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

of them, but no words would come. She drifted back a half step, barely hearing what they said, until suddenly Leato was there, lifting her arm. She wore full sleeves now—the night was too chilly and the area too rough for stunts like the Gloria dress—and he held her by the forearm, courteously avoiding the bare skin of her hand. “That kinless bastard. Here, take mine.” He pulled off his left glove and offered it to her.

She accepted, sliding her hand into the warmth of the leather. It was a little too large, but not so much that it looked absurd, and the gesture was comforting. “Thank you.”

“Trust me, the Rook will regret his choices tonight,” Serrado promised Mezzan. The icy steel of his words surprised Renata: noble or not, she didn’t think Mezzan’s humiliation would prompt such a fierce response.

“And the Vraszenian?” Mezzan demanded.

“I’ll put Ludoghi Kaineto on it.”

Mezzan nodded sharply. “A delta son—good. He’ll take care of it properly.”

Not a flicker of offense crossed Serrado’s expression. “If we’re able to find the sword, we’ll have it delivered to Isla Indestor immediately.”

“No. Have it delivered to Isla Coscanum. And leave it out of your reports. If my father hears of the loss, I’ll have you stripped of your—”

Mezzan sneezed three times in quick succession, and Serrado’s lips tightened, holding back what Renata suspected would have been a stony little smile.

“Understood. I won’t keep you in the cold any longer, altan.” Serrado retreated with a bow, but beckoned Renata to draw a few paces apart. “Alta. Is there anything else you can tell me about your encounter with the child?”

“Grey!” Leato stepped close as if to shelter her from Serrado’s question. “Must you do this now?”

“It’s all right,” Renata said. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything useful, Captain. He tugged on my skirt and said he couldn’t sleep—that’s all.” And he’d asked her to help him. But what could she have done?

“Couldn’t sleep.” Serrado’s gaze drifted off into the middle distance, until a shuffling from the doorway snagged his attention back to the street. Two beggars were pulling at the rags the boy wore.

“Step away,” he snapped at them. Then he nodded a curt apology to Leato and Renata. “I have to deal with this. Commander Cercel should know I found one of them—even if I was too late.” Dismissing them, he stalked over to deal with the beggars and the body.

“I think we’d best leave as well,” Leato said quietly, offering Renata his arm. Then he made a rueful face. “Will you think me entirely heartless if I suggest that you come with me to the Talon and Trick instead of returning home? Better to bed down with happy memories instead of upsetting ones, yes?”

She shivered. Happy memories wouldn’t hold off the zlyzen, or so said the fire tales she heard as a child. If you couldn’t sleep, it was because the zlyzen had been feeding on your dreams, good and bad.

The boy was just ill, she told herself. She knew as well as anyone that sickness and death stalked the streets all the time, without need of bogeymen.

She glanced over her shoulder. Sibiliat and the others were taking no notice of them; with Mezzan’s immediate outrage pacified, he wanted nothing more than a bath, and Parma and Bondiro were already walking away with Egliadas, presumably to get his wrist treated.

Following her gaze, Leato said, “Don’t worry about them.”

It was the Traementis she needed to ingratiate herself with. Everyone else was secondary. Renata mustered a smile for Leato and said, “Lead on.”

Lacewater, Old Island: Suilun 4

The Talon and Trick wasn’t a true gambling den of the Old Island. Though it stood in what had once been an elegant townhouse facing onto Lifost Square, the distressed floorboards didn’t creak or squelch from water rot. The jasmine incense wasn’t there to mask the smell of mold and vomit. Swags of draperies and lace partitioned the room, gaudy in pattern and color, but free from dust and mites.

Ren knew this kind of establishment well—deliberately made just seedy enough to give slumming cuffs a thrill, without any real danger. The clientele matched the decor: paper masks and gloved hands, upper-class accents sliding into common Nadežran.

“I hope Grey didn’t offend you,” Leato said, handing her a glass of yellow Vraszenian wine. The glass was cheap but clean, and when Renata took a small sip, she found the vintage palatable instead of aged into vinegar. “He takes everything much too seriously.”

“The two of you seem to be friends,” Renata said. “Isn’t that… unusual?” Noble and hawk, Liganti and Vraszenian.

Leato laughed. “Very. His brother, Kolya, was a carpenter who used to work for us. But Grey and I became friends when Ryvček took us both on as students.”

She kept her expression blandly curious. “Ryvček?”

“Oksana Ryvček. She’s a swordswoman.” Leato glanced away, leaving Renata to wonder why he might downplay the skill of Nadežra’s most famous professional duelist. Most people thought imbuing only worked on physical objects, but that didn’t stop the rumors that Ryvček could imbue her swordplay with supernatural speed and precision. “She’s picky about who she teaches—says she doesn’t have time for delta brats itching for a fight. And Grey had it hard because… well. He’s Vraszenian. Kolya asked me to look after him, and… I don’t know. We became friends.”

He stared into his wineglass, running his ungloved finger around the rim until it sang. “Friends aren’t enough, though, when you lose your family.”

She’d assumed at the Gloria that Serrado was simply the Traementis family’s pet hawk, but this sounded a good deal more personal. “His brother died?” she asked gently.

“A few months ago. In a warehouse fire.” Unshed tears spiked Leato’s lashes, glittering like diamonds in the shadows of his mask. His glance flickered over her mismatched gloves. “The Rook killed him.”

She swallowed the answer that wanted to burst from her throat: The Rook doesn’t kill.

She’d been out of Nadežra for five years, and the Rook had