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

a skiffer through the shoals, pulling her down narrow passages that avoided the worst of the crowds. It took a few minutes for Ren to realize where he was leading her.

Back to the Seven Knots labyrinth.

The atmosphere wasn’t nearly as violent as it had been by the Sunset Bridge, but in other ways it was worse. The crowd stood in hushed fury, pressing close but not jostling, listening to the man speaking from the gate of the labyrinth. The tension was thick enough to pluck like a harp string.

The speaker was cradling the desecrated body of the dreamweaver in his hands. “—what else should we expect from those chalk-faced invaders? They already profaned Ažerais’s wellspring. Only fools say on the ziemetse we can depend. They bow to the Cinquerat even when one of their own is killed! And the Vigil is the Cinquerat’s tool. Into the mud they stomp us. Our cries for justice go unheard. But the Faces and the Masks hear our prayers…”

Serrado paused at the edge of the crowd, his height giving him an advantage over Renata. Then he led her earthwise around the edge, to where Idusza listened to the speaker with arms crossed and fervor shining in her eyes.

Her head whipped around as they came close, and Serrado put up one hand before she could speak. “I need you to listen to what this woman has to say.”

Idusza barely spared Renata a glance; her wariness was all for the hawk. “Wish you to get me killed? Coming up to me like this—”

Tilting his chin at the tense, furious crowd, Serrado said, “I’m more likely to get killed than you, if someone recognizes me. Please—you believed me not before, but this time I have proof.”

That got her attention, if not her trust. They drew off to one side, and Renata took a deep breath, trying to calculate what she could use from her previous interactions with Idusza without letting her thoughts slide anywhere near that persona.

At least Idusza showed no sign of recognizing her. “Who are you?”

“My name is Renata Viraudax.”

Idusza stiffened. “The Seterin alta who has to the Traementis attached herself. This is your proof?”

That last was delivered to Serrado. He shook his head, frustrated. “Listen to what she says. And think.”

Renata spoke before Idusza could argue. “I saw how this all began. I live in Westbridge; I was on my way home before dawn this morning when I noticed Mezzan Indestor waiting in Horizon Plaza with Breccone Indestris, their house inscriptor. A woman came up to him—one who works for Eret Indestor; I’ve seen her before. Mezzan gave her a bag and instructions. I didn’t hear it all, but I was suspicious, so I followed her here, to your temple. I saw her throw the dead bird at the gate.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but she couldn’t say she’d been coming to visit the labyrinth.

“You lie,” Idusza snapped. “I know the Traementis. You want to drag down Mezzan’s family.”

“But would I risk my life coming here, at a time like this?”

The speaker had finished his rant. Raising the body of the dreamweaver above his head, he began chanting. “Take the bridge. Take the bridge.” Not alone: The crowd joined him, their voices weaving into a single growing roar.

Renata spoke more urgently. “He came to you today, didn’t he? And told you about the dead bird—no, that would have been too suspicious, if he were the one to bring the news. But people are saying House Novrus has been eating dreamweavers; that sounds like an Indestor rumor, spread so as to hurt their rivals. Did you hear that from Mezzan?”

The thinning of Idusza’s lips said her guess had hit the mark. But what would persuade her? Ren didn’t dare lean on pattern, not in this persona. I’ll have to come back as Arenza—

No. Idusza believed in pattern more than she cared to admit, but what she truly trusted were concrete facts—even if Ren had to imbed them in lies. “I heard him say he was going to find you in your rooms in Grednyek Close.”

Idusza flinched. “You told her that,” she accused Serrado.

“Not me,” he said, with genuine surprise.

“I heard it from Mezzan, this morning,” Renata insisted. “And the coat he was wearing—it was blue, embroidered with gold bees.”

Idusza stepped back, as though Renata’s words were a blade. “No… He would not… It is an old coat. You must have seen him wear it some other time, and now you guess.” But her eyes glittered with welling tears. She knew.

“Think about it,” Serrado said, lapsing into Vraszenian. “Remember what I told you before. What that szorsa read. That injustice you can right—what if this is it?”

Ren could have kissed him for mentioning the szorsa. All her work with the cards, trying to weaken Idusza’s faith in Mezzan… She couldn’t remind Idusza of that, not in this persona. But Serrado had unwittingly done it for her.

He kept talking, desperation creeping into his voice. “At least let us tell your friends. Let them hear it and decide, before this goes any further. Before you end up playing into Indestor hands.”

Idusza cut him off with a single, tense jerk of her head that sent the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Only you. Not her. They will heed her not, and she’ll get hurt.”

Serrado switched back to Liganti for Renata’s sake. “She’s taking me to talk to some people who might be able to help, but you can’t come. Go into the labyrinth; you’ll be safe there. If anyone tries to drag you out, tell them—”

Renata shook her head before he could finish. “I won’t be any use hiding. If I go to the Charterhouse, I can persuade someone to make a few concessions to the crowd. It might help calm things down.”

Optimistic words, and she knew Serrado knew it. “I can’t spare the time to take you out of here.”

“Then I’ll go on my own. I’ll keep my head down and move fast.”

Even with the mounting tumult