The Mask of Mirrors by M. Carrick; (lightest ebook reader txt) 📗

As much as Grey loathed the right of the nobility to commandeer the Vigil for private use, he couldn’t help feeling sympathy. When he was younger and less aware of the differences that made it impossible, he’d sometimes wished Donaia Traementis was his mother. She was stern, but fair. She loved her children, and was fiercely protective of her family. Unlike some, she never gave Leato and Giuna reason to doubt her love for them.

This Viraudax woman’s mother had hurt her family, and the Traementis had a well-earned reputation for avenging their own.

“What can you tell me about her?” he asked. “Has she given you any reason to doubt her sincerity? Apart from being her mother’s daughter.”

Donaia’s fingers drummed briefly against the arm of the chair, and her gaze settled on a corner of the fireplace and stayed there long enough that Grey knew she was struggling with some thought. He kept his silence.

Finally she said, “You and my son are friends, and moreover you aren’t a fool. It can’t have escaped your notice that House Traementis is not what it once was, in wealth, power, or numbers. We have many enemies eager to see us fall. Now this young woman shows up and tries to insinuate herself among us? Perhaps I’m jumping at shadows… but I must consider the possibility that this is a gambit intended to destroy us entirely.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t even be certain this girl is Letilia’s daughter.”

She must be worried, if she was admitting so much. Yes, Grey had suspected—would have suspected even if Vigil gossip didn’t sometimes speculate—that House Traementis was struggling more than they let on. But he never joined in the gossip, and he never asked Leato.

Leato… who was always in fashion, and according to that same gossip spent half his time frequenting aža parlours and gambling dens. Does Leato know? Grey swallowed the question. It wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t the business Donaia had called him for.

“That last shouldn’t be too hard to determine,” he said. “I assume you know where she’s staying?” He paused when Donaia’s lips flattened, but she only nodded. “Then talk to her. If she’s truly Letilia’s daughter, she should know details an imposter wouldn’t easily be able to discover. If she gives you vague answers or takes offense, then you’ll know something is wrong.”

Grey paused again, wondering how much Donaia would let him pry. “You said you had enemies she might be working for. It would help me to know who they are and what they might want.” At her sharply indrawn breath, he raised a hand in pledge. “I promise I’ll say nothing of it—not even to Leato.”

In a tone so dry it burned, Donaia began ticking possibilities off on her fingers. “Quientis took our seat in the Cinquerat. Kaineto are only delta gentry, but have made a point of blocking our attempts to contract out our charters. Essunta, likewise. Simendis, Destaelio, Novrus, Cleoter—Indestor—I’m afraid it’s a crowded field.”

That was the entire Cinquerat and others besides… but she’d only stumbled over one name.

“Indestor,” Grey said. The house that held Caerulet, the military seat in the Cinquerat. The house in charge of the Vigil.

The house that would not look kindly upon being investigated by one of its own.

“Era Traementis… did you ask for any officer, or did you specifically request me?”

“You’re Leato’s friend,” Donaia said, holding his gaze. “Far better to ask a friend for help than to confess our troubles to an enemy.”

That startled a chuckle from Grey. At Donaia’s furrowed brow, he said, “My brother was fond of a Vraszenian saying. ‘A family covered in the same dirt washes in the same water.’”

And Kolya would have given Grey a good scolding for not jumping to help Donaia right away. She might not be kin, but she’d hired a young Vraszenian carpenter with a scrawny kid brother when nobody else would, and paid him the same as a Nadežran.

He stood and bowed with a fist to his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can discover for you. Tell me where to find this Renata Viraudax.”

2

The Face of Gold

Isla Prišta, Westbridge: Suilun 4

Some things were worth paying good money for. The materials for Ren’s clothing, for example: Tess was a genius at sewing, but even she couldn’t make cheap fabric hold up to close inspection.

The mirror Ren arranged next to an upstairs window was another one of her investments, as were the cosmetics she set in front of it. The one contribution her unknown father had made to her life was hair and skin a few shades lighter than her Vraszenian mother’s—light enough to pass for Liganti or Seterin, with help. But making herself look plausibly like Letilia Traementis’s daughter took extra effort and care.

Ren angled the silvered glass to take advantage of the natural light, then brushed powder across her face, making sure she blended it up into her hairline and down her throat. Years cooped up indoors as Letilia’s maid had done a fair bit to lighten her complexion, and the oncoming winter wouldn’t afford her many opportunities to be in the sun, but she would have to be careful when the warmer months came. Given half an excuse, her skin would eagerly tan.

But at least she didn’t have to worry about the powder rubbing off. All her cosmetics were imbued by artisans like Tess, people who could infuse the things they made with their own spiritual force to make them work better. Imbued cosmetics might be more expensive, but they would stay in place, blend until their effects looked natural, and not even irritate her skin. Imbuing didn’t receive the respect given to numinatria, but compared to the pastes and powders Ren had used back when she was a Finger, these seemed like a miracle.

Switching to a darker shade, she thinned the apparent shape of her nose and made her eyes seem more closely set, adding a few years to her age