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

fell for long enough that Ren began to worry she’d spend half the night in the cramped closet, breathing in the silk-and-leather scent of the Rook’s disguise and trying to tell whether he was the same height as Leato or not. But after a few endless moments, the door opened and closed again, the lock clicking back into place.

The Rook released her. Ren crouched—more cautiously this time—and listened at the panel, then unhooked it and pushed it outward.

The study was empty. After the warmth of the closet, the air felt as cold as ice.

“We shouldn’t linger,” the Rook said. “At the risk of insulting you, I don’t care to do that again.”

As much as she wanted to continue searching, Ren couldn’t argue. The Rook folded the letter, and she wondered at its importance. Some kind of planted material, and apparently related to the feud between Indestor and Novrus. That would be of interest to Leato—which might be why the Rook was taking it.

But if he wasn’t Leato, then she was letting a valuable piece of evidence slip away.

The Rook must have caught her frown, because he paused instead of tucking the document into his coat. “As this seems more pertinent to my business than yours, you don’t mind if I take it, do you?”

She snorted. “What would I do—tell the Rook, ‘no, gimme’?”

It was an edge of street cant she hadn’t meant to let slip. His lantern was still closed, but the light from the gardens caught the barest curve of what might have been a grin. “Well, I was here first.”

You also have a sword. He wouldn’t hurt her without cause… but if she tried to lay claim to that letter, she might give him cause. Ren spread her hands, and he slid the paper into his coat.

Then he slipped the lightstone into a pocket and collapsed the small lantern. Boot on the window ledge and hand braced to haul himself up to the casement, the Rook said, “I suppose your presence here is enough to keep you from telling tales about where you saw me, so I won’t insult you with a warning. It’s certainly been a memorable evening. Sleep well, Arenza.”

With a tug at his hood, he disappeared through the window.

10

Pearl’s Promise

Eastbridge, Upper Bank: Pavnilun 9

In many ways Ossiter’s resembled the Rotunda, where the Gloria was held. The ostretta’s center atrium held a fountain, potted myrtle trees, and a collection of low tables and couches for casual patrons seeking only a glass of wine and a selection of fruits and cheeses. Galleries ringed the upper levels for those willing to spend the time and money on a full Seterin meal. Renata spotted several acquaintances among the diners, and tipped her head when they noticed her in turn.

As she ascended the stairs, the scent of roasted meats and spices overpowered the lighter dance of wine and myrtle blossoms. Renata placed a hand over her waist, grateful to Tess for shoving a bit of bread at her before she left. It would ruin the moment if Vargo heard her stomach rumbling.

“Alta Renata.” Vargo stood, taking both her hands in greeting. Admiration lit his eyes, but as much, she suspected, for what she wore as for the body inside it. “Your maid has done amazing work with that wool.”

“Yes, Tess is a treasure.” She said it dismissively, as if she’d long since grown tired of praising her maid’s work. As if she hadn’t almost cried when Tess buttoned her into it. Halfway between a woman’s surcoat and a man’s full coat, the cranberry fitted bodice came with its own attached sleeves, and the foreskirt split in the center, closing down the front with a row of jet buttons. The double layer of skirts left Ren feeling like she was wading through the Depths at river’s flood, but she would never complain. For the first time this entire winter, she felt warm.

Vargo cut an equally fine figure in sapphire wool that showcased the spider peeking out from under his collar. “Do you bring Master Peabody with you everywhere you go?” Renata asked.

“Only where he won’t be a distraction.” Vargo took his seat, frowning down at his pet, which sent Peabody scuttling back into the shadows of his collar. “Though even he would pale in comparison to you. I had difficulty telling which incited more gossip: your dance partners at the betrothal party, the duel, or your outing with Faella Coscanum the next day.”

Renata accepted the wine he poured for her. “The duel, at least, I am not to blame for.”

“I’d love to know the truth behind the gossip.” He pretended to study the color of his wine, but his eyes were on her.

She could read between his words readily enough. Vargo hadn’t pressed her, but he must be getting impatient. He’d hired her to arrange a charter and provided funds for bribes, but from what he could see, she’d spent the last two months on frivolities and unrelated conflicts. Renata took a small leather folder from a pocket inside her coat and presented it to him with both hands. “The truth is that I have the charter.”

The glass paused halfway to Vargo’s lips. Shadows moved under his collar, Peabody peeking out again. “I beg your pardon?”

“As you can see.” She unwound the cord from the toggle holding the folder shut—a button bearing Fulvet’s stacked triangle seal. Inside, a paper full of dense calligraphy outlined the terms of the charter and granted it to House Traementis for a period of nine years. “Era Traementis is prepared to sign the administration contract at your convenience.”

Vargo took the charter and skimmed through it. Ossiter’s hostess hovered nearby, and he didn’t notice. Peabody scuttled all the way down to his wrist, and he didn’t notice. Only once he’d gone through the entire document did he look up at Renata. “What Primordial powers did you call on to…”

He shook his head and chased Peabody back into hiding. Disbelief tucked