and conflict. Renata might have helped the Traementis, but Giuna hadn’t forgotten that she’d also admitted to wanting to feed off their wealth.

This offer was exactly what Ren had set out to get. But if she took it, Giuna would never forgive her.

“Era Traementis… Donaia, if I may.” She waited for Donaia’s firm nod before she went on. “Your offer means more to me than I can say. But I wouldn’t feel at ease in my heart, accepting when Leato’s death is still unresolved. Whoever poisoned him in the Charterhouse murdered him—and I intend to see that person answer for what they did.”

Donaia protested with half-articulated arguments about her reasons for not offering before, and assurances that Renata need not do anything else to earn her place among them. But Renata stood firm as the first chair arrived, restraining the urge to shove Donaia into the box just to stop her insisting. Fortunately, Giuna helped, getting her mother settled and on her way as a second chair approached.

“Why did you refuse?” Giuna asked then, ignoring the waiting chair. “This is what you wanted.”

Ren was tired. Her head ached, and she wanted anything other than to be having this conversation. She knew she ought to be gracious, but she couldn’t muster the will. “Because I don’t relish living the rest of my life with you hating me. I’ll find some other way to make ends meet.” A long-term advocacy arrangement with Vargo wouldn’t let her sustain the facade of her current life, but she would figure out… something.

Even I can’t lie well enough to believe that. There was nothing. She owed too much to House Pattumo, a debt that would come due all too soon. She’d missed her chance to leap to shore, and it was only a matter of time before the bridge beneath her collapsed.

“Oh.” Giuna rocked back on her heels, worrying her glove between her fingers. “Well. Thank you. For tonight.” She started to retreat, then turned back. “You should come by in the morning anyway. Mother’s missed you. And I…”

She caught whatever she’d been about to say, only mumbling, “You should come by.”

Giuna probably meant it as kindness. In its own way, it was. It just wasn’t a kindness that could save Ren from the trap she’d created, walked into, and slammed shut behind herself.

Westbridge and Seven Knots: Cyprilun 33–34

Tess didn’t chide Ren for refusing Donaia’s offer. She only hugged her once they were back at the townhouse, then heaved the mattress down from where they propped it against the wall during the daytime. After this many years together, not everything needed words.

Ren dozed fitfully. She’d run from Nadežra once out of fear. The smart thing to do now would be to take her winnings from Breglian’s and leave again, this time in less of a panic. Try a smaller version of this con somewhere else. Go south into Vraszan and make her living