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

dressed and clutching a sack, hurtled down into the front hall. He slipped on the blood staining the marble, but kept his feet and rounded the newel post, heading for the back of the house.

Grey put his blade through the throat of one man and then the heart of the other, kicking them away as hard as he could. They dropped—not out, but on their way there—and he leapt past them to pursue Indestris to a half-hidden door and down the servants’ stair. Into the kitchen, and the back door wide open—

He was just in time to see Ranieri’s fist crash into Indestris’s jaw. The man staggered backward, then slumped at Grey’s feet.

Ranieri shook his hand out, wincing. The boy was no bare-knuckle brawler; he needed much heavier bones if he wanted to go punching people in the face. But his expression showed no regrets as he said, “That felt good.”

“Hold him,” Grey said, and flung himself back up the stairs.

He found Fienola binding up what looked like a bite mark on Dverli’s hand. The third attacker lay facedown, a knife in his back that was far too delicate to be Vigil issue. “I took care of him,” Fienola said when she saw Grey. “This doesn’t prove a connection to ash, of course, but it does make our case stronger. Do you have Breccone?”

Grey nodded sharply. “Ranieri stopped him.”

“Thank you, Captain. We’ll take him to the Sebatium for questioning. Please have your people secure the house until I can make sure Breccone left no traps.” She stood, dusting her knees, then turned to the clerk hovering safely on the front step. “Send someone to collect the bodies.”

How could she remain so composed? Fire still coursed through Grey, making his heart pound and his muscles twitch. He focused his breathing, forced his calm to match hers. “I’ll find something to bind Altan Breccone with,” he said, and went to give Ranieri the new orders.

The Aerie was quiet by the time Grey’s dragging steps carried him back to file the report. Ranieri had offered to stay at the Sebatium with their prisoner. None of his constables were complaining anymore; Dverli and Tarknias had saluted with enthusiasm when he told them to guard the house. You’re not that much older than them. You’ve got no excuse to feel this tired.

But he was—tired enough that he didn’t notice the two lumps huddled in the shadow of the Aerie’s steps until they broke free and approached him.

He stopped his hand before it touched his sword. Corillis’s light was enough to show him the moon-round face, small features, and dimpled eyes of a dawn child. He’d seen her before, among Arkady’s gang. She was old for a street kid, maybe fifteen floods, but the innocence of dawn children all too frequently made them targets for the cruel, so Arkady gave her shelter. Pitjin, that was her name. Behind her was the boy who’d tried to knife Grey when they first ambushed him.

“See, Lupal?” Pitjin said to him. “It’s the nice hawk. The one who en’t such a fucker.”

“Er… yes?” Grey said. Her language rubbed oddly against the sunny grin of a dawn child.

Lupal didn’t look nearly as cheerful. “En’t no nice ones.” He paid more attention to the square than to Grey, keeping watch for threats coming through the fog.

“Shh. He’ll help. You’ll help, right?”

So much for finding my bed. There was only one reason Arkady’s gang would seek him out. “I’ll try. Another kid turned up? How long have they been missing?”

“It en’t that,” Pitjin said, catching his sleeve.

“It’s Arkady,” Lupal growled. “She’s been taken.”

Isla Prišta, Westbridge: Cyprilun 35

Once Ren had the mattress down and Tess tucked snugly in, she meant to sit and think for a while. But the bench wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and the parlour was uninhabitable at the moment, so she lay down next to Tess—and passed out like she’d been clubbed.

She woke what seemed like a mere blink later to someone pounding on the kitchen door.

Fear flooded her body. But no one was shouting threats or orders of arrest; it was just an insistent knocking, like someone had been doing it for a while and was on the verge of giving up. Ren almost got up to answer it, then realized her impending mistake and shook Tess instead. “Tess. You must see who is at the door—I can’t.”

“Mmph. Hurry up and thread the custard,” Tess mumbled, dragging her hair over her face like a blanket. A few more shakes got her sitting up and yawning blearily.

Then she heard the knocking and shot to her feet. “Right. Right. I have it. Go hide.” She stumbled to the door, waiting until Ren was out of sight.

Ren heard the door open, and conversation too soft for her to make out. Then the door snicked closed again. When she peered into the kitchen, Tess was frowning at a folded note. The lump of candle wax sealing it hadn’t been broken. She held it out for Ren to double-check. “From Sedge.”

The wax held no seal, of course. Sedge wasn’t the kind of person who used seals. “Who brought this?” Ren asked, prying at the lump.

“Corner boy. One of the ones who keeps watch for the tatting circle.” Tess sat on the bench, head lolling against the wall. Her teeth snapped closed on another yawn. “I can call him back if you need.”

Ren more or less stopped listening after “corner boy,” because she had the note open, and was trying to parse the untidy scrawl within. Sedge had mentioned learning to write after he started working for Vargo, but judging by this sample, he’d stopped practicing after the basics.

Found something you need to see. Meet at lodging house. Vargo watching. Use escape window.

Her fingers trembled. Vargo watching. What had Sedge found that he needed to hide from his boss?

“Tess,” she said, folding the note with careful movements. “Sedge has something for me. You stay here; I’ll be back in