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

He hadn’t waited for Renata to come to him—or had he? Their chance encounter at the Gloria seemed much less like chance now. “So with this charter business I walk into his web. Wonderful. Is he actually out to clean the river?”

“Near as I can tell, that’s legit.” Sedge blinked, as though he’d never thought to question his boss’s intentions. “The man hates disease more than most cuffs. And he’s smart enough to know if the people around him are healthy, he’s less likely to get sick. He could just hide on the Upper Bank—but what he’s built would fall apart without him there to keep it all running. Cleaning up the West Channel is good sense.”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Look, Vargo’s about as clean as you’d expect for a man from the rookeries, but he en’t cruel like Ondrakja, or half the cuffs that run this place.” Sedge snorted. “Name me one seat on the Cinquerat that wouldn’t toss folks like us on penal ships to be sold in Ommainit. But Vargo? He pays fair, protects us from the Vigil’s purges, and there en’t been another turf war since he took over. This last year or so, when he started to go legit…”

Sedge trailed off. When Ren raised her eyebrow, he shrugged. “I dunno. He’s different. More focused on the cheese-eaters at the top instead of the folks on the street. Don’t try to cheat him or nothing… but an alta working with him should be safe. Just watch out that he don’t wind up owning you when it’s over.”

“I have no intention of that. I’m out to join House Traementis, and bringing them this charter will help me worm my way inside. I need only to convince Donaia that Vargo seeks not to set himself up as Kaius Rex of the Lower Bank.”

“Traementis. That’s really your goal?” Sedge whistled. “At least you went for the house with the fewest pricks. If you’d gone Indestor or Novrus, I’d have to challenge you to one of them duels—wait.” Sedge lunged forward, rattling the table. Ren caught the beer pitcher before it could topple. “Indestor. Duels. You met the Rook!”

And just like that they were children again, on one of the good days when Ondrakja was feeling generous and gave them wine and enough to eat. Ren opened her mouth to spill the whole story—then stopped.

“Not here,” she said. Sedge cast an automatic glance at the curtains, but Ren shook her head. “No, I mean—come with me.” She held out her hand to him, the same as he’d done before. Her sleeve pulled back just enough to show the scar. There were three of them with marks like that, and Tess needed to know their brother was alive.

What better gift to give her for her birthday?

“Come home,” Ren said. “Hug Tess. And I will tell you everything.”

6

Saffron and Salt

Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Equilun 7

Much had changed in the month and a half since Renata first climbed the steps of Traementis Manor. The days had grown colder, the sky more grey. She’d adjusted to her Seterin accent, no longer fearing that it might slip in an unguarded moment.

And she was now an invited guest to the manor.

The majordomo, Colbrin, hadn’t yet gone so far as to smile at her, but his expression as he bowed her inside looked like it might at least inhabit the same neighborhood as such a thing. Renata gave him her cloak and chafed warmth into her hands. “If you would be so kind as to wait in the salon,” Colbrin said, “Alta Giuna will be with you shortly.”

Colbrin’s “shortly” was measured in the time it took Renata to sit.

“Cousin!” To Donaia’s dismay, both Giuna and Leato had taken to calling Renata that. House Traementis had lost enough cousins over the past twenty years that they hungered for familial connection. It was a hunger Renata carefully managed, not calling them cousin in turn—not yet.

“Alta Giuna.” Rising, she took the girl’s hands and pressed cheeks with her. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Must you always be so formal? You should visit whenever you wish. It’s so cold these days that there’s nothing to do but sit around the house in boredom. Speaking of which—” Giuna tugged Renata toward the salon door. “The solar is much warmer and more comfortable. Let’s go there, and you can tell me whether you really did hit Illi five times in a row like Leato says.”

Renata laughed and let herself be tugged. “Leato was so drunk I think he saw the entire dartboard as Illi.” The whole group had been drunk. Her accuracy was good, but she’d also contrived to pour the majority of her mulled wine into a potted lily at Fintenus Manor.

Giuna could not have been more obviously starved for gossip. She might say it was too cold to do anything except sit around, but other noble scions—including her brother—found ways to entertain themselves, with darts or cards, the theatre or music. Only Giuna was mewed up at home.

But Renata walked a fine line between fostering Giuna’s admiration and friendship, and alienating Donaia by encouraging the girl to ask for more than her mother gave.

The ringing of steel cut off Giuna’s response. The sound was unmistakable: The younger nobles and delta gentry brawled often enough that Ren had learned to recognize it from streets away. She halted, head turning instinctively toward the noise coming through a half-open set of double doors on the far side of the hall.

From the other side of the door came a muffled whap and a yelp. Giuna stifled a giggle.

“Keep your focus, pup. If your attention wanders, so will your tip.” The woman’s words rolled like the smoke from a Vraszenian campfire. “Have I years of effort wasted only for you to forget everything I taught you?”

“No, duellante,” Leato said. “You wasted years on me