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

her to move. The Rook grabbed Vargo’s limp and bloody form, and—after a hesitation so brief she almost missed it—Mettore Indestor.

Side by side, they scrambled up to the solid part of the floor, past the borders of the dead numinat. Just before the wellspring faded away entirely, Ren turned and hurled the broken knot charm toward the remains of Gammer Lindworm.

The zlyzen turned to look at Ren—and then they were gone.

24

The Face of Balance

The Point: Cyprilun 35

Ren hauled herself over the wall separating the lowest seats from the stage and clung to its top for a moment, wishing she could collapse. But the Rook was lifting Sedge up to her, then Vargo, then Mettore. Finally, he slung a dazed and sniffling Arkady onto his back and climbed over the wall himself.

Ren’s gaze went from her throwing knife to the unconscious Mettore. She knew all too well how often money and power kept the guilty safe in Nadežra. The edges of the knife dug into her fingers: the blade was small, but it was enough to cut a throat.

Before she could make up her mind, the Rook was there, one gloved hand coming to rest on hers. “We don’t kill,” he said softly.

Her jaw tensed beneath the lace of her mask. You don’t.

She’d killed Ondrakja. She could have pretended the first time didn’t count, because the woman had survived. But Ren had murder in her heart then, and again when she smiled and lied and begged to be tied back into the knot. I’m a murderer and a knot-cutting traitor twice over.

“I know,” she whispered. “But…”

“But how do we make certain he answers for what he’s done, and tried to do? I’ve been struggling with that question for two centuries.” His hand curled into a fist and dropped to his side. The Rook’s sigh was layered with years of regret. “If you have any suggestions, I’m happy to take them.”

Ren stared down at Mettore. She could kill him; to say she didn’t have that in herself would be a lie.

But she didn’t want to go back there. To the cold, empty place where she could commit murder and call it justice.

Justice.

Her gaze came up, searching the shadows beneath the Rook’s hood. “Give him to the Vraszenian clan leaders.”

In the moment of stillness that followed, she thought he was about to laugh at her suggestion. And he did—but it was tinged with admiration. “You wear the mask of Ažerais’s rose, but I think you’re more like Clever Natalya. Yes. I’ll take him to the elders, and we’ll let the Cinquerat try to save him from their justice.”

Gripping an arm and a leg, the Rook lifted the unconscious Mettore over his shoulder. “I’ll also make certain he doesn’t share any secrets that need to be kept.”

Ren couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering to Arkady, now curled into a tight ball in the corner of the nobles’ box, watching them with wide eyes. Arkady didn’t know Ren was Renata… but she knew Ren had been with her and vanished.

The Rook’s hood dipped, following Ren’s glance. “I think everyone here knows the value of a secret kept,” he said.

Arkady’s eyes narrowed in calculation. Ren could almost see her pulling the tattered remnants of her street bravado over the awe of a child in the presence of an old legend… and, judging by the look she gave Ren, a new one.

“Yeah, I know when to yap and when to say nothing,” she said, rising to her feet. “En’t gonna do me no good if people think I was yowling like a nipper.” She scowled in warning at Ren. “Not that I was.”

It seemed Arkady Bones had her own secrets. Ren struggled not to laugh. “Of course not,” she said.

A smile glimmered in the shadows of the Rook’s hood. “Ažerais bless you, Lady Rose. And thank you.”

She didn’t watch him go, turning to Sedge, who was groaning his way to wakefulness. Vargo was still unconscious, and torn up far worse than Ren had thought. But his pulse held steady, and when noise at the entrance to the amphitheatre heralded the arrival of a few cautious scouts coming to see what had happened, Sedge shoved vaguely at her, saying, “Go.”

Ren left the two men in Arkady’s care and faded into the shadows.

The ash seemed to be gone from her body—burned out by the numinat, maybe. The world outside was quiet and real. Once she was clear of the Point and down among the buildings of Duskgate, she pulled the mask off her face, trying to figure out where she should go and who she should be when she got there—and what to do with the disguise that had apparently come with her.

But when the mask came off, the black clothing faded like mist, leaving her dressed as Arenza once more. The only bit that remained was the lace mask itself, tatted in a pattern of roses.

Nadežra: Cyprilun 36–Fellun 7

The news that Mettore Indestor had intended to destroy the Wellspring of Ažerais and blame it on the Stadnem Anduske’s bombing—which would coincidentally bury the evidence of his numinat—nearly sent the Vraszenian population into armed rebellion.

If the Cinquerat had made their usual response, speeches and platitudes for the masses while negotiating a deal with the accused behind the scenes, the city would have burned. But the Cinquerat couldn’t negotiate with a man they didn’t have. And by the time they knew where he was, Renata Viraudax was very publicly accusing him of every crime under the sun, from kidnapping her to fomenting riot to poisoning the Cinquerat and all the others during the Night of Bells.

It was exhilarating, in a way she hadn’t been able to enjoy for weeks. A whirlwind of lies and truth—the lies mostly to cover truths she dared not reveal. Ren couldn’t admit she’d been at the amphitheatre, so instead she spun a tale of imprisonment in Indestor Manor. She’d discovered Mettore’s plan—a