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

It was already miracle enough that they’d made it out of the gathering to cure her sleeplessness without stabbing each other. But… if they were both willing to work with her… she could make use of that.

“Captain,” she said quietly. “I’m trusting you not to spread this where it shouldn’t be heard—but I believe Eret Indestor is behind a great deal of this affair. I think he’s the reason Leato and I received an extra dose of ash, and I think he’s the one behind the ash production, though I don’t yet know why. If I can find out, and find proof… will you help me?”

He was standing close enough that she had to tilt her head to look him in the eye. His expression was carefully neutral as he said, “I can’t bring an accusation against a nobleman. That would have to be done by another noble. But as you’re probably not familiar with our local laws, I’d be happy to deliver copies of the relevant statutes to your house.”

Her heart thumped again. “Thank you, Captain Serrado,” she said, and opened the door.

Isla Prišta, Westbridge: Cyprilun 29

The parlour of Renata’s townhouse was a study in refinement, from the Dusk Road carpet thick beneath Giuna’s slippers to each vase, box, and figurine on the mantel and shelves. Giuna examined a few as she waited: a lithe, deerlike creature carved from black stone, polished enough that she could see her inverted reflection in the creature’s rump; a fan painted with purple irises, the flowers shimmering from the pearl dust mixed into the paints; a polished box that tinkled a delicate tune until the key wound to a stop. All statements on the owner’s refined sense of taste.

All gifts Renata had received from her admirers.

After days of being her mother’s bulwark, Giuna had finally unloaded her own grief in Sibiliat’s arms. It left her hollow, scraped clean of everything inside. A fragile shell that couldn’t weather another blow. But the more she examined the parlour, the more she flinched in anticipation of just that.

By the time Renata entered, wrapped in a periwinkle dressing gown, Giuna had half twisted her gloves off with fretting. Renata clasped her hands anyway, with the same sincere-seeming warmth she’d shown ever since she came to Nadežra. “Giuna, dear. What’s wrong?”

That “dear” clanged like an off-tune chord—the word people used when they were condescending to her. Not that Renata had ever done so. She wouldn’t.

Would she?

“It’s nothing,” Giuna said. “I only noticed that the glass figurine is gone. The one you bought at the Gloria that matched the one you gave me.”

Real tears pricked through the false cheer. Leato had teased her that day. Leato always teased her, but that day he’d put forth his most brotherly effort, showing off for Renata.

Renata said, “Oh—it’s in my bedroom.”

A perfectly reasonable response. There was no cause for suspicion.

Except that Sibiliat had given Giuna plenty of cause.

“Might I see it?” Now that was a peculiar request. Giuna cast about for some excuse. “I was thinking about that day at the Gloria, and how happy we were then, and Leato…” She choked on the rest. She couldn’t force herself to use her brother’s name to lie. She was a terrible person for even trying. I’m so sorry, Leato. But I have to know.

Renata winced. “Giuna, while I was sick, my bedroom became… It isn’t really fit to be seen.”

She’d only meant the figurine, not the room, but Renata’s refusal—before she’d even asked!—tipped her over the edge of the cliff.

“The dining room, then?” Giuna suggested, dropping all pretense. “The study? Library? Or maybe the kitchen, since apparently that’s where you really sleep.”

Renata’s body went rigid. Only that: Her face was too well-disciplined to show her shock. Two heartbeats passed, then a third—

—and then the rigidity broke. Renata’s throat worked silently for a moment before words came out. “Oh, Lumen. Giuna—I—”

“It’s true,” Giuna whispered. Some naive part of her had hoped that Sibiliat was lying out of jealousy. That the person Sibiliat sent to search Renata’s townhouse while Renata lay unconscious in Traementis Manor had found nothing out of the ordinary.

But Renata’s own reaction confirmed it. “We trusted you, and…” Swallowing a sob, Giuna turned to leave.

Then she stopped. There was nobody else. Leato was gone, and her mother didn’t need more grief. Handling this was Giuna’s responsibility. She faced Renata again, grasping at composure. “Who were you working with? Master Vargo? What did you hope to gain from us?”

“No, I—” Renata groped behind her, found a chair, and sank into it. “I’m not working with Vargo. I’m not working with anyone. I only…”

She buried her head in her hands. The silence stretched out like a chasm between them. Then Renata lifted her face. “Please, will you sit down? And I’ll try to explain.”

Everyone said Giuna was too soft. Naive. Minnow, Leato had called her. And Sibiliat, little bird. Her mother had allowed Leato to shoulder some of the family misfortune, but they both thought it best to leave Giuna in the dark.

Maybe they were right before, but not now. Giuna sat, crossed her arms, and tried to harden herself. “Very well. Explain.”

“Some of this your mother knows already—though I lied to her as well initially, and even she doesn’t know about…” A helpless twitch of Renata’s hand took in the house. Not just the elegant parlour, but the rooms beyond, which according to Sibiliat were covered in cloths and dust. All except the kitchen, where the fine Alta Renata Viraudax slept on the floor.

Giuna listened, jaw tight, as Renata related her tale. The half-unknown truth of her conception, and her real reason for coming to Nadežra. “I had very little money when I arrived,” Renata said. “My father isn’t as well-off as he was when my mother married him, but that’s beside the point; they forbade me to come here, so I had to run away. And yes—I admit it.