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

Donaia clutched Renata’s hand, swaying in her seat. She’d arrived at the Charterhouse with the stony expression of a woman who didn’t dare hope for anything better than a slap on the wrist; she knew as well as Ren did what form the Cinquerat’s justice often took.

Now that stone cracked into a smile as viciously pleased as Sostira Novrus’s, and for a flash, Ren was reminded of the Traementis reputation for vengeance. She’d seen very little of it in Donaia, Giuna, or Leato… but traces clearly remained.

Her sheen of tears, though, spoke to something deeper than simple vengeance. “Good,” Donaia whispered. “Now you’ve had justice, my bright boy. Now you can return to the Lumen.” Giuna hugged her mother hard.

Era Destaelio took her colleague’s place. “Full distribution of the assets formerly belonging to House Indestor must await proper tallying, but—”

“Your Charity.” Eret Acrenix interrupted her with a bashfully raised hand. “If I may?”

Confused, she ceded the podium to the new Caerulet.

Unlike the other four, Acrenix wasn’t robed in the colors of his seat. But his elevation had clearly come as no surprise; his creamy silk coat was embroidered in tasteful lines of sky blue, a nod to his new role, and his gloves matched perfectly. He curled them around the edges of the podium and spoke.

“With the indulgence of my new colleagues, I wish to raise one matter before we conclude our business here. My first proposal as Caerulet, I suppose. That title… will take some getting used to.” He smiled, managing to look almost self-deprecating for a man who’d just been elevated to the highest level of power in the city. It broke the tension that had gripped the audience since the verdict, and the chamber echoed with soft laughter.

Renata’s skin pricked with unease. She glanced at Quientis, but he looked as baffled as she was. Everything else that day had been coordinated in advance… but not this. Not with him, at least.

Pulling out a set of spectacles and a scroll, Eret Acrenix said, “The Cinquerat punishes with one hand, but it rewards with the other. I propose a reward for an individual who put his life at risk to stop this dreadful plot, and who provided the evidence necessary to prove Indestor’s guilt beyond any doubt.”

He held up the scroll, letting it unroll enough for the gathering to see the lines of elaborate calligraphy that filled it—and the seal of sapphire-blue wax below. “I have here a charter of ennoblement. I call on the other four members of the Cinquerat to put their seal next to mine and affirm a noble title for Master Derossi Vargo.”

The entire chamber gasped. Ennoblement for Vargo… Ren shook her head in shock. She couldn’t deny that he’d risked everything to stop Mettore, and nearly died for it.

But he was a Lower Bank crime lord. Raising him to the rank of delta gentry would have been astonishing, but this? And yet Utrinzi Simendis was pressing his seal into the charter, with Cibrial Destaelio just behind him as though the two of them had known what was coming. Sostira Novrus looked like she was drinking river mud while she did it, but she made no objection. Quientis was last, and the look he gave Acrenix echoed Ren’s thoughts: What’s going on here?

“It is done,” Acrenix said when the last seal had been affixed. “Bring in Derossi Vargo.”

Everyone turned to the opening doors. Renata half expected to see a litter waiting: Vargo would hate the indignity of being carried in, but it was a miracle he’d survived his wounds, and even imbued medicines could only do so much.

And yet he sauntered through the doors as though he’d never suffered an injury in his life. The cane that ticked against the marble floor was an affectation rather than a necessity. He was dressed impeccably as always, in deep blue velvet that echoed the brighter blue of Caerulet’s seal, and a spot of color at the edge of his collar said he’d even brought his spider with him.

Ren thought of the scar on his neck, and what Sedge had said the day they went into the Depths. We all thought he was dead as Ninat, but he’s up and walking the next day like he’s fucking Kaius Rex.

Vargo stopped in front of the podium and bowed to the five before him. “I attend at the Cinquerat’s pleasure,” he said, his voice as smooth as a West Channel eel.

Acrenix held up the charter. “For your services to this city, the Cinquerat of Nadežra elevates you to stand among those dedicated to its protection and improvement. With this charter of ennoblement, you may seek and hold charters, grant their administration as you see fit, bear a sword in defense of your honor and your life, call upon the services of the Vigil, request that any crimes of which you are accused be tried by the Cinquerat, appoint an advocate to speak on your behalf, and keep a register of those protected by your name. What name do you wish your house to be known by?” He held a pen, ready to fill the blank space at the top.

Vargo tucked his cane under his arm. “Just Vargo is fine. No need to get fancy.”

That earned a nervous laugh from the assembly. Every noble house took a Seterin-style name; it was part of how they marked themselves apart from the delta gentry and common Nadežrans. But Ghiscolo made no comment; he wrote the name in, sanded it dry, and stepped down from the podium to hand the scroll to Vargo with an avuncular smile. “I realize this must be an overwhelming honor. If you need an inscriptor to start your register—”

Vargo ran a gloved thumb over the five wax seals. “No need, Your Mercy. I can do it myself.”

I’m sure you can, Ren thought, dazed. He was certainly inscriptor enough to manage that—a fact many more people were aware of now.

In one