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

himself, but Leato latched onto his sleeve as though he feared Grey would leave.

“Renata can’t help me with this, and I don’t want to go to the Vigil.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “I don’t want your help because someone ordered you. I’m asking you as a friend.”

“And if I say no?”

Releasing Grey’s sleeve, Leato slumped back in his chair. “Then I’ll just keep looking for her on my own.” From the resignation in his tone Grey suspected Leato had been at his search for some time already.

Grey sighed. “If this is on my own time, then I can’t call on Vigil resources.” Not true, but he’d already strained Cercel’s tolerance enough with his hunt for the missing street kids. “What makes you think I can find this person when you can’t?”

“Because she’s a Vraszenian who used to work at the Aerie. Not that you all know each other… but you stand a better chance than I do. And that’s also why I’m not involving the Vigil.”

Grey’s hands tightened around his mug. Vigil attention rarely ended well for his people. Neither did noble attention.

Friends or not, Grey was reluctant to help Leato disturb some poor Vraszenian’s life. “What’s her name?”

Leato’s expression smoothed into unreadability. It was remarkable how much he resembled his mother in that moment. “Idusza, if the information I paid for is reliable. She worked as a laundress, quit a few months ago. She must have used a false family name—I’ve had no luck finding her.”

His gaze flicked up to meet Grey’s. “I think she’s a member of the Stadnem Anduske.”

That brought Grey up straight. The Stadnem Anduske were Vraszenian, all right. Vraszenian radicals who railed against the Cinquerat’s rule and fought to take back Nadežra for the people, finishing what the Tyrant’s death and the ensuing civil war had left incomplete. Sometimes they fought with words. Sometimes they used bloodier tools: Earlier that month they’d raided a prison hulk to free the people there, and killed a Vigil officer in the process.

Grey leaned over his mug, almost spilling it. “What possible interest could you have in the Anduske?”

“What possible…?” Leato jerked when Grey kicked him under the table, but he lowered his voice and leaned forward. The Nadežrans who frequented the Gawping Carp were no friends to the Cinquerat, but that didn’t mean they had much love for their more violent Vraszenian neighbors.

“I want to know if they had anything to do with… what happened. Don’t you?”

Two rumors had flown around the city after the fire that killed Kolya. One said the Rook was responsible; the other blamed the Stadnem Anduske. The latter was the first lead Grey had chased—the first time he’d used Vigil resources for his own ends.

“Whatever crimes they’re guilty of,” Grey said, “I don’t think the Anduske burned that warehouse.”

“But if they knew there was black powder there—”

They had known. Kolya wasn’t the only carpenter repairing the roof, and one of his fellows was an Anduske sympathizer. They’d both seen the barrels, hidden where they had no legal right to be.

But the Stadnem Anduske would have stolen the powder, not set it off. “I looked into it,” Grey said harshly. “Do you think I wouldn’t? I’m not defending them because they’re Vraszenian; I’m defending them because they’re innocent.”

“What about the Vigil, though?” Leato persisted. “Someone tipped them off about the powder being there. And this woman, Idusza, quit the Aerie right after the fire.”

Grey didn’t want to have this conversation, any more than he wanted Dvaran’s sympathy. He put his hand over the top of his mug and rested his head against it, wishing he could afford to give up and get ripped.

Then he made himself sit up again. “It probably wasn’t a false name, just some other branch of her ancestry. It’s something we do to make it harder for your people to find us.”

“So… you’ll help me?”

The hope in Leato’s eyes was as fragile as a dreamweaver’s egg. “You’re doing this to help me, aren’t you? To find the bastard who killed Kolya,” Grey said. Then he frowned. “How did you find out about this Idusza, anyway?”

“Hard work and luck,” Leato said, far too breezily to be believed. Grey cursed inwardly. I hope he hasn’t sold himself to House Novrus for the information. All too often, that was how Nadežran politics worked: The enemy of your enemy ate you alive.

Standing, he swept up his mug, and Leato’s as well. “Very well. I’ll help. But you’re buying my drinks for the next month as payment.”

Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Equilun 29

The worst part of being suspected of poverty was that Renata had to work even harder to give the impression of careless wealth.

The latest strain on her purse was Giuna. All of the girl’s clothes were old, their colors muddied from re-dyeing; unlike Leato, she didn’t get to prance around in new styles. But why does the woman who can’t even afford enough coal to heat her kitchen have to be the one who pays for Giuna’s new dress?

Because you’re the genius who told Donaia you would.

And because Giuna would be a more useful asset at the engagement party for Marvisal Coscanum and Mezzan Indestor if she didn’t blend into the paneling. So now the girl was standing on a round settee in the Traementis solar, squeaking every time she thought Tess might touch her with a pin.

With the patience of a river turtle, Tess finished marking the torso of one of Renata’s underdresses—one they’d decided had been worn too often to be reworked—and turned to the sleeve. “Now if the alta will please stretch out her arms.”

“Just don’t poke me.”

“I won’t be poking you,” Tess said through a mouthful of pins.

It was the sixth time she’d said it, and Renata was beginning to suspect that Giuna wore re-dyed castoffs because no dressmaker would put up with her twitching. “I take it absolutely everyone will be at this engagement party,” she said, hoping to calm the