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

she didn’t stop. She just kissed Tess, settled the bucket on her arm, and strode into the house.

Inside, everything was chaos. There was supposed to be a grand meal in the dining room for select guests, but Eret Indestor was arguing with Eret Coscanum in the garden, and everyone was scrambling to keep the food warm until they saw fit to sit down. Ren dearly wanted to stay and listen to the gossip, but the Faces were giving her a gold-plated opportunity, and she knew better than to squander it.

Moving through the house was a process of trading one task for another. Ice to get through the door, then a pitcher of resinated wine to bring among the guests—but she took care to bump into another servant and spill a bit, giving her an excuse to hand the pitcher off and whip out a rag to clean up the mess. As much as she trusted her disguise, the last thing she wanted to do was walk straight through the mass of dignitaries. A vial of smelling salts from her pocket gave her a reason to hurry along the edges of the party to the rooms where the more delicate flowers were taking their ease. Then it was just a matter of waiting until she had a clear window to dash up the stairs.

She’d made good use of her earlier time. Ren knew Mettore’s study lay off one of the three doors along the upstairs hall. She wasn’t positive which one, but the odds of anyone being in any of the three rooms were low, and she had her apologies ready to hand.

When she listened at the first door, she heard nothing, and when she tried the handle, it opened into a trophy room, lined with heads from hunting trips outside the city. The second was a library.

The third was locked.

This time she’d brought proper tools. Kneeling, she took out a set of skeleton keys—a “welcome home” gift from Sedge. Good thing, too; these locks are better than the one on Donaia’s desk. She kept watch to either side as she began trying the keys, but apart from the noise drifting up from downstairs, everything was quiet.

The second key worked. She disengaged the latch, stood, and slipped through the door—

And came face-to-face with the point of a sword.

The Rook said, “Be still, shut the door, and don’t make a sound.”

When she stayed frozen, the tip of his sword slid past her ear, nudging the door shut. After a breath, Ren reached behind herself and relocked it.

The Rook lowered his blade. “Now, this is unexpected. What could a Vraszenian maid possibly be doing in Mettore Indestor’s locked study?”

Ren could practically taste her pulse. The impossible suspicion that had blinded her during the duel was back, and stronger. If Leato had changed as quickly as she had—circled back around—

Her breath caught with suppressed hilarity. Whether he had or not, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t ask. Not only because the Rook wasn’t liable to confess his true identity… but because she was disguised as Arenza, not Renata, and he showed no sign of recognizing her.

So be Arenza.

She let the impulse to laugh spread into a smile. “You’re the Rook,” Arenza breathed.

“You’ve heard of me.” An answering smile lurked in the shadow of his voice. With the blade swept to one side, he extended a leg, making the antiquated bow look elegant. “And you are…?”

“Arenza.” It would have been better to give a different name, something with less echo of Renata—but her Vraszenian identity was as much a role as the other, a skin she felt comfortable in. “I must in the right place be snooping, if the Rook is here before me.”

The room behind him was in darkness, brightened only by the lights from the garden outside, but that was enough to confirm it was a study, with a sturdy desk much like Donaia’s and shelves of books lining the walls. A window opposite the door was cracked open, allowing the sounds of fading rain, music, and muted chatter to filter in. A few drops of water beaded on the Rook’s hood and coat, giving up the secret of how he’d gained entrance.

“The right place, is it? That’s a refreshing change. Usually the people I encounter feel they’re in the wrong place. And what are you snooping for, Arenza?”

How much could she safely say? That depended on who was under the hood. Whether he was Leato or not, she couldn’t tell him the whole story. But the possibility made her cautious. “Penal ship manifests. Or records of the sales made to slave traders,” she admitted. Under normal circumstances, it would be absurd to expect someone to keep evidence of their illegal activity… but like all Caerulets before him, Mettore had a legendary reputation for organization and documentation. The shelves and cabinets that lined the walls of his study gave mute support to that reputation.

A sudden flare of cheekiness made her adopt the posture and tone of a shop girl. “Is there something I can help you find, Master Rook?”

To her delight, he played along. “Why yes, Mistress Arenza. I’m looking for anything that might shed light on the feud between Indestor and Novrus, the better to ruin both their days.” He extended a hand, as though inviting her to dance. “Would you care to snoop together?”

“As long as we promise to share,” she said giddily, laying her bare hand in his glove. Please let him not recognize my hand warred with Faces and Masks, am I flirting with the Rook?

He led her to one of the shelves, then opened a small thieves’ lantern she hadn’t noticed in the darkness. Unlike the candles the thieves of her acquaintance used, this one held a small numinatrian stone, its glow dim enough not to give away their presence. The lantern was turned so its light wouldn’t be visible from the hallway, and made the room just bright enough to search.

“Happy hunting,” the Rook said, and went to