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

never been one of her favorite places. It was as fine as any of the noble houses—and a good deal finer than Traementis Manor—but it lacked subtlety. Eret Extaquium favored overworked brocades, ostentatious marble, and gilt on every surface… including the lips and lashes of his house servants.

But it wasn’t only the tasteless decor that was off-putting. The lush, heavy scents from incense and oils gave Giuna headaches. The manor was always too warm, even in winter, and the illuminating numinata put out half the usual light, forcing her to squint. His servants made her uncomfortable, their voices too breathy or sultry, their movements too graceful and posed. Rumor said that at some parties—the kind Giuna wasn’t invited to—they barely even wore clothing, just coats or surcoats, the flesh beneath painted and oiled.

She cleaved close to her mother’s side, wishing her face weren’t shining already with sweat. When someone handed her a glass of iced wine, she drank it, grateful for something to cool her, even if it was so cloyingly sweet the only note she could pick out was a hint of cork mold.

Donaia made a displeased face at her own glass. “We don’t have to stay long, Giuna,” she murmured. “Knowing Sureggio, all too soon this will stop being a civilized affair. But I need to talk to Mede Isorran about the possibility of caravan guards—can you survive for an hour?”

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” Donaia and Leato were always trying to shelter her, as though anyone gave her existence enough thought to threaten harm. “I’ll just find a bench near a window, so I don’t die from this heat.”

Kissing her mother’s cheek, Giuna separated before she became a burden. She drifted through the overwarm rooms, looking for Parma; where she went, Bondiro and Egliadas were usually paying court, and the three together could be entertaining. Better still, they didn’t mind Giuna quietly playing audience to their antics.

Instead she found herself ensnared by Fadrin Acrenix and unable to escape his circle—mostly a gaggle of delta gentry sycophants. Fadrin was leading them in idle ribbing of Era Novrus’s heir, Iascat.

“Now here’s Leato’s little sister all grown,” Fadrin said, lifting Giuna’s hand to Iascat as though introducing them for the first time. “Does she suit your tastes? She’s too fresh for your aunt to have dirt on her.”

“Stop it,” Iascat said to Fadrin, and to Giuna, “Ignore him. I don’t know how anyone could swallow enough of this wine to get drunk, but he’s managed.”

“It tastes better the more of it you drink,” Fadrin said, and illustrated with a healthy swig.

Wine was at least a safe topic of conversation. “Hasn’t anyone told Eret Extaquium that too much sugar slows the yeast?” Giuna asked. “You’d almost have to be doing it deliberately, to make wine this bad.”

Iascat’s full mouth curved into a sour line. “I wonder sometimes if it is deliberate. House Extaquium may not have a Cinquerat seat, but they’re too important to ignore, so he makes people come and pretend to enjoy his terrible wine.”

“Some people have a taste for sweetness,” Fadrin said, leering at Giuna.

“Some people should lose their tongues,” said a low, honey-smooth voice. Sibiliat edged into the circle, her arm around Giuna’s waist.

“Hello, little bird,” Sibiliat said with a sly smile only for Giuna. “Don’t let a blue jay bully you, or he’ll never stop.”

Fadrin pushed his empty cup into a servant’s hand. “Where’s your cousin, little Traementis? She’d add some spice to this gathering—probably tell Extaquium what she thinks of his work. Whether she praises it, tells him the truth, or spews it into his face, it would be a good show.”

“She had a prior engagement,” Giuna said, wishing she’d been invited to play bocce with Leato and Renata.

Iascat chuckled. “Wise woman. Maybe she’ll set a fashion for staying away.”

Fadrin snagged another glass from a passing servant and raised it high. “Now there’s reason enough to celebrate the Seterin beauty. To Alta Renata, who demonstrates her refinement by not catering to Extaquium’s whims. May we all learn to emulate her.”

Iascat and several others raised their glasses in agreement. Sibiliat did not. “You all are more cloying than this year’s vintage. Come, Giuna. We can find better conversation than this.”

With Sibiliat’s hand at the small of her back, Giuna had little choice but to be swept away. “Is everything all right?” she asked as Sibiliat’s scowl stopped Orrucio Amananto from approaching. “You don’t look well. Has the wine put you off?”

“The whining has put me off more,” Sibiliat snapped. Her voice rose in mockery. “‘Oh, Alta Renata isn’t here? I was so looking forward to seeing her latest ensemble’ and ‘What, no Alta Renata? No wonder the night seems so dull.’ Even Eret Extaquium didn’t take her absence as an insult. He assumed she was sick. He’s sending her a case of tonight’s wine to help her recover.” She smirked into her fan. “That was my suggestion. He’ll be dogging her for the next month to get her opinion.”

“Don’t be catty,” Giuna said. “How many of these events have we all been to? Of course people are interested in anything new.”

“Oh yes. And Alta Renata has been very careful to leverage that interest. You’re not as innocent or naive as you pretend to be, little bird; you know this crowd. Half of them should be carving her to the bone with their tongues, especially when she’s absent. But no, everyone loves her. It’s obnoxious.”

Then, softly and without as much vitriol, Sibiliat added, “And it worries me.”

Giuna stroked her arm. Normally Sibiliat was the one reassuring her, but Giuna had never seen her friend so on edge. “You don’t have to be jealous of Renata.”

The crack of Sibiliat’s laughter turned several heads their way, but her scowl warned them off. She tugged Giuna down a hallway to a small, empty parlour. The abundance of lushly padded couches made Giuna flush, thinking about the rumors concerning Extaquium’s private parties, but Sibiliat sat down on one, and Giuna had no