The Mask of Mirrors, M. Carrick; [best books to read in your 20s .txt] 📗

Maybe they just thought he looked too good in dress vigils to pass up. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the lean build of a duelist rather than a soldier, his eyes a deeper shade of his coat’s sapphire. Apart from his heritage, he was exactly the kind of man Nadežra’s elite would prop up in a corner as decoration at an event like this.

But she’d used her own pretty face as a tool too often to let someone else do the same to her.

He stepped closer to avoid a passing couple, and Renata found herself expertly edged aside from the traffic. “Your accent—you’re from Seteris? Welcome to Nadežra. Is this your first visit to the Rotunda?”

“It is indeed.” She let her gaze drift across the tables and mannequins displaying wares for this season’s Gloria. “I must say, it is… interesting, seeing what happens to Seterin fashion in its journey here.”

Just a touch of condescension. To the Seterins and Liganti across the sea, Nadežra was a foreign backwater. Letilia had never hesitated to heap scorn on it, and her daughter wouldn’t have shed those prejudices entirely.

The captain nodded amiably rather than taking offense. “The Rotunda can be distracting for those unused to it—and the pickpockets who manage to sneak in like to take advantage of that. Allow me to escort you until you get your bearings.”

The worst thing she could do would be to hesitate. “I’d be grateful,” she said, motioning for Tess to fall back a few steps. A Seterin woman who hadn’t grown up among Nadežra’s political tensions wouldn’t turn her nose up at the escort of a handsome Vigil captain, even if he was Vraszenian. She laid gloved fingers on the sleeve of his coat. “Your uniform is that of this city’s guard, I believe? No pickpocket will dare approach if I have you at my side.”

“Captain Grey Serrado of the Vigil, yes. And I will make certain they do not, alta.” He drew away from her touch, his smile betraying not a flicker of interest in her flirtation.

Serrado. She rolled the syllables around in her mind as she returned the introduction, comparing them against his appearance. Szerado. And “Grey” was hardly a Vraszenian name. So he was one of those types—the ones who tried to separate themselves from their origins, in hopes of currying favor with the Liganti.

Ren might play the role out of necessity. He was a slip-knot by choice.

She pushed the thought away. It wouldn’t matter to Alta Renata. “This way looks more interesting,” she said, glancing to the left when Serrado would have led her right—as though she didn’t know the ebb and flow of the Gloria.

“The promenade progresses earthwise for the Autumn Gloria,” Serrado explained, following the rest of the foot traffic that curved rightward from the entry. “In the spring, it circles sunwise. You’ll find the newest and most expensive goods at the start, and the overlooked treasures near the end.”

“Is that so.” She stopped at a table of perfumes. The woman behind it sized her up in a blink and glided forward, inquiring whether the alta would like to sample any of the scents. Renata allowed her to unstopper a few bottles and wave their wands under her nose, then dab a touch of one to the inside of her wrist. It smelled of eucalyptus, mellowed by something earthier beneath, and the seller promised the scent was imbued to last all day. Buy something now, to show that I don’t care about cost? she wondered. Or demonstrate my taste and discretion by refraining?

She was beginning to attract notice, and not just from the shopkeepers. Some of that was because she looked both noble and unfamiliar, but mostly it was due to her clothing.

Even amid the splendor of the Gloria, she stood out like the blue of autumn skies. Her underdress of gold-shot amber silk was simple almost to the point of austerity, but the azure surcoat showed Tess’s fine hand at work. The bandeau was stitched with clever tucks, lifting her bosom rather than crushing it flat. The surcoat’s bodice lacked the rigid stays meant to give it a straight shape; instead it was tailored almost like a man’s waistcoat, tight through her waist and flaring over her hips before falling into the apron-like panels of the fore and back skirts. On those Tess had exercised restraint; the beauty of the embroidered leaf motif came from quality rather than quantity—turning their tight finances into a virtue. Subtle imbuing made the gold threads shift with the colors of the season. Nobody could look at such a dress and doubt that Alta Renata had paid a small fortune for such work.

And then there were the sleeves. Attached at the shoulder and wrist, they parted and draped in between, leaving the entirety of her arm exposed. She caught one grey-haired old trout frowning in disapproval and hid a smile. Good. I have their attention.

That was the goal of today’s excursion. If Renata Viraudax sat quietly in her townhouse waiting for Donaia to acknowledge her, she’d be easy to ignore. But if she made herself a public sensation, the Traementis would have to respond.

Besides, it was fun. Strolling the Rotunda in beautiful clothing, perusing the wares like she could afford to buy this whole place… if only it met her exacting standards. After a life on the streets, even a sip of this wine tasted sweet.

Renata made unimpressed noises at the perfume and wandered onward, attracting more eyes as she went. No one approached her, though—perhaps put off by the fact that she seemed to have her own personal escorting hawk.

She did her best to shed him. But no matter how long she perused wares and vocally dithered over whether they were the best the Gloria had to offer, Captain Serrado didn’t oblige her with his boredom so she could send him on his way. She was halfway around the Rotunda, contemplating increasingly absurd schemes for getting rid of him, when she caught