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

“Well. I suppose if you can’t be adopted in, that’s the next best route,” Sibiliat drawled, sauntering up to Renata with Giuna tucked against her side. Their costumes were a coordinated pair: Sibiliat in moon-blue and silver as bright Corillis, and Giuna in green and copper as shy Paumillis.

“Don’t be mean,” Giuna said, but not even Sibiliat’s barb could dim the radiant smile she turned on Renata. “You don’t know how hard I worked to keep her from interrupting you two.”

Renata was glad of her mask, which helped to hide her blush. She almost retaliated with a comment about Sibiliat’s own pursuit of Giuna, but swallowed it for Giuna’s sake—and because she still didn’t know why Sibiliat was playing with the girl. Giuna was easy enough to read; she wanted to be seen as an adult instead of a child, to move out from under Donaia’s sheltering wings and Leato’s shadow. But Sibiliat…

The world spun in a dizzying arc, making her stagger. Giuna caught her elbow, her face etched with worry. “Are you all right?”

“Too warm,” Renata managed, not sure if it was an excuse or the truth. The curl of Sibiliat’s lip said she blamed the unsteadiness on too much drink. “If you’ll pardon me, I think I should find somewhere to sit for a few minutes.”

“Let us help you.” Giuna started to lead Renata away, but Sibiliat caught her trailing shawl like it was a leash, tugging her back.

“Don’t be silly, little bird. Weren’t you just saying that sometimes people appreciate being left alone? Besides, your cousin’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.” The edge that crept into Sibiliat’s voice wasn’t for Renata’s benefit. And judging from Giuna’s blush, it cut just as intended.

Renata would have tried to do something for Giuna, but she wasn’t lying about wanting to sit down. The world kept echoing around her, like a ringing in her bones instead of her ears, and every time she looked at Sibiliat she felt even shakier.

With a nod at Giuna, she moved toward the edge of the crowd, away from the lights and the noise, closer to the shadowed corners of the plaza, and the feeling slowly faded. The corners too were occupied, and the sounds coming from them made it clear why, but she found a wall she could lean against and catch her breath. For once she was glad of the chill air.

She never used to have trouble keeping attraction from influencing her behavior… but tonight there’d been Vargo, then Leato. She brushed her lips with her fingertips. I’m losing track of my real purpose. Which was dangerous.

The minutes slipped by and she stayed where she was, leaning against the wall, ignoring the curious looks from passersby. And because she was at the edge of the plaza, she saw when a blot of darkness appeared from behind the enormous light that illuminated the puppet theatre’s canvas screen: a man slipping up the front stairs of the theatre, unnoticed amid the lights and noise of the masquerade.

Another Rook. One who’d concealed his approach to the theatre—and whose costume didn’t glitter like every other Rook she’d danced with.

It’s him. Ren pushed away from the wall. How much time had passed? Enough for Leato to change from one Rook costume to another—or to somehow transform the festival version into the real thing?

Before she could think twice, she slipped up the stairs and through the doors behind him.

The theatre had been transformed by painted papier-mâché columns and arches to resemble a cleaner version of the Depths, the catacombs that riddled the foundations of the Old Island. The flickering light of candles cast the arches and shadows into even more confusion. Instead of sewage, mold, and rot, the air carried the faded scents of beeswax, wet paper, woodsmoke, and sweat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Renata saw a figure pacing her in the next row of columns. She spun, heart thudding… and realized it was her own reflection, staring back at her with wide eyes and a hand halfway to the knife strapped to her calf.

All around her, other reflections wearing the same shimmering prismatium mask cast rainbows from the glass.

A mirror maze. She’d heard of them; the glassworkers’ guild sometimes set them up during festivals as a way of advertising their wares.

How was she supposed to follow the Rook in this?

A playful shriek and echo of laughter from ahead told her that was an unlikely direction to explore. Setting a hand to the mirror that had frightened her, she veered left into the maze.

The countless moving reflections kept confounding her, and the columns made it seem like she wandered endless hallways. More than once she thought she’d found an opening, only to discover the hard way that it was a cleverly angled mirror. But after a time, she started looking at the ground rather than what lay ahead of her, and then it became easier. There was a logic to the maze, a pattern to where it branched and turned; she began following the rhythm of that, only glancing up periodically to look for a telltale shadow moving between the reflected lights.

Not often enough. She almost missed him—in fact she would have, except he stepped back to hide, only to bump into a mirror where there seemed to be empty space.

A breath of stillness passed. Two. Then another hoot of laughter broke from the next passage over, jarring them both into motion.

He caught her before she could decide what to do, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into what turned out to be a dead end. The finger he raised to the shadows of his hood was an unnecessary warning. The laughter increased in volume as the other group exploring the maze approached. Ren recognized Fadrin Acrenix’s voice, boasting in graphic detail what he’d done with “that jumped-up Lower Bank night-piece,” and then an unsettled reprimand from Iascat Novrus, Sostira’s adopted heir. The words echoed and then