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

than hide it, she channeled it into a different kind of alarm. “You allow a criminal like that to wander about your Gloria?”

“It’s amazing what regular bribes to the Vigil will achieve,” Donaia muttered.

“What Mother means,” Leato said with more patience, “is that Master Vargo has been expanding into legitimate business. And making key people more wealthy in the process.”

Giuna cocked her head to one side. “So what’s the harm in letting him make us more wealthy?”

Donaia almost choked on a bite of persimmon. Such things shouldn’t be said in front of an outsider, and certainly not so baldly—but Renata was grateful for Giuna’s backing. Leato said, “It isn’t the money, minnow. What does somebody like Vargo know about numinatria? And even if he can do what he says, do we really want to help him gain even more power and influence over the Lower Bank? He’s not acting out of charity, you can be sure of that—and probably not even out of greed. The man is rich enough already… which means he’s getting something else out of this scheme.”

For someone with such a frivolous reputation, Leato showed an excellent grasp of the situation. “I can understand your reluctance,” Renata said, after considering for a moment. “Let me propose this, then. I won’t refuse Master Vargo outright; instead I’ll tell him that I’m working to persuade you, and in the meanwhile see what more I can learn. If I’m able to lay your concerns to rest, then you can pursue Master Vargo’s proposal. If not, then House Traementis remains free of association with him.”

Even Donaia couldn’t stand firm against the combined weight of Renata’s good sense and Leato and Giuna’s restrained approval. She sighed and cut a slice of persimmon in half, toying with one of the pieces. “I suppose it does little harm to know more. Now may we speak of something else, before talk of business sours a pleasant meal?”

Giuna popped upright in her seat. “Yes! Cousin Renata—did you truly meet the Rook?”

“Giuna!” Donaia’s voice cracked like a whip. “I don’t want you taking an interest in that outlaw. He’s despicable, and he’s dangerous—or have you forgotten what he did to Kolya Serrado? Not to mention how he humiliated Renata.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Giuna shrank in on herself, her excitement wisping into smoke. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Leato rose. His face had settled into stony lines. “I hate to leave matters on such a note, but I promised I’d meet Bondiro at the Whistling Reed, and it’s later than I realized.”

This time it was Leato’s name Donaia uttered in a scandalized tone. “We have a guest! You can’t just wander off so soon—”

The chiming of the clock towers came through the windows, sounding fifth earth. “Oh, Lumen,” Donaia said. “It is that late.”

Renata dabbed her mouth clean with a napkin and also stood. “I should be going as well. I didn’t mean to impose on your hospitality for so long, Era Traementis.”

“Please think nothing of it, Alta Renata. It was quite… pleasant.” Donaia looked surprised, as if the words were truth rather than mannered formalities. “And since my son is being so rude, the least he can do is see you out and call you a chair.”

That held the weight of command. Leato did as he was told, summoning Tess from the servants’ hall to wrap Renata in her cloak, and once again paying for the chair. Ren longed to ask Tess what she had learned below stairs… but before that, she had something else to take care of.

It was always possible Leato had been included in Bondiro’s theatre invitation—but Ren doubted it. No, she suspected Cousin Leato was lying through his teeth.

And she wanted to find out why.

Lacewater, Old Island: Suilun 8

Renata followed Leato from the Pearls, instructing her bearers to wait until he left Traementis Manor, then disembarking when he got out of his own chair at the foot of the Lacewater Bridge and tugged his simple white mask over his face. No one took a sedan chair into that narrow tangle of streets.

Nor did they show up in the kind of fine fashion Renata had worn to dinner, masked or otherwise. She hastily stripped off her surcoat and yanked her hair down from its arrangement, throwing Tess’s striped woolen across her shoulders. Even then she got odd looks as they tailed Leato at the closest range they dared.

When he went into the Whistling Reed, she was surprised. Maybe he was meeting Bondiro after all? She turned her surcoat inside out—the quickest way to make herself less flashy, and vindication for Tess’s insistence that the lining of her garments always be tidy—and drew her hair around her face, then eased through the door, half wondering if he’d just slipped out the back.

But no. He was waiting at a table along one wall, and two men were vacating a spot that gave her opportunity to watch Leato from behind. She slipped into one chair almost before the man’s ass had left it and glared away the fellow who would have taken the other, until Tess arrived from the bar to claim it for herself.

“Zrel’s still cheaper than canal water here,” her sister said, setting down two mugs to make their presence look legitimate. She took a tentative sip and swallowed a coughing fit, eyes watering with the struggle. “And still as foul. Mother and Crone, did we really once fight for the dregs of this, and count ourselves lucky to get them?”

Only Tess could look around the seedy dance hall with bright eyes and a tapping toe, as though their adventures here were happy memories. Ren remembered it differently. There were full pockets to be plucked—gamblers tended to start and end their nights at the Whistling Reed, wherever they might have gone in between—but there were also guards at the doors, ready to collar any Finger too heavy or too slow. They’d only come when they were desperate for a good take to