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

anyway. But Renata had gotten him that charter by making promises she couldn’t keep, and then figuring out how to keep them later; sometimes that was the only way forward.

“Do it,” she said. “I’ll replace those funds afterward.”

Quientis’s answering look was cynical. He knew the Traementis situation as well as Novrus did. But he only said, “Sostira’s in her office?” At Renata’s nod, he tugged his waistcoat down and squared his shoulders. “Right. Let’s go see about giving Mettore a bad day.”

21

The Mask of Ashes

Horizon Plaza and Westbridge: Cyprilun 34

In the time it took Sostira Novrus and her escort to arrive at the far side of Sunset Bridge, someone had erected a small platform so she could be seen by the entire plaza. The Tuat numinat inscribed on the boards ensured she could be heard as well. The crowds in Horizon Plaza were a stone’s throw away from breaking into unrest again, but confusion over the fact that she stood behind a cordon of her personal guards rather than the Vigil was momentarily keeping the aggression at bay.

Sostira’s surcoat, a muted apricot stiffened with gold embroidery that caught the blaze of the light staffs, made her a glowing beacon in the twilight mist. With the stage lifting her and the numinat amplifying her voice, Argentet was in her element: She lived for performances like this.

“Citizens of Nadežra. I have heard your complaints, and now I come before you to answer them. But first I must remind you that the violence we have seen today is beneath you. That the harm you cause is to your brothers and sisters. Veiled Waters is a time of renewal; the unrest today is an insult to the gods.”

That was a mistake, Renata thought as a low growl answered her last phrase. Most of the time it was easy to forget that Vraszenians and Liganti saw the gods differently. On a day like this, though, with tensions already frayed past the snapping point, the oversight grated.

But Sostira’s soft smile and her next words hinted that she’d prepared for that reaction. “When the gods are benevolent, we celebrate them. When they are displeased, we propitiate. I have heard the displeasure of Nadežra’s people, whom I serve as a priest serves the gods—and I shall propitiate you.

“I speak now not as Argentet, but as Era Novrus. I have heard it said that I am the source of the insult today—that my house feasts upon the flesh of dreamweaver birds, in blatant disregard for the sacred traditions of the Vraszenian people. I tell you now that this is untrue. And to prove it, I will empty the coffers of House Novrus to personally pay for all who wish to enter the Great Amphitheatre tomorrow. From sunrise to sunset on the day of Andusny, all who would celebrate the Festival of Veiled Waters in that place will do so at my expense.”

The noise from the audience turned from angry to astonished. Now Renata was the only one growling. That wasn’t what we agreed to at the Charterhouse. It wasn’t what was going to happen, either. In typical Liganti style, Novrus had demanded a written contract with Quientis before she agreed to make this speech.

Now she was going to take credit for his generosity.

Before Renata could stride toward the platform, though, Scaperto Quientis’s hand clamped around her arm. “Let her take credit. I think Sostira will find it’s a double-edged blade. She’s framing it as largesse, but people resent being given what’s rightfully theirs.”

He was right: In the long run, it would be Novrus’s condescension the Vraszenians remembered, not her charity. Especially the following year, when the price of admission tripled for the Great Dream.

For the moment, though, it was having its desired effect. People expected violence and inflexibility from the Cinquerat and braced themselves to shove back; Novrus bending her knee, however slightly, was like a wrestler giving way so she could pin her opponent to the ground.

But it couldn’t drain all the anger away, even as people began to disperse, the wind taken from their sails. Small groups remained in the plaza, muttering among themselves; others trickled off to talk over zrel in the ostrettas. Some would drink themselves up to fury and use the darkness to hide what they did next. The rest, exhausted, would retire for the night.

The real test would come tomorrow. Then Nadežra would see whether the embers had burned out, or whether the morning air would whip them into a blaze again.

Renata thanked Quientis and saw him to a skiff. That done, she sagged against the wall of an ostretta and just breathed for several long minutes. I hope this helped. Some part of it, at least.

When she thought her knees might hold her, she pushed upright and began making her way home, keeping a wary eye out as she went. Her shoes crunched on debris: broken glass, shattered cobbles, and the occasional slippery patch of softer refuse. Once she passed a splash of blood on a wall, drying into a dark and sticky spatter.

As she crossed onto the Isla Prišta, she saw Captain Serrado. The panel coat was gone, replaced by his Vigil uniform and hexagram pin, and three constables were with him. He stopped and bowed as she came near.

“You weren’t at your townhouse,” he said. The words rang like an accusation; Serrado winced as he realized it. “What I mean is, you might want to go to Traementis Manor instead. Some vandals hit Isla Prišta. Most of the houses were damaged.”

The muscles that had begun to relax snapped tight. Tess—

“Tess is safe,” he assured her. “One of my constables found her and helped her get to Little Alwydd.”

Ren swayed with relief. In that moment, she didn’t care what had happened to the townhouse. Little Alwydd was the Ganllechyn district; Tess would be safe there.

Then she realized she recognized the man Serrado had nodded at. She’d only seen that pretty face twice, too far