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

The boats patrolling the Dežera usually hunted river pirates or examined ships for contraband rather than blocking access to the Upper Bank. But when Renata finally found a skiff willing to carry her east, she had to stand up in the boat and shout at one of the patrols in her Seterin accent before they’d let her past—leveraging Nadežran prejudices that assumed Seterins were automatically more civilized.

The Charterhouse was like a kicked anthill, swarming with hawks and clerks and outraged merchants worried about their warehouses on the Lower Bank, all trying to shout at Prasinet or Caerulet. The offices of Argentet were comparatively empty. At a time like this, nobody was terribly concerned with the city’s cultural institutions.

As Renata came down the hallway, she heard Sostira Novrus snarling at some unfortunate minion. “I don’t care if you have to swim the bloody river; get down to the Lower Bank, find that press, and smash it.”

The Stadnem Anduske. For half an instant, Ren considered it: She could win a great deal of goodwill from Novrus by telling her about the wainwright’s shop in the Shambles. And if that hamstrung Indestor’s plan, so much the better.

But there was no plausible reason for Renata to have that information. And the radicals wouldn’t have survived this long if they weren’t smart enough to move their printing operation after the Rook found it. So she stood aside to let the minion escape, then squared her shoulders and went to do battle.

“Absolutely not!” Sostira’s rejection bit off the last of Renata’s proposal before she could even give it voice. “I can see you want to end this peacefully, but all you’ve done is waste your time and mine. I’m not about to reward these gnats for kicking up a swarm—especially not when they’re blaming my house, with these absurd lies about dead birds. Caerulet just needs a little longer to organize his troops. Then we’ll put this nonsense down, hard.” She waved a hovering secretary off with an impatient hand. “The Tyrant may have been a glutton and a lecher, but he understood how to deal with the common mob.”

“Has it occurred to you that Indestor may be the source of those lies about your house?” Renata snapped, unable to keep her temper fully in check.

Sostira’s eyes grew cold. “It has. And Mettore will answer for it in due course. But first we have to deal with the chaos on the Lower Bank, and for that, we need his forces.”

“I’ve seen riots in Seteris, Your Elegance. Answering force with force might end the problem—but we will pay the price in destroyed property and further unrest. Whereas a gesture of generosity—a sop to their concerns—”

“Free admission to the Great Amphitheatre for the rest of Veiled Waters is not a sop! Do you have any notion how much money that would cost me?”

She wanted to shake the woman. “Their boycott is already costing you much of that money; these rumors will cost you more. An investment now could undercut Mettore and buy you the goodwill of the entire Vraszenian population.”

Sostira snatched up a familiar-looking broadsheet from the papers on her desk. “Vraszenian goodwill isn’t worth the paper their treasonous words are printed on.” She crushed the sheet in her hand and cast it into an alcove bare of anything other than a numinat, where it flared into a cinder. “That’s what their gratitude will be after Veiled Waters has ended. Cinders, smoke, and ash. If I let them in for free this year, next year they’ll expect the same, when the whole swarm infests our city.”

“I’ll pay.” The words came out of Renata’s mouth before she could stop them.

Sostira’s bark of laughter was almost more relief than offense. “If you came from Seteris with that kind of money, no wonder Donaia is panting to get you however she can.”

She rounded the desk, her smile like ice. “But I don’t think you did. I think you’re not much different from your mother. You came here with a beautiful face, a talented seamstress, and enough for a young woman to live on until she could find someone to bear the costs of her comforts. You think that’s enough to cover the Veiled Water fees? Forgive me, my dear.” One sharp nail traced down Ren’s cheek. “But you’re not that beautiful.”

Ren couldn’t maintain the pretense of cordiality. Not when she looked at Sostira and saw Ondrakja—the old Ondrakja—her loveliness a weapon and a silk-thin mask for the cruelty beneath.

She felt her own expression harden. “I will get you that money, Your Elegance. Because unlike you, I’m not ready to watch the Lower Bank burn.”

Westbridge and Kingfisher, Lower Bank: Cyprilun 34

After Ren went off to find Captain Serrado, there was naught for Tess to do but wait and fret. She knew her sister was smart enough to avoid the worst of the danger, but that didn’t make sitting in the kitchen any easier.

When a pounding came at the door, for an instant she thought Ren was back. But no, Ren was currently Renata; she wouldn’t come to the kitchen entrance. Tess yanked the door open to find the boy who usually kept watch on tatting days panting on the stoop, wide-eyed and blanch-pale.

“They’s coming this way,” he said between gulps of air.

“Who?”

“Rioters. Hawks are stopping it up at Horizon Plaza, so it’s got nowhere to spill but here.”

Tess fumbled blindly for a mill and pressed it into his hand. “Get you gone.” He vanished before her words were done.

Leaving Tess alone with her indecision. Stay or go? She paced before the door, willing it to open again and spit Ren into the kitchen. How long since she’d left? How late was it now?

She nearly screamed as crashing glass sounded upstairs, followed by men’s voices. Someone had broken into the house. Their rough laughter pressed down on Tess like a smothering blanket.

That decided her. Better to flee Westbridge than wait to get raped.

Snatching her sampler from the