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

A muscle jumped in Serrado’s jaw, but he said nothing to correct the inaccuracy or half-veiled insult in Vargo’s description. Vraszenians did not consider dreamweavers their ancestors, but the symbol of one: Ižranyi, the youngest and most favored daughter of Ažerais, the goddess of their people. She and her siblings had founded the seven Vraszenian clans.

The Ižranyi clan was lost now, slaughtered centuries ago in a divine cataclysm that left their entire city a haunted ruin. But their emblem was still honored.

Taking the mask from Vargo, Renata held it up, comparing it against him. “It almost matches your spider pin! But not your coat, I fear.”

Fighting a smile, Vargo absently touched the pin as Renata settled the mask on her face and checked the shopkeeper’s mirror.

It was a mistake. Seeing the mask’s sculpted curve cradling the line of her jaw like a caress, Ren found herself completely unable to care about Tess’s budget and the limits of her forged letter of credit.

Her reflection assured that her yearning remained hidden, but nevertheless Vargo nodded. “I’ll buy it for you—if the alta will allow.” He lifted the mask from Renata’s face, his gloved fingers brushing her cheek in passing, and handed it to the shopkeeper for wrapping, along with the mask that kept away disease. “Call it a welcoming gift.”

Well, that solves the budget problem. “You don’t even know my name,” she said, smiling.

There was another scar through his brow, smaller than the one on his neck, that became visible when he arched it. Whoever Derossi Vargo was, he flung money around like a cuff and had the marks of a Lower Bank rat. He handed her the wrapped mask with a flourish. “There’s an obvious solution to that.”

In response, Renata swept him the most elegant curtsy she could in the confines of the stall, giving her name in a voice that carried to the onlookers. Vargo cocked his head and said, “Viraud— Oh! Number four, Via Brelkoja.”

A chill washed over her skin. How did he know her address?

“I believe I’m your new landlord,” he said, with a small bow. “I hope you’re finding the house suitable to your needs.”

That niggling sense of recognition flashed into clarity, and a sense of relief. She knew his name because she’d seen it on the papers she’d signed to lease her townhouse. “Ah, of course! Please forgive me—I should have known.” Passing the mask to Tess, she curtsied again. “Thank you, Master Vargo, for the gift. It seems I could have no more fitting memento of this city.”

Serrado was radiating disapproval like a blazing hearth. And it seemed Tess agreed with him, because she intervened. “Oh, alta, it’s that cold in here. I’ve your wrap for you.” She bundled Renata in an artful drape of silk, conveniently stepping in front of Vargo. “Do you wish to go back? I can ask the captain to call a chair.”

Go back? At this point that would be disastrous. Renata was here to make an impression on the great and powerful, and her first conversation of substance was with someone of no social standing, rich and charming though Vargo might be.

But she’d seen Letilia make enemies by giving people her back when she decided they weren’t important enough to merit her time. “Nonsense, Tess. Seterin winters are much colder than this.” She let the wrap slip down enough to show her bare shoulders—which had, after all, been Tess’s idea in the first place. “I’ve barely seen half the Gloria yet.”

As if sensing the dismissal, Vargo swept the skirts of his coat back and bowed to Renata. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. I hope our paths may cross again. Perhaps an occasion that allows you to wear your new mask? Alta.” After a brief hesitation, he nodded at Serrado as well. “Captain.”

A sigh escaped Tess as Vargo sauntered off, giving an excellent view of his broad shoulders and striking bootheels and swinging green coat.

Serrado, unfortunately, did not follow suit. He’d gotten his disapproval under control, his face once again a bland mask, avoiding the eye contact that would let Renata gracefully release him.

Sighing inwardly, she turned to face the remaining half circle of the Rotunda. She saw people murmuring behind their fans and gloves, trying with varying degrees of success to pretend they weren’t gossiping about her… and among them, moving toward her, a recognizable golden head.

“Cousin!” Leato Traementis was upon her, taking both her hands. It was impossible not to answer his grin with one of her own, even as Leato’s turned rueful. “Alta Renata, rather. But maybe someday soon—Grey! Lumen’s light, man, I haven’t seen you in forever. How do you know Alta Renata? Did Mother ask you to look after her?”

Renata kept her gaze on Leato, but in her peripheral vision she saw Captain Serrado stiffen.

Suddenly her oddly persistent shadow made a good deal more sense.

“Hello, Leato,” Serrado said. “No, the alta and I aren’t acquainted. I’m on duty and she seemed in need of an escort.” His bronze skin didn’t show blushes well, but Renata recognized the look he was giving Leato. She’d thrown just that sort of quelling glance at Tess when her sister said too much.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Serrado bowed, with military precision rather than Vargo’s swagger or Leato’s easy grace. “Alta Renata, I leave you in Altan Leato’s care.” Over the half-voiced protest from the Traementis heir, he said, “Enjoy the rest of the Gloria.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Captain,” she said, answering his precision with an excruciatingly correct curtsy. “It was most generous of you.”

As Leato gaped at Grey’s retreating back, Era Traementis came sweeping up behind her son. “Alta Renata,” she said. Her expression was cordial, but her words were too melodious to be anything other than a performance. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Your Gloria is the talk of the town,” Renata replied. “And now that I’m here, I can see why. Such a display! We have nothing like this at home. The goods