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

cheap at grey-market stalls, Vargo suspected. Did she pocket the extra? “I think that talent owes more to her lovely mistress.”

He swept a glance down her ensemble. No bare arms to be seen today; Renata’s fitted sleeves carried past her wrist to end in a point over her gloved fingers. A second sleeve of heavy silk fresh from the Dawn Road draped like a capelet over her shoulders and upper arms. Northern fashion favored light colors, but a copper-shot lace overlay darkened the rose silk of her bandeau and surcoat into autumnal shades. He knew that lace—a smuggled import only his people could supply. Curious that she’d come by it so quickly.

“I think you’re insulting my maid in an attempt to flatter me,” she replied archly.

“Or I’m flattering you in an attempt to poach your maid. But I see she’s properly appreciated; I cry Ninat.” Vargo held up his hands in surrender.

Her fleeting smile was a point tallied in his favor. If he accomplished nothing else here, Vargo wanted to make certain Renata Viraudax walked away feeling friendly toward him. Unlike the local cuffs, she wasn’t predisposed to loathe him, and he intended to use that.

His opening move was flattery, and his second arrived a moment later, in the form of a server bearing a tiered rack of delicacies and a tray containing two small cups and an elegant silver pot. Vargo poured the first cup and offered it to Renata. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived. Vraszenian spiced chocolate—I doubt it’s made its way to Seteris.”

She lifted the cup and inhaled the rich, decadent scent, redolent with cinnamon and vanilla. This met with an approving murmur; then she took an experimental sip.

The results were even better than he’d hoped. No sooner had it touched her tongue than her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, a flush spreading across her cheeks and throat as the warmth of the drink and the spices flowed through her. Vargo watched in satisfaction, measuring his success by the length of time it took her to remember her surroundings.

“That is… astonishing.” She half lowered the cup, then changed her mind and took another sip, closing her eyes once more like sight would be a distraction. “I’ve had chocolate before, but never like this.”

“Neither of which assures me that it’s to your taste,” he murmured, enjoying the sight. Renata had the unscarred beauty of a woman who’d never known hardship, an elegant symmetry that called to mind the precision of numinatria. Her lashes made a dark curve against the fine skin of her cheek.

When she opened her eyes and caught him staring, he didn’t look away. She must know her appearance was an effective tool; no harm in letting her see it work. “I’ll take that lovely blush to mean that it is.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t simper and try to cover it up. “The only reason I’m not tipping the whole pot down my throat is because that would be gauche—and because if this is any indication, it would be a shame to leave myself with no appetite for lunch.” She released the cup reluctantly.

“We can’t have that,” he said, even as he refreshed her cup. “Or else how will I satisfy my curiosity? Everyone with a tongue to wag is wondering why you’ve come to Nadežra. Most people think it’s for some kind of trade deal, or because you’re seeking a spouse.”

She paid no heed to the cup, carefully folding her hands on the table. “Most. Not you?”

“You don’t strike me as a woman who particularly wants a husband or wife. But you wouldn’t have leased that house if your stay was temporary. Which suggests to me that you’re trying to rebuild the bridge your mother burned—not for her sake, perhaps, but so you can get back into the Traementis family register.”

Her gaze flicked away, chin raised. “If you’ve only invited me to sate your hunger for idle gossip, you’ll find I have little appetite for it.”

“I invited you here because we might be able to help each other.”

“Oh?” Her tone remained aloof, but it was belied by the catch in her breath and the tightness of her interlaced fingers.

“By now I suspect you’ve realized that the Traementis reputation for insularity is well-earned. But it’s possible I can give you something to sway them.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart? Which is, no doubt, the same reason you gifted me that mask at the Gloria.”

The mask had been a whim, but even Vargo’s whims were calculated. He’d seen the sparkle in her eyes when she donned it. His real gift hadn’t been the mask; it had been liberation from whatever made her hesitate to buy it.

Toying with his chocolate spoon, he said, “Call it enlightened self-interest. I have a proposal that might be of interest to House Traementis, if I can just get someone to hear it.”

For anyone but him, it might not have been so difficult. But Donaia Traementis wouldn’t let him through her door, and Altan Leato rejected Vargo’s flirting before he even had a chance to move the conversation toward business.

As time ate away at their fortunes, though, they had less and less leeway to be so precious in their dealings. Vargo was gambling that Renata’s desire to rejoin the Traementis was strong enough to encourage her to listen to him… and that she would be as good at getting them to play by her rules as she had the Rook.

Her expression betrayed a flicker of curiosity, but nothing more. “What sort of business proposition?”

The noise had risen as the crowd of diners grew. Vargo glanced down to the main floor, then twitched the gallery curtain closed. Let them speculate on what Derossi Vargo and Alta Renata were talking about in private. “How much do you know about the charter system in Nadežra?”

“Your seat of government is called the Charterhouse, is it not?” She showed more interest in the tiered tray of food