The Mask of Mirrors M. Carrick; (classic novels to read txt) 📖

simple matter of realigning and extending, and Mezzan’s left cheek bled.

“I believe that’s Ninat.” Leato stepped back, admiring the cut like an artist.

It echoed the Rook’s words that night, and Mezzan tensed, preparing to throw himself at Leato despite the cut signaling the duel’s end. Then a hand slapped his blade to the floor. The clatter of it falling was punctuated by the crack of Mettore’s palm against his cut cheek.

“That. Is. Ninat.” Shoving his son back, Mettore faced Leato, showing all the self-control Mezzan lacked. “House Indestor apologizes for the insult. I trust that satisfies. Now take your family and leave.”

Renata tore her attention from the scene, breathing for the first time in what felt like a year, and looked at the Traementis women. Giuna had composed herself, blotting the tear marks from her cheeks, and faced the crowd with dignity. Donaia met Renata’s gaze and turned her hand palm up—not drawing attention to it by holding her hand out, but the invitation was clear.

Renata might not be in the register, but when the Traementis made their exit, Donaia wanted her with them.

For all the good that does me. The night had turned from triumph into ruin, all in the space of a bell, and the wild idea burning in Ren’s mind did nothing to make up for that. She couldn’t even look at Leato as he retrieved his coat and joined his family.

The crowd parted to let them pass, a sea of faces pinched in judgment, alight with glee, or drawn with sympathy. Once they’d cleared the gauntlet, Donaia let out a soft breath. “Well. I suppose that leaves us truly fucked,” she muttered, low enough for only the three of them to hear.

“Mother!” Leato and Giuna gasped, but she ignored them and glanced at Renata.

“I am so sorry, my dear. I believe we just sank any hope you had of—”

“Alta Renata. Leaving already?” Faella Coscanum called, stopping them at the threshold. “I wanted to confirm our appointment for tea tomorrow. Seventh sun?”

Reflex propelled the words out. “Of course, Alta Faella.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it.” Nodding at Donaia and the others, Faella breezed past them to return to her salon. The Traementis weren’t the only ones left gaping in her wake. A second wave of murmurs rose up behind them.

Fire sparked through Renata’s veins. If Faella was still acknowledging them—Faella, who was unhappy that her grandniece was Mezzan’s betrothed… “Don’t drown your hopes yet, Era Traementis.”

Isla Indestor, the Pearls: Pavnilun 5

As the Traementis climbed into their carriage to escape the rain, Leato kept the leather strap of the door in his hand. “Colbrin can take you all home. I—” In the gloom, Renata could just see his jaw tighten. “I need a drink.”

For once Donaia didn’t chide him. “What if Mezzan comes after you?”

Leato laughed without humor. “I won’t go anywhere he’ll think to look for me. He has bigger things to worry about anyway.”

Giuna caught his hand as he moved to climb out of the carriage. “Leato—”

“It’s all right, minnow.” He tipped his forehead against hers. “I’m only sorry that kinless bastard ruined your evening.”

Then he was gone, out into the rain, jogging across the plaza to where some sedan bearers huddled in the marginal shelter of another building. Renata watched him go. Follow him, or…?

Stick to the plan. “I should also take myself home. There’s no point in going to Isla Traementis, then turning around and heading to Westbridge.”

“You would be welcome to stay the night,” Donaia said.

The offer warmed her, even if she had a dozen reasons not to accept—one of whom was almost invisible through the rain and darkness. “No, I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides which, I have preparations to make for tomorrow’s tea with Alta Faella. Good night to you both, and I hope I’ll have good news for you soon.”

Giuna’s farewell trailed after her as she escaped. Tess held an umbrella over them both as they walked away from the carriage; it sheltered Renata’s face, but did nothing to protect her skirts. Tess’s were already waterlogged, and she muttered under her breath, “I hope the uniform is still dry. Getting it wasn’t easy, you know.”

“I know,” Ren murmured. Behind her the carriage rattled away, Colbrin a dripping bulk of oilcloth in the driver’s seat. When she looked across the plaza, Leato had also vanished. “Let’s find somewhere sheltered.”

The carriages clustered in the mews provided a changing place conveniently close to the kitchen door, with the drivers all staying dry and warm in the servants’ dining room. Tess kept watch, and Renata tried to keep her balance in the well-sprung vehicle she’d chosen as she wrestled out of her finery. If anyone sees it moving, they’ll assume something else is going on.

The betrothal party was a blessing, a big enough affair that Indestor’s usual staff weren’t sufficient; they’d had to hire additional hands. All it took was one stolen maid’s uniform and some makeup, her hair reworked into simple braids and pinned up, to transform her into just another Vraszenian woman among the temporary servants.

“This is mad. You know that, right?” Tess whispered as they dashed from the mews to the kitchen. She grabbed a bucket she’d hidden out of the way and shoved it at Ren. “Ice. They’re going through a passel of it, so you should be able to make your way in without anyone giving you a bother. But I still think this is a bad idea. I may be helping, but don’t you go taking that for agreement.”

“Use not common sense at me,” Ren said, dropping into her Vraszenian accent. “I will never have a better chance. And I listened to the seasoned thieves talking; I know what to do.” If Ondrakja hadn’t tried to kill Sedge, by now Ren might be one of those older thieves, promoted from the Fingers to an adult knot. Assuming Ondrakja had let her go.

If she let herself stop to think, she’d be terrified. So