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

his shoe; on that walkway, she’d gotten into an argument with Simlin and been pushed into the filthy water. The winding lane of the Uča Idvo had been her favorite hunting ground for cuffs just like the ones she traveled with now, so rich they didn’t bother sewing their money into interior pockets no thief could easily reach.

The close confines meant Sibiliat’s flock shifted like starlings in flight, changing partners to follow the banter. Renata doubted it was an accident that every single one of the nobles found occasion to walk alongside her and comment on her mask—and, by implication, the man she’d gotten it from. Their approach was more genteel than the river rats she’d known, but the behavior was the same: testing whether she was fit to run with their crew.

She deflected the comments with gentle flattery and self-deprecation, and meanwhile noticed they could have crossed the entirety of Lacewater in the time they’d been walking. Their path was taking them on a large, looping circuit around the edges of Lifost Square, where many businesses catered to slumming cuffs. Sibiliat was trying to get Renata lost.

Ren’s lips curved in a secret smile. Even now, she could probably navigate Lacewater blind.

“You’ve found something here to amuse you?” Bondiro drawled from his position at her side. “Do share. Your presence is the only reason I’m not regretting accepting Sibiliat’s invitation. But it was this or stay home and pare my toenails.”

Renata laughed. “I’m glad I’m an improvement over toenails.”

Before Bondiro could salvage the inadvertent insult, a Vraszenian man brushed past Sibiliat in the tight quarters of the street. Ren thought she was the only one who caught the swift dip of his hand, but Sibiliat yelped. “That man! He took my purse!”

In an eyeblink, the mood changed. Egliadas and Mezzan stalked after the Vraszenian, but he was no fool; the instant he saw them coming, he bolted, the two Liganti men instantly giving chase.

“Now we’re running?” Bondiro whined, breaking into a jog. “Next time, I’ll choose toenails!”

The Vraszenian hadn’t made it very far, just to the tiny Dlimas Bridge. He was on the ground as the rest of the group caught up, and Mezzan had Sibiliat’s purse in hand, but Egliadas’s boot still slammed into the man’s ribs.

“Tyrant’s syphilitic nutsack. Not again,” Parma grumbled, limping up alongside Renata and Bondiro. “Egliadas, let him go. The Vigil will take care of it.”

“Dealing with this filth would be a waste of Aerie time and resources,” Egliadas spat over his shoulder.

Mezzan bent to grab the Vraszenian. “We’ll see if gnats can swim. Get his arms—”

His sentence ended in a flutter of black fabric. Mezzan went sprawling over the flagstones. Egliadas leapt back and snatched out his sword, but the dark figure slammed a hand into his wrist and Egliadas howled, dropping the blade. Parma said, “Bondiro, don’t—” But it was too late; spitting a reluctant curse, Bondiro drew his own sword and advanced.

Ren stood, frozen and staring, at the whirling black coat, the boots that scuffed and stamped against the flagstones, the gloved hands dealing casual mayhem.

The hood that hid his face.

The Rook!

The Vraszenian had seized the opportunity to escape. Egliadas was scooting away on his ass, cradling a broken wrist. Bondiro took a knee to the gut and doubled over, retching for breath. Mezzan had his back to the bridge wall, his sword too far for him to retrieve it without exposing himself to the Rook. The shadows of Mezzan’s mask hid his eyes, but the tight set of his jaw and the turn of his head said he was looking for allies. Unfortunately for him, Sibiliat showed no inclination to wade in, and Parma and Marvisal were keeping well back.

Leaving Ren.

Who could scarcely breathe for delight. A menace to the nobility, a wanted man to the hawks, a troublemaker to many law-abiding citizens… but to the people of the streets, the Rook was a hero. She’d never thought she would see him in the flesh.

“Mezzan Indestor.” The Rook faced him with all the lazy assurance of a predator. “How convenient that we’ve met like this. I’ve come to repay a debt.” His voice lowered to a mocking purr. “On behalf of Ivic Pilatsin.”

Mezzan’s scowl twisted into confusion. “Who?”

The Rook hooked his toe under Egliadas’s fallen sword and kicked it up into his hand, examining the steel. With a disappointed sigh, he tossed it over the parapet into the canal. “The actor whose life and livelihood you ruined.”

Bondiro’s sword met with the same fate as Egliadas’s. “Let’s see how you fare when the field is leveled.”

Sibiliat cursed in muffled disgust. Ren’s hands curled. She wanted nothing more than to watch the Rook thrash Mezzan… but Renata Viraudax wouldn’t cheer an outlaw on.

You wanted to give them something to talk about besides your flirtation with Vargo.

Before she could think the better of it, Renata stepped forward. Her shoe came down on the blade of Mezzan’s sword just as the Rook crouched to pick it up.

“As I understand it, Altan Mezzan gave the actor a chance to defend himself in an honorable duel,” she said. “Surely you can do no less.”

The Rook straightened slowly. Even close enough to touch, she could make out almost nothing through the darkness of his hood. The deeper shadows of his eyes, the line of his jaw; like the stars, she saw more when she didn’t look directly. Then a glimmer of a smile came into view.

In two hundred years, no one had unmasked Nadežra’s outlaw. Seeing him now, Ren was certain the hood was imbued to hide his face. The Rook could have been anyone: old or young, Liganti or Vraszenian or Nadežran. His voice sounded masculine, but who knew where the magic ended?

Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt him assessing her, as surely as she was assessing him.

The Rook said, “I could do less… or a good deal more.” Their audience was growing as people crowded to watch the scene, but his murmur was for