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

Behind Tess, the women were swiftly packing up their work, laying the bobbins in careful fans for Tess to sort and finish later. “Same again tomorrow, then?” Old Mag asked as the others slipped away.

Tess followed her out to the narrow path and canal that ran along the back of the townhouse. “Yes. And please don’t say aught to anyone about what we’re doing here. If the alta found out, I’d be sacked for certain.”

“Say aught about what?” Mag asked, patting fleece-white hair and glancing around with exaggerated confusion. “Have you seen my memory? I’m always leaving it in the oddest places.” She winked. Pulling her striped woolen over her head, she shuffled off after the other women.

Tess turned back—and nearly stumbled into the canal when she spotted the baker’s boy approaching.

“Careful,” Pavlin said, catching her before she could complete the tumble. She gaped up at him, fingers clenched in his sleeves. He hadn’t come around in weeks, and she assumed it was because he’d abandoned any hope of securing Alta Renata’s custom.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted.

“Uh…” Pavlin glanced down at her hands, currently crumpling wrinkled stars into the loose broadcloth of his coat.

“Oh! Sorry!” Tess released him and did her best to pretend her cheeks weren’t trying to match her freckles. “I only meant, you haven’t been by in a while. I thought… maybe…”

“I had other work,” he said. “I only help at the bakery when it’s needed. You’ve found more servants, it seems.”

Tess glanced over her shoulder. Mag and the others had already disappeared around the corner. “Ah. Yes.” The idea was Tess’s. Bring in a gaggle of Ganllechyn women from Little Alwydd under the guise of day servants, then set them to lacemaking and embroidery that Tess could use or sell. Swear them to secrecy on threat of Tess’s position. Anyone looking would assume the house was properly staffed, and it gave Tess a respite and their budget another dribble of income.

Still, Tess wasn’t the liar Ren was. She kept her eyes on the cobbles as she said, “The alta doesn’t like the noise, so they only come while she’s out.”

“Oh. Well, it’s good you have help now.”

The lapping waters of the little-used canal battled with the chittering of a nearby finch in the awkward silence that followed. Tess managed to lift her gaze to Pavlin’s cuff—too short by a handspan. That irritation carried her up a baggy sleeve to loose shoulders: a coat made for a shorter, rounder man. His father’s castoff, she’d wager. Such a shame. Tess’s fingers itched to drag the coat off him for a bit of nip-and-tuck.

“What brings you to—”

“I thought you might like—”

They both stopped, then spluttered into laughter.

“I brought you more bread,” Pavlin said, presenting a muslin bundle with a grin.

She deflected it when he tried to hand it to her. “It’s that sorry I am to say no, but the alta insists we don’t need accounts. She’s never had to run a household herself.” At least that last part was true.

“No, this is just for you.” Pavlin pushed the bundle on her again, and sure if it didn’t smell like bliss, butter and yeast, spice and warmth. Tess latticed her fingers over her belly, hoping it wouldn’t give her away with rumbling. “Call it an apology for… for my persistence before.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of persistence,” Tess said, and promptly wished she could bite her tongue in twain. “But really, I can’t. I’ve no coin to pay you.”

“Are apologies bought with centiras?” His smile was like the bread, making her think of bliss… and hunger.

“N-no,” she stammered, accepting the bundle while she tried to sort her thoughts. Thanks to Ren and Sedge, she’d come through Ondrakja’s torments with fewer scars than either of them, but she knew not to trust anything offered for free.

So she grasped at the only thing within reach. “Give me your coat.”

Supporting the bundle on her hip, she had Pavlin’s coat half off him before he found his tongue.

“What are you—”

“Fixing an offense to every eye in Nadežra. Come back in two days and I’ll have it done for you.” Draping the coat over her shoulder, Tess gave him a firm nod of dismissal. “You can bring more bread then. I like the spice cakes especially. Now go on with you; the alta’s returning, and I have work to do.”

Leaving him bemused on the canal walk, Tess bustled back to the kitchen cellar with his coat, her bread, and a pleased little smirk.

With her secret sewing ring gone, there was no reason to waste more fuel on the hearth fire. Tess banked it so it would die down without going out entirely. Then she hurried to the front hall to keep watch for Alta Renata.

“We’re near to finished with the insets for Giuna’s underdress,” Tess said once they were downstairs, clearing away the embroidery hoops and lace bobbins. “And I just need to put the finishing touches on her surcoat. There’s fresh water for washing—should still be warm. And we have bread for our broth. How did it go in Whitesail?” She rushed the question as though Ren would overlook the newly filled breadbox.

It must have been a hard day, dancing to meet Quientis’s demands, because Ren just dropped onto the bench with an approving groan. “The only thing I can say for Mede Elpiscio’s office is that it’s warm. But he’s sent me to speak with Mede Attravi. I feel like a cat chasing a string, and it’s being pulled too fast for me to catch.”

Tess let Ren talk as she ladled broth into bowls and tore up a loaf of brown bread so fresh the center was still steaming warm. She’d learned long ago that listening and asking the occasional question helped Ren more than suggestions ever did.

“Here,” she said when the food was ready. “Better eat now before it gets so cold in here we can’t chew for our teeth