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

an intermittent source of headaches. But he was a man grown, with beauty to match Renata’s: his hair like antique gold, fashionably mussed on top; his ivory skin and finely carved features, the hallmark of House Traementis; the elegant cut of his waistcoat and fitted tailoring of the full-skirted coat over it in the platinum shimmer of delta grasses in autumn.

And the two of them were smiling at one another like the sun had just risen in the salon.

“Letilia’s daughter?” Leato said, releasing Renata’s hand before the touch could grow awkward. “I thought she hated us.”

Donaia bit down the impulse to chide him. It would sound like she was defending Renata, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

The girl’s smile was brief and rueful. “I may have inherited her nose, but I’ve tried not to inherit everything else.”

“You mean, not her personality? I’ll offer thanks to Katus.” Leato winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t insult your mother—”

“No insult taken,” Renata said dryly. “I’m sure the stories you know of her are dreadful, and with good cause.”

They had the river’s current beneath them and were flowing onward; Donaia had to stop it before they went too far. When Leato asked what brought Renata to the city, Donaia lunged in, social grace be damned. “She just—”

But Renata spoke over her, as smooth as silk. “I was hoping to meet your grandfather and father. Foolish of me, really; since Mother hasn’t been in contact, I didn’t know they’d both passed away until I arrived. And now I understand she’s no longer in the register, so there’s no bond between us—I’m just a stranger, intruding.”

“Oh, not at all!” Leato turned to his mother for confirmation.

For the first time, Donaia felt a touch of gratitude toward Renata. Leato had never known Letilia; he hadn’t even been born when she ran away. He’d heard the tales, but no doubt he marked at least some of them as exaggeration. If Renata had mentioned a reconciliation outright, he probably would have supported her.

“We’re touched by your visit,” Donaia said, offering the girl a courteous nod. “I’m only sorry the others never had a chance to meet you.”

“Your visit?” Leato scoffed. “No, this can’t be all. You’re my cousin, after all—oh, not under the law, I know. But blood counts for a lot here.”

“We’re Nadežran, Leato, not Vraszenian,” Donaia said reprovingly, lest Renata think they’d been completely swallowed by delta ways.

He went on as though he hadn’t heard her. “My long-lost cousin shows up from across the sea, greets us for a few minutes, then vanishes? Unacceptable. Giuna hasn’t even met you—she’s my younger sister. Why don’t you stay with us for a few days?”

Donaia couldn’t stop a muffled sound from escaping her. However much he seemed determined to ignore them, Leato knew about House Traementis’s financial troubles. A houseguest was the last thing they could afford.

But Renata demurred with a light shake of her head. “No, no—I couldn’t impose like that. I’ll be in Nadežra for some time, though. Perhaps you’ll allow me the chance to show I’m not my mother.”

Preparatory to pushing for reconciliation, no doubt. But although Renata was older and more self-possessed, something about her downcast gaze reminded Donaia of Giuna. She could all too easily imagine Giuna seeking Letilia out in Seteris with the same impossible dream.

If House Traementis could afford the sea passage, which they could not. And if Donaia would allow her to go, which she would not. But if that impossible situation happened… she bristled at the thought of Letilia rebuffing Giuna entirely, treating her with such cold hostility that she refused to see the girl at all.

So Donaia said, as warmly as she could, “Of course we know you aren’t your mother. And you shouldn’t be forced to carry the burden of her past.” She let a smile crack her mask. “I’m certain from the caterpillars dancing on my son’s brow that he’d like to know more about you, and I imagine Giuna would feel the same.”

“Thank you,” Renata said with a curtsy. “But not now, I think. My apologies, Altan Leato.” Her words silenced his protest before he could voice it, and with faultless formality. “My maid intends to fit me for a new dress this afternoon, and she’ll stick me with pins if I’m late.”

That was as unlike Letilia as it was possible to be. Not the concern for her clothing—Letilia was the same, only with less tasteful results—but the graceful withdrawal, cooperating with Donaia’s wish to get her out of the house.

Leato did manage to get one more question out, though. “Where can we reach you?”

“On the Isla Prišta, Via Brelkoja, number four,” Renata said. Donaia’s lips tightened. For a stay of a few weeks, even a month or two, a hotel would have sufficed. Renting a house suggested the girl intended to remain for quite some time.

But that was a matter for later. Donaia reached for the bell. “Colbrin will see you out.”

“No need,” Leato said, offering Renata his hand. When she glanced at Donaia instead of taking it, Leato said, “Mother, you won’t begrudge me a few moments of gossip with my new cousin?”

That was Leato, always asking for forgiveness rather than permission. But Renata’s minute smile silently promised not to encourage him. At Donaia’s forbearing nod, she accepted his escort from the room.

Once they were gone, Donaia rang for Colbrin. “I’ll be in my study. No more interruptions barring flood or fire, please.”

Colbrin’s acknowledgment trailed after her as she went upstairs. When she entered the room, Meatball roused with a whine-snap of a yawn and a hopeful look, but settled again once he realized no treats were forthcoming.

The space seemed chillier than when she’d left it, and darker. She thought of Alta Renata’s fine manners and finer clothes. Of course Letilia’s daughter would be dressed in designs so new they hadn’t yet made their way from Seteris to Nadežra. Of course she would have enough wealth to rent a house in Westbridge for