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

May those who call him family forget my name, and may his spirit from mine be severed, so I walk alone through Ažerais’s Dream.”

The collective intake of breath sent the room into a hush.

Andrejek was the only one who didn’t react, holding Grey’s gaze. Measuring the depth of pain there, making sure it ran all the way to the bone.

“After this is done,” Andrejek said softly, “you and I will talk again.”

He didn’t even wait for a reply, but pivoted to face his people. “Send runners out. Pull our people back, and get them to ground—the hawks will chase them if half a chance they get.”

No longer the center of interest, Grey sagged into a chair and placed a hand over his heart—aching, but for the first time since Kolya’s death, not empty.

Dawngate, Old Island: Cyprilun 34

Ren walked blindly to the river’s edge, trying to come up with a plan. Novrus was right: There was no way Renata herself, or even House Traementis, could pay for people to attend the celebrations in the amphitheatre.

Could Vargo?

He was rich—as rich as some of the noble houses, she suspected. But if he was the Rook, he wouldn’t want to pour his wealth into Argentet’s coffers. And if he wasn’t the Rook… then the same was probably true, just for different reasons.

Unless he was willing to do it for her. But for all his warmth the other night, she doubted the tie between them was strong enough for that.

At the Dawngate landing she found Scaperto Quientis, surrounded by skiffers. As she approached, he leaned out to toss something to one of the men down in the water, and almost overbalanced. Renata caught his arm, steadying him. “I thought you were afraid of drowning, Your Grace.”

“Drowning?” He blinked at her. “Only in the metaphorical sense. Get moving!” That last was to the skiffers.

Renata watched them descend the river-slicked stairs and start paddling clear. It wasn’t just the skiffers; they had others with them, armed with clubs. “You’re sending people to fight the rioters?”

“Not to fight. To take people off the Lower Bank—get them clear of the trouble. The innocent shouldn’t be caught in this.”

She couldn’t help staring. Five members of the Cinquerat: five colors of bastard, the common people said. But Quientis actually seemed to be trying to help.

He’d approved the river charter, and not made her pay for it in blood. He’d organized work crews during the winter.

Maybe—just possibly—it was four colors of bastard, and one with an actual heart.

“Your Grace.” She stopped herself just short of grabbing his arm again. “You can do better than that. I have an idea, something that will help ease the trouble on the Lower Bank. But I can’t do it myself.”

He followed her up from the landing to the street and listened as she explained. But even before she finished, he was shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Alta Renata. Your instincts are noble. But we can’t let people get away with this kind of disrespect and violence. I’m doing what I can to protect those who want no part of the trouble, but the rest…” His square face settled into grim, resigned lines. “Caerulet will take care of them.”

Renata stood, silent and despairing, as he straightened his coat and began walking back to the Charterhouse. Indestor would take care of it, all right. He would send his hawks and soldiers in to drown the Lower Bank in blood.

She didn’t even realize she’d chased after Quientis until she was standing in front of him again, blocking his way. He sighed. “Alta Renata—”

Throwing manners to the wind, she dragged him into the shadow of the Charterhouse steps. “Your Grace. Mettore Indestor created this problem. I saw his son meet with the woman who threw the dreamweaver’s body at the labyrinth; I saw him give her that bird. His pet inscriptor was there, too—probably placing numinata around the Lower Bank to fan the destruction. His own son has taken up with a Vraszenian lover, I think on his orders; he’s been pouring poison in the ears of the Stadnem Anduske. They’re planning some kind of protest at the Charterhouse the day after tomorrow, and I have no doubt that Indestor intends for it to become a slaughter.”

Quientis was staring. She charged on, recklessly. “He planned to drug me on the Night of Hells—it’s why the cup I shared with Leato contained a double dose. And the woman who drugged everyone, Gammer Lindworm? He’s been working with her. Kidnapping children off the street and using them to make the ash. I don’t know what he intends it for… but I know that whatever it is, neither you nor I want to see it come to pass. This riot is part of his plan. We need to end it as peacefully as we can—and as soon as we can.”

Quientis’s sputters reminded her of those moments in the canal on the Night of Hells. She could see him half starting a thousand questions—How do you know this? Why would he poison you? Who are you?—but he cast them all aside and cut straight to the one that mattered. “Do you have proof?”

Relief that he hadn’t simply laughed in her face washed away under despair. Because what he demanded, she couldn’t provide.

Before she could say anything, he turned aside, glare fixing on the plaza. “Of course you don’t. Mettore would keep that sort of thing locked away where you can never find it.”

All the air went out of her. He believes me.

Quientis clamped his hands behind his back. “Sostira will expect immediate payment. Credit won’t do. And too much of my own money is currently bound up in a project to stabilize the Lacewater foundations. I have the funds Master Vargo deposited with me to buy materials for the cleansing numinat, but…”

He’ll gut me like a fish. Except Vargo owned property up and down the Lower Bank—property that might well burn if she didn’t make this leap.

It might burn