“Worried you won’t find a quiet corner to share with your sweetheart? You’re off to see him tonight, right?”
Tess’s grip on her bowl tightened. She’d almost managed to forget about Pavlin and their meeting at Nightpeace Gardens last month. She’d only shared the details with Ren. How did Suilis know? “I—I don’t have a—”
“Come off it, now. Sure, he may look like he crawled out of the rookeries, but what’s a rough face to a sweet disposition?” Suilis sighed in happy jealousy. “And those shoulders…”
Panic sputtering, Tess said, “Sedge?” Suilis knew Ren was sending Tess to see him?
Then the rest of Suilis’s words hit her. Sweetheart. Sweet disposition. Shoulders. Tess stifled a groan with the last sip of broth. What had she been thinking, to leave that gossip unchecked? And yet, it was safer than any of the truths Tess daren’t tell. She was off to see Sedge; this would keep anyone from questioning why.
She dredged up a grin. “He does have nice shoulders.” Like Ren always said: Speak the truth and let others fill in the lie.
Suilis giggled and leaned close. “Hope you’ve got a contraceptive numinat,” she whispered, patting Tess’s stomach where the slight bump of her new navel ring was hidden under layers of skirts. “That one could father children with a look.”
He’s my brother, you—Groaning, Tess pressed her brow to her empty bowl and prayed to the Maiden to save her from Suilis’s curiosity.
Thankfully, Colbrin gave them their leave soon after, even passing out paper masks and pouches of coin as New Year’s gifts. House Traementis was still frugal by noble standards, but Donaia had insisted—without any prompting from Renata—that the staff who remained loyal through their impoverishment should enjoy their new enrichment. She said they were “family as much as anyone in the register.” A nice sentiment, if laughable from a woman who never emptied her own chamber pot.
Avoiding speculative looks and knowing grins from the other servants, Tess headed for Westbridge and the ostretta that had become her meeting spot with Sedge since their reunion.
Sedge was already waiting outside when she arrived, but so was what seemed like every other resident of the district. And no few of them seemed to be trying their luck with him, his broad shoulders attracting almost as much interest as his scars and scowl warned off.
His frown cleared when he spotted Tess fighting the current of the crowd. He mouthed a question she couldn’t hear, but she knew well enough to guess he was asking after Ren. Rather than shout their business over the noise, she gestured for him to follow her. Even if they could squeeze into the ostretta, their usual alcove would be taken.
Sedge was very useful for bulling his way through crowds. Wrapping a long arm around her shoulders, he forged a path for them both, in search of someplace quiet and safe.
Ironically, they ended up sitting on the retaining wall of the canal behind the townhouse where Ren and Tess had squatted for almost a year. The damage had been repaired, but the windows were dark. “I suppose they’ve not found a new tenant,” Tess mused, eating fried river oysters off a skewer. She accepted the elderflower wine Sedge passed her and took a swig from the bottle. It chased the oily weight of the oyster with the sweet warmth of a summer rain.
He waved the bottle away when she offered it back, then sprawled along the wall with his head resting on her thigh. “Wouldn’t know. En’t like Vargo or the Spiders are sharing their secrets with me no more.” He scratched at the pale stripe on his wrist.
Setting the bottle aside, Tess tangled her fingers in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. “I wish it were easy to be sorry. But after what he did to Ren, and thinking about those zlyzen attacking her at the amphitheatre—”
“I don’t regret it.” Pressing into her hand, Sedge sighed. “Well, I do. But I wouldn’t choose different if I had to again.”
His words doubled the weight of what Ren had asked her to do. Tess was that tempted to drown it with another swig of wine. To forget everything and drag Sedge back to the solstice revels for some dancing and more oysters… but it wasn’t her choice to make. It was his.
“What if there were a way to get back in grace with Vargo?”
Sedge’s snort was louder than her soft question. “I left him to get shredded by the zlyzen. Not even Ren’s tongue is silver enough to buy his forgiveness for that.”
“Not her tongue, no. But the news she got from the Stadnem Anduske, maybe.”
Sedge caught her wrist and pulled her hand from his hair, sitting up. “What news?” And then, because they all knew each other too well: “What game is Ren running now?”
Tess passed along their sister’s explanations. That Vargo’s ennoblement had sparked a war among the Lower Bank gangs, and he was losing people. That the ousted leader of the Anduske was looking for an ally, and hoped he might find one in Vargo. That tonight the Stretsko were going to use the solstice revels to attack Vargo in his own home in Eastbridge.
Sedge’s jaw tightened. “And if I take this to Vargo, Ren’s hoping he’ll welcome me back into the Spiders. So I can spy on him for her.”
Put like that, it sounded cold. Especially when Ren had sent Tess to make the request rather than do it herself. Tess opened her mouth to assure Sedge that wasn’t the case, but he pressed three fingers to her lips.
“It’s fine. Makes sense. He’s up to something, and we need to know what. And maybe if I’m there, I can protect the other Fog Spiders from whatever he’s up to. My oaths were to them anyways, not Vargo.”
“You’ll do it, then?” She let Sedge help her down off the wall, only stumbling a little when the ground rolled beneath her feet. Maybe broth and an oyster skewer weren’t enough cushion for the amount of wine she’d drunk.
Sedge glanced at the sky, cloudless and blue, the sun making its slow way toward the horizon. “Better do it now if they’re coming tonight. You’ll be all right alone?”
Tess nodded and pushed him ahead of her. “I can see to myself.” Her cheeks were warm, and she was feeling bold. She waved Sedge off one way, then pulled down her mask and set off in the other direction with a determined step and a half-full bottle of elderflower wine.
It was the New Year, a time for new beginnings. And time for her to prove to Nadežra and to herself that she didn’t need a false sweetheart to find true happiness.
Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Summer Solstice
Gazing out over the streams of gaily dressed delta gentry and merchants swirling through the streets and plazas of the Pearls, Ren thought, Never let it be said this city passes up a chance to celebrate.
The chill fogs of Veiled Waters had vanished like a dream. In the Vraszenian calendar, which followed the moons, the New Year had come and gone. But why have one festival when the people of Nadežra could have two? In the solar Seterin calendar, these five days around the solstice were the turning point of the year: a moment outside of time, cutting the month of Colbrilun in half. And while Donaia claimed it was supposed to be an occasion for contemplation and austerity, Ren had never seen any sign of that.
Instead the streets filled with stalls selling food, flowers, trinkets, and more. The masks people wore were paper or lightweight fabric sculpted by wire, made for burning when the five intercalary days were over. Everyone strolled arm in arm, disputes laid aside until time resumed its usual pace—at least in theory. She’d already seen a petty shoving match on one of the bridges that led off the Isla Traementis, when a wandering seller of lemon ice refused to step aside for a man with a cart of honey-drizzled rice balls. The heat was making everyone irritable.
And it was making Renata impatient. Wait in Traementis Plaza, Tanaquis had said. She wore the stitched numinat on her sleeve, as instructed, and the nearest clock tower had rung out tenth sun nearly a bell ago, but there was no sign of anything happening.
“Rose of Ažerais, alta?”
The question made Renata jump. Was this what Tanaquis had told her to wait for?
No. It was an ordi
nary flower seller, one of a thousand crisscrossing the city hawking the beautiful violet roses named for Ažerais. They bloomed in the aftermath of Veiled Waters, and Ren would have loved to buy one. What stayed her hand wasn’t a lack of money; it was the ever-present awareness that she had to remain in persona all the time now. Renata could buy the flower seller’s whole cart… but the Vraszenian tradition was a reminder Ren’s heart couldn’t afford.
“No, thank you,” she said, and resolutely turned away as the flower seller moved on.
The next person to approach her was a man, judging by his build, and gentry or better, judging by the fine goldenrod fabric of his coat. He wore a full mask—a blank face with only shadowed eyes staring out and a narrow slit cutting across the lips, entirely out of keeping with the style of the festival.
“Are you the one I’m waiting for?” Renata asked.
By way of answer, he held out another mask. This one, like his, was shaped like a full face of plain white—but mute and blind. It had no holes cut for the mouth or the eyes.
Her pulse quickened. “You—want me to put that on?”
His hand didn’t waver.
Tanaquis invited you to this. She isn’t the sort to play games. Tanaquis, who said this might help with uncovering the origins of the Traementis curse.
Trying not to show her apprehension, Renata accepted the mask and slid it over her head.
The man took her hand and led her forward at a slow pace. Ren’s breath came hot and damp against the inside of the mask; she was almost glad the lack of eyeholes meant he couldn’t see her fear. She hated this already, with every bone in her body—walking blind, trusting a total stranger to guide her. Then she heard the slosh of water, and the hands guided her down into a splinter-boat; she fumbled for the nearest bench, found it, and sat. A moment later the boat rocked into motion.
You’re not in the box. Mettore is dead.
Clutching the edge of the bench so hard her knuckles ached, Ren prayed that Tanaquis would not steer her wrong.
Floodwatch, Upper Bank: Summer Solstice
Even hearing the sounds of celebration from the Upper and Lower Banks made Giuna feel guilty, as if she were betraying Leato by not sitting at home with her grief.
Your life shouldn’t stop for me, minnow. She could imagine his voice as if he sat next to her, and she swallowed down the lump in her throat. Especially not when the family needs you. Donaia was at home, and Renata was busy with Meda Fienola; someone had to take care of house business.
“Thank you again,” she said to Sibiliat as the skiffer poled them upriver toward Floodwatch. “For all your help.” House Traementis’s social dealings had been curtailed for too long; they benefited greatly from Sibiliat’s evaluation of their adoption candidates. She’d even offered to accompany Giuna today, using the excuse of the solstice to visit some of those candidates and see how they interacted with their current families.
The way Sibiliat draped herself over Giuna from behind, her magnolia perfume warming the air between them, made Giuna feel eight kinds of awkward at once. Was Sibiliat truly serious about her flirtation? Or was this simply a game for her, a pleasant diversion not meant to last?
“Help like this is what House Acrenix is for,” Sibiliat answered, her breath tickling Giuna’s ear. “We’re everybody’s friend.”
“Everybody’s friend but Renata’s,” Giuna said, before she could stop herself.
Sibiliat drew back, taking her warmth and smile with her. There was a facade of amity between those two, but Giuna could always hear the barbs underneath each comment. Sibiliat hadn’t forgiven the deception over Renata’s finances… or the way Renata had displaced her as the center of young noble life.
Giuna expected a catty response. Instead, Sibiliat’s reply was barely audible over the rush of the river and the noise of the celebrations. “You’re right. And I’m sorry.” Her half-sun mask ended at her cheekbones; it didn’t hide the press of her lips. “I just still worry that there’s more to your cousin’s story than she admits. That she may not have your best interests at heart.”
“Don’t judge what you don’t understand,” Giuna said firmly. “Renata may not show her true face to the world, but that’s just her way of being strong. She blames herself for Leato’s death, and she nearly died when she couldn’t sleep after the Night of Hells. And she kept us all brave when we found out about the curse.”
She was grasping at any argument to soften Sibiliat’s suspicion, and only realized what she’d said when Sibiliat’s attention sharpened. “Curse? What curse?”
Giuna clapped her hands over her mouth as though that could catch the words already escaped. But perhaps knowing what they’d been through together would help Sibiliat understand why Giuna had forgiven Renata for misleading them.
Lowering her hands and voice, Giuna said, “It’s what took Leato. And every cousin in our register since before I was born. It would have taken Mother and me as well, if Renata hadn’t put a stop to it.”
Sibiliat’s eyes went wide. “Renata? I didn’t think she had any skill with numinatria. How—”
“I… shouldn’t speak of it.” Giuna straightened her gloves, avoiding Sibiliat’s gaze. She’d already said more than Renata or her mother would be comfortable with.
After a moment, Sibiliat reached out and took one of those hands in her own. “Never mind. It’s enough that you’re safe now.”
“Don’t tell,” Giuna said, scrambling to undo the damage from her loose tongue. “If anyone hears of this, they’ll scorch parchment rather than let themselves be inscribed into our register. Our reputation can’t take that blow right now.”
Sibiliat delivered a swift kiss to her gloved fingertips, then released her hand. “Of course not. If the curse was as old as you say… Doesn’t your mother always say Letilia took the Traementis luck with her when she left? Perhaps Renata brought it back.”
Giuna shivered as the heavy shadow of the Floodwatch Bridge fell over the skiff. The collapse of the previous bridge happened before Letilia left. Had the curse taken hold of them even then? Or was it just the result of her grandfather’s grasping ways?
Tucking Giuna at her side as though the summer night carried a chill, Sibiliat said, “I’ll try to be… not kinder. She’d mistrust that, and I couldn’t manage it anyway. But I’ll do my best to find an equilibrium. For you.”
“Why do I feel like I just did Renata a grave disservice?” Giuna asked dryly, and fought a pleased smile when Sibiliat laughed.
They disembarked on the Upper Bank side of Floodwatch and made their way to the Scurezza townhouse. Giuna was arriving early—the house parties wouldn’t truly get going until full dark—but her list of targets tonight was long enough to require a head start.
The Scurezza footman bowed in greeting. “The family are still at dinner, but Meda Scurezza is expecting you. If you’ll follow me?”
Giuna straightened her mask of iridescent green hummingswift feathers and trailed after the footman as he led them toward the dining room. He opened the door with another bow—and the scene inside froze them all where they stood.
Members of the Scurezza family lay twisted in their chairs or sprawled across the table. The stench of vomit and worse billowed out, and dishes had been knocked onto the rug. Coevis, the cousin who’d applied to join House Traementis, was nearest the door. She had fallen from her chair and lay open-eyed on the floor.
No one moved except Meda Quaniet Scurezza.
She sat at the head of the table, one manicured hand gathering small brown nuts from a dish. The crunch of her teeth on them was the only sound in the world.
Quaniet drew in a strained, rasping breath, but the smile she directed at Giuna was serene. “Now they’ll never leave. We’ll be a family forever.”
Giuna’s mask tumbled from her head as she clamped her hands over her mouth, trying to keep everything inside. She didn’t realize she’d bolted until she was on the front step, heaving the contents of her stomach into the
street. A moment later Sibiliat was there, her hand rubbing soothing circles into Giuna’s back. She’d removed her gloves, and used the soft cotton of one to dab the sweat from Giuna’s brow and the bile from her lips.
“Little bird,” Sibiliat said, her voice full of horror. “I’m—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Hawks,” Giuna whispered. “We need to call the hawks.”
“I sent the footman. Will you be all right if I leave you here?”
Giuna nodded like a puppet, and the warmth on her back went away. Only as the sweat chilled to ice did she wonder why Sibiliat had gone back inside.
Maybe some of them are still alive.
She forced herself to her feet. Sibiliat might seem sharp and hard, but it was the hardness of glass. It could be chipped. Even shattered. Giuna couldn’t leave Sibiliat to face that nightmare alone.
Back inside the room of death, Quaniet had slumped forward, a few nuts still clutched in her limp hand. At first Giuna thought Sibiliat had gone somewhere else. But then she saw her friend crawling out from under the dining room table with something in her palm. A smooth violet circle, like a numinatrian focus, though it wasn’t etched with any divine sigil that Giuna could see. The rug, as in many fashionable dining rooms, was woven with a Noctat numinat, to heighten the pleasures of eating and drinking.
Sibiliat saw her in the doorway and pocketed the focus. Giuna’s discarded mask dangled from her wrist. Grimly, she said, “I think Quaniet wanted to make sure everyone would eat their dessert.”
The bowls of nuts. One for every diner, most of them empty.
“Careful!” Giuna yelped as Sibiliat tipped a few into her clean glove.
“I am. One of our apothecaries should be able to say if these were the cause.” As she headed for the door, Sibiliat’s shoe came down with a wet, squelching sound in the puddle of vomit and blood next to Coevis’s head. She staggered to one side, clapping one hand over her mouth. Through her fingers, she moaned, “Oh Lumen—”
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