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

right-handed, and earth-handed is left-handed. Sunwise and earthwise mean clockwise and counterclockwise, or when referring to people, a man born female or a woman born male.

szorsa: A reader of a pattern deck.

Tricat: The numen associated with 3 in numinatria. It represents stability, family, community, completion, rigidity, and reconciliation.

Tuat: The numen associated with 2 in numinatria. It represents the other, duality, communication, connection, opposition, and the inscriptor’s edge.

The Tyrant: Kaius Sifigno, also called Kaius Rex. He was a Liganti commander who conquered all of Vraszan, but according to legend his further spread was stopped by him succumbing to his various desires. Reputed to be unkillable, the Tyrant was supposedly brought down by venereal disease. His death is celebrated on the Night of Bells.

Uniat: The numen associated with 1 in numinatria. It represents the body, self-awareness, enlightenment, containment, and the inscriptor’s chalk.

The Vigil: The primary force of law and order within Nadežra, nicknamed “hawks” after their emblem. Separate from the city-state’s army, the Vigil polices the city itself, under the leadership of a high commander who answers to Caerulet. Their headquarters is the Aerie.

Vraszan: The name of the region and loose confederation of city-states of which Nadežra was formerly a part.

Wellspring of Ažerais: The holy site around which the city of Nadežra was founded. The wellspring exists within Ažerais’s Dream, and manifests in the waking world only during the Great Dream. Drinking its waters grants a true understanding of pattern.

ziemetse: (sing. ziemič) The leaders of the Vraszenian clans, also referred to as “clan elders.” Each has a title taken from the name of their clan: the Anoškinič, Dvornič, Kiralič, Meszarič, Stretskojič, Varadič, and (formerly) Ižranjič.

extras

meet the author

Photo Credit: John Scalzi

M. A. CARRICK is the joint pen name of Marie Brennan (author of the Memoirs of Lady Trent) and Alyc Helms (author of the Adventures of Mr. Mystic). The two met in 2000 on an archaeological dig in Wales and Ireland—including a stint in the town of Carrickmacross—and have built their friendship through two decades of anthropology, writing, and gaming. They live in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Find out more about M. A. Carrick and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at orbitbooks.net.

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THE MASK OF MIRRORS

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BOOK TWO OF THE ROOK & ROSE TRILOGY

by

M. A. Carrick

Seven Knots, Lower Bank

The rookery of Seven Knots never slept. There were always babes yowling the tenements awake, dogs snuffling in the streets for scraps, laborers and skiffers and laundresses making their way between work and home. When a plaza was silent, it was a sure bet that something unpleasant was about to happen—and you didn’t want to be there when it did.

The plaza behind the Seven Knots labyrinth was shrouded in that anticipatory quiet, but Vargo was waiting by choice—by design—in the shadows of one of the many twisty passages that sprang from it. Varuni and Nikory waited beside him, with Orostin and a dozen other fists planted in the nearby alleyways to keep watch.

The only person not there by choice was Premyk, the knot-traitor who’d thrown his lot and six months of aža profits in with the Stretsko gangs. The same gangs that were creating problems for Vargo up and down the Lower Bank.

When Vargo confronted him, Premyk clearly expected to die on the spot—which just showed again that he didn’t understand his boss. Retribution would come later. Right now, Premyk was staked out in the plaza as bait, flanked by two of Vargo’s people in place of Premyk’s own. The Stretsko boss would come to take the traitor’s oath and his payment, and Vargo would be waiting to take her.

It was the sort of maneuver that couldn’t be left to his people, no matter how much Vargo would have preferred to spend the sweltering summer night at home under the cooling effects of a numinat. His back—still not fully healed from the shredding the zlyzen had given it—was beginning to itch under the layers of sweat, bandages, and brocade that swaddled it. He was losing the fight against the urge to strip it all off in search of relief, when Varuni stiffened beside him.

On the far side of the plaza, he spied movement. An older man with iron-grey braids, one ratted into the long tail of the Stretsko, emerged into the plaza.

“Foolish to be out this late, when even Ažerais lies dreaming,” he said in Nadežran-flavored Vraszenian.

After a moment of silence and a surreptitious prod from one of his guards, Premyk blurted in the same language, “But Ažerais looks out for fools and children. And w-we are her children.”

The Stretsko man gave a low, two-toned whistle that sounded like the call of a dreamweaver bird. After several tense moments, two others entered the plaza, boots clomping and shoulders hunched under the weight of a covered sedan chair.

“Wh-what?” Premyk’s voice wavered on the question as the bearers set the chair down. “Tserdev was supposed to take my knot oath herself. That was the arrangement.”

Vargo traded a look with Varuni. Every word the man spoke was another chance for him to betray Vargo and warn Tserdev of their trap.

“The boss isn’t stupid, to walk out in the open,” the Stretsko man said. “Half this district wants her netted. Hawks leave the chairs alone.” He approached Premyk, pulling out a braided cord knobbed on two ends with small wooden beads. At this distance and in the dark, Vargo couldn’t tell the colors, but he knew a knot bracelet when he saw one.

“Go on,” said the man, holding out the cord for Premyk to take. “Say your words, show your loyalty, and then Tserdev will respond in kind.”

Premyk edged back like the man was holding out a snake. Only the presence of the guards at his back kept him in place. “I…”

“Is there a problem?” The Stretsko man’s voice was silk-soft and sure, like he already knew the answer.

Enough of this theatre. Vargo stepped out of