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

great leap, he’d taken himself from the fringes of high society to its very center. She’d known he was ambitious… but not that it went this far.

Vargo retired to the benches, Era Cleoter grudgingly shifting closer to her wife to make space for him. “My apologies, Your Charity,” Acrenix said to Era Destaelio. “But I felt that, as we’re about to acknowledge those who contributed to bringing these crimes to light, this should be taken care of first.”

“Of course,” Destaelio said. The new Caerulet bowed her toward the podium and took his seat once more.

She drew a deep breath, gathering up the scattered threads of her purpose. “As I was saying. Full distribution of the assets formerly belonging to House Indestor must await proper tallying, but the Cinquerat wishes it to be known that they will reward in full those who have served the city in these dangerous times—and those who have suffered as a consequence: Era Sostira Novrus, Eret Scaperto Quientis, Eret Ghiscolo Acrenix, Eret Utrinzi Simendis, Meda Tanaquis Fienola, House Traementis and their cousin by blood Alta Renata Viraudax, and Eret Derossi Vargo. All these people will be compensated and rewarded from the assets of the former House Indestor.”

Giuna’s head came up from Donaia’s shoulder. “What does that mean?” she whispered under the drone of the rote formalities that signaled the end of the Cinquerat’s proceedings. “We didn’t do anything. Did we?”

“We lost family,” Donaia said slowly, her furrowed brow a mirror of Giuna’s. “Leato was my heir; that would be enough to bring suit against Indestor’s assets. They really are slamming the book closed on this one.”

Giuna had avoided Ren’s gaze for the past week, but now she met it squarely. “They should have given you an ennoblement charter, too. I’m sorry… cousin. You deserve better than that.”

Donaia reached for Renata’s hand and gripped it tight. “And you will have it. There’s more than one way to join the nobility of Nadežra—and no one can say you haven’t fulfilled your promise.”

Tears pricked unexpectedly as Ren inhaled. “I… thank you.”

They still didn’t know the truth about her. But the weight of that truth had changed. And as Leato had told her, just because she wasn’t their cousin by blood didn’t mean she couldn’t earn a place among them—if she tried.

The Charterhouse, Old Island: Fellun 7

Of course that wasn’t the end of the matter. With so many earth-shaking decisions handed down, everyone had to spend at least an hour milling about the Charterhouse, gossiping and adjusting to the new balance of power.

Many of them flocked to Ghiscolo, as the new Caerulet. But nearly as many came to the Traementis, full of smiles and congratulations and commiserations on their loss—because now that their chief enemy was gone, and some unknown percentage of his assets would be coming their way, the Traementis were worth paying attention to again. Renata half expected Donaia and Giuna to quit the field rather than stomach such blatant hypocrisy, but Donaia knew how the game was played, and Giuna was learning. They painted smiles on their faces and did their part.

As did she. No one knew the full scope of her involvement, of course. Rumors were circulating about the “Black Rose” who’d been seen at the amphitheatre, and some of those rumors claimed the Rose, not the Rook, was the one who’d delivered Mettore Indestor to the Vraszenians. But Renata Viraudax had spent that eventful night locked in a cellar room at Indestor Manor, doing nothing of significance at all.

Still, her testimony had been a large part of what damned the Indestor, and all the groundwork she’d laid in the months leading up to this moment was paying off. It was at least two bells before she had a breath to turn around and survey the room… whereupon she found Vargo strolling in her direction.

The handle of his cane touched his brow in salute, and his dark, kohl-rimmed eyes glittered with the self-satisfaction of a spider who’d just snared an entire cloud of flies in his web. “Alta Renata. You’re looking improved from your ordeal. My apologies for not coming to your rescue, or checking on you afterward. I’ve been… occupied.”

“Busy healing, it seems. Or were the reports of your near-death exaggerated?”

He spread his arms, showing off the fine tailoring and fabrics of his ensemble as much as the health of the body within. “As you can see. Gossip loves a dying man more than one who’s only a little scratched. But I’d be happy to accept any sympathies you care to offer.”

It was the same flirtatious behavior he’d tempted her with when they played nytsa. It was also a lie. She’d seen him; she’d washed his blood from her hands. Her own thigh still ached where one of the zlyzen had clawed her, and that was nothing next to what he’d suffered.

But she couldn’t call him on it. If he wasn’t the Rook… then he didn’t know the truth about her.

She hoped. Because if he wasn’t the Rook, she also had no way to gauge how deep the ruthlessness ran.

“Congratulations on your elevation,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “It’s true that ‘man nearly dies saving holy site; receives his reward’ does have a better ring than ‘man gets slightly scratched saving holy site; receives his reward.’”

His smile twisted and he looked away, scanning the gossiping nobility with a shadow of the disdain she’d seen at Mezzan’s betrothal party. “Yes, but both are an improvement over ‘man happens to save holy site in pursuit of his own interests.’ And with this lot, aren’t we all one slip away from that sort of shredding?”

People had been approaching him, too. But from what Renata had seen, it was with the same wary fascination that one might study an exotic animal from somewhere along the Dawn Road.

If anyone could shrug that off, though, he could. She said, “Speaking of shredding… I suppose you’ll want to tear up our advocacy contract.