The blood rush ebbed at that word, leaving the silence of clarity. Vargo knew what he wanted, and he knew the most expedient way to get it. Better to start sooner than later. Setting his glass aside, he stood. “Thank you for your suggestion, Your Mercy. This has been an enlightening conversation. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course,” Ghiscolo murmured. He looked faintly surprised but not displeased. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Vargo barely heard, already striding from the study. There should be boats at the dock, waiting for guests who didn’t intend to stay the night. He could have his fists gathered by midnight. He’d need information on where Sostira was, but that should be easy enough. The woman wasn’t particularly subtle. Then a team of his best, enough to get in and get out fast…
::Are we leaving?:: Alsius asked, intruding on his plans. ::Good. Diomen is maundering on to Sureggio about the grand achievement the Lumen has surely destined him to make, and I’m not sure what drug Sureggio has taken. Let’s go home and you can tell me what you discovered besides what lies beneath my niece’s skirts.::
“We’re not going home,” Vargo said, spying Peabody waiting for him atop a topiary. He scooped the spider up as he passed. “We’re going to kill Sostira Novrus.”
::We what?::
He kept walking, ignoring Alsius yammering for an explanation, until the spider leapt free to one of the lanterns lining the path down to the dock. ::Vargo, stop. We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened!::
Vargo’s impatience tempted him to leave Alsius behind. Let the spider swim home if he was going to upset the plan. But then sense intervened. He might need Alsius; none of his fists were half as good at infiltrating protected locations for reconnaissance.
He stopped, rubbing his brow irritably. “Ghiscolo all but offered me Argentet if I could remove Sostira Novrus.” Argentet, and through it, power. And respect. The desire for it buzzed like flies on a corpse. “Killing her is the most expedient way.”
Dead silence followed.
“Is that good enough for you? Can we carry on now?”
::Vargo…:: Alsius’s mental voice was more than hesitant. It was afraid. ::This isn’t you.::
“Isn’t it?” Vargo snapped. “I’ve killed and whored before, when it was necessary.”
::But this isn’t necessary.::
It is. It’s just not necessary to you.
Even as he thought that—even as he turned to stalk down to the pier—Vargo hesitated. Where had that thought come from? Everything he did, every choice he’d made for sixteen years, all came back to one thing. Uncovering Alsius’s murderer, the snake hiding beneath the water’s surface, and freeing Nadežra from his coils.
Ghiscolo. Whose study Vargo had just stormed out of, blazing with a lust for power that had been a mere ember when he walked in.
“Fuck.” He scrubbed hard at his face, as if that could scrub his brain. Unlike the rage numinat in Dmariše Square, or the one he’d pulled Renata from, this urge wasn’t fading. Not anger; just the conviction that he’d be a better Argentet than Novrus was. “He did something to me. What the fuck did he do to me?”
::I don’t know,:: Alsius whispered. ::Could there have been a numinat you didn’t see?::
Under the floorboards, maybe. Or the underside of Vargo’s chair, because Ghiscolo didn’t seem to be affected. But its hold on him ought to have begun to fade as soon as he left.
Something on his body? Sibiliat’s seduction might have been a preliminary step in the process. Vargo fought the urge to strip right there on the path and have Alsius examine him. She could hardly have tattooed or branded him without Vargo noticing. And the impulse hadn’t overtaken him until he was talking to Ghiscolo. Though—
He dug the molded clay out of his pocket and hurled it as far as he could, into the night-dark water. It didn’t make him feel any better.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before it hits again.” Vargo reached up to the lantern, and Peabody scuttled down the bridge to his shoulder.
::Home, yes?::
Yes. Where Vargo would send notes out to his knot leaders instructing them to question any later orders to take out Sostira Novrus. Even knowing the urge was forced on him didn’t banish it; it was an itch he couldn’t scratch away, somewhere deep inside his head.
It was pure luck that he wasn’t alone in there, or he might not have realized. “Thank you,” Vargo said softly. “For being here.”
::We’re here for each other. Now why don’t you tell me what you found before all this drama?::
Grateful for the distraction, Vargo headed for a boat and began silently explaining how to call upon eisar.
13
Saffron and Salt
Isla Prišta, Westbridge: Lepilun 36
Summer’s heat was finally starting to loosen its grip on the Lower Bank, and Coster’s Walk was busier than ever with mid-autumn traffic. With the breezes down the Dežera helping ease the stink of the channel and the crowd, Tess lingered longer than she had time for over the pieces at her favorite remnant stall. Not that she had need of scraps these days, not with Ren’s adoption and the custom of all the cuffs who wanted to follow her fashion… but Tess wouldn’t always be clinging to Ren’s purse. And no sense losing a forro over what you could get for a mill.
No sense getting weepy over a bit of lace, either, but she found her face clogging up as she fingered a length that would look lovely as a ribbon in Ren’s hair. I miss my sister. They’d had bad times before—under Ondrakja, or in Ganllech, or when Ren couldn’t sleep—but somehow this one hurt… not worse. Differently. Like the treasures Tess used to peer at through shop windows. Visible, but out of reach.
She put the lace down firmly and wiped her eyes. One thing she and Ren had in common: They were both busy. Squaring her shoulders, Tess headed for the old townhouse on the Isla Prišta, locked up and empty since they moved out.
She regretted that they’d lived in the house mostly during winter, when the weather was dreary, the canal clogged and sluggish, the pavers dark with weeping rain. The back walk at the start of autumn was a different world. Mellow sunlight painted the stonework gold; late-blooming flowers cascaded from every window box, their scent masking any foulness in the water, and lush green moss stretched tendrils up from the waterline. A heat bloom rendered the waters a milky jade, blindly reflecting the hazy sky above.
Tess half hoped the message she’d left at the Ranieri bakery hadn’t been delivered, or that it had been ignored, but no. Pavlin leaned against the canal abutment, a familiar basket at his hip. He was in one of the coats she’d tailored, and one of the imbued binders, too, by the look of it. She tried to examine him with a seamstress’s eye, but her thoughts drifted to decidedly unseamstressy places… like his shoulders, and how they would feel under her hands. And how much she wanted to wrap her arms around—
Stop admiring him, you ninny. You asked him here for his function, not his form.
The smile that lit his face when he spotted her weakened her resolve. The scent rising from the basket broke it. “I wasn’t certain if you’d take offense, but I brought the spice cakes you like,” Pavlin said in greeting.
Tess took the basket out of habit, then poked through it for a moment to collect herself. There were spice cakes, and lemon and honey-seed besides, and tarts with custard and fruit. Marry a man what brings you food…
She studied the silk fall of his hair, the soft curve of his lip, trying to see past his lies and her resentment. This man. Did he have to be so sweet?
“If you mean to bribe your way back into my graces, I’ll not accept it,” Tess said sternly.
“No! I just…” He scrubbed his palms on his coat. “I know you like them.”
Relenting, she said, “Sit,” and perched on the canal abutment, swinging her legs over so they dangled above the jade waters. She handed him a lemon cake and took a spice for herself. They nibbled to the tune of the eave finches squabbling above and the lapping of the canal.
“You’ve settled well into Traementis Manor?” he asked, breaking the silence. “It must be a relief, not having to care for an entire house on your own.”
Something he only knew from his spying. Tess arched a brow, and Pavlin grimaced, too late to take the words back.
Taking pity on him, Tess said, “It’s nice, but I’ve still eleven hours’ work for a ten-hour day. Just that now it’s all sewing. There’s my alta to dress, and Alta Giuna as well, and half the nobles of this city crying for my services.”
“You could say no.”
“Lending my services out helps my alta’s reputation. It’s the least I can do.” After all, Ren was the one who took all the risks. Who’d given up her life. Who couldn’t sleep or say more than six honest words to Tess for fear of discovery. If Tess’s needle could ease Ren’s burden even one bit, she was glad to help.
I just wish I knew when it would end.
“Do you plan to be her maid forever?” Pavlin asked, as though she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. When Tess gaped like a popped seam, he said, “I know you’re grateful to her for getting you out of Ganllech, but you’ve said you want a shop of your own someday. It’s not my business—”
“You’re right. It’s not,” Tess snapped before he could read her other thoughts. How she feared for her sister. How lonely she was even when they were together; how each day it felt more like this trap had become their lives, and she couldn’t share her worries, because Ren had enough troubles for three lives, and how could Tess add to them?
Sighing, Pavlin asked, “Why did you invite me here, Tess?”
She felt bad asking now, after snapping at him. But he was the one most likely to help her and not ask questions. “I think one of the Traementis servants is spying on my alta. I need your help finding out if she is, and who for.”
She’d prepared for him to call her a hypocrite. It’s different, she would say, and recite the litany of justifications she’d rehearsed on her walk from the Pearls.
But after several silent moments, Pavlin said, “You’re asking for my help because if you take this to Era Traementis, she’ll sack the girl whether she’s guilty or not.”
“Sack, or worse. Even I’ve heard tales of Traementis vengeance.”
He hummed agreement. “And your alta can’t ask for Vigil help because…” He chewed on his lip. Just as Tess was about to answer, he said, “You think the maid is working for Eret Acrenix, don’t you?”
Tess’s breath caught. He was so kindhearted, she sometimes forgot he was smart, too. “Alta Sibiliat already paid someone to break in and search the townhouse,” she said, waving at their old home. “How did you know it’s them I suspected?”
“Ghiscolo Acrenix is Caerulet now.” Flicking the crumbs of his cake to the ground as an offering to the finches, he said, “Era Traementis asked for the captain instead of another hawk because she feared Renata was working for Indestor.”
A laugh burst from Tess, startling the finches from their feast. “Well, the world knows that for a lie.”
Pavlin caught her hand in his, as rough-skinned as her own, though she supposed that was from soldiering rather than sewing. “I’m sorry. Not for what I did, but for how I went about it. The captain warned me not to make it personal, but… I wanted so badly to prove myself.”
It wasn’t the apology she wanted, but she supposed it was the only one he could give. She’d been nobody to him at the start, and he was just a hawk doing his duty. And didn’t they all have reason to be suspicious? Weren’t Tess and Ren keeping secrets of their own?
Secrets that meant she couldn’t reconcile with him, even if she wanted to. Not when it would mean more lying. Tess tugged her hand free and swung around, hopping down from her perch. A few crumbs scattered from her skirts.
“Her name is Suilis Felsi,” Tess said, watching the birds edge their way back and start squabbling like they were a debut performance at the Theatre Agnasce. “She looks to have some Vraszenian blood, but she’s Nadežran through. Leastways, she hasn’t said anything about her people.”
Sighing, Pavlin stood and handed the basket to her. “I’ll see what I can find. Give me a couple of weeks?”
Tess nodded. His fingers brushed hers, and she couldn’t say if her heart twisted for that… or for his easy agreement and the prospect of seeing him again. Mumbling her thanks, Tess turned and fled the conundrum he posed.
Why had she thought this a good idea? She really was a ninny.
Dawngate and Lacewater: Canilun 1
The Charterhouse never put Renata in a good mood. The gears of bureaucracy had ground to a slow enough crawl that even advocates with forty years’ experience were threatening to quit, and all Renata’s charm and tricks weren’t enough to make her obstacles budge. By the time she came out, having wasted three hours waiting to see a Prasinet functionary who dismissed her petition without reading it, she was in a foul enough mood that she didn’t ask where Tess was leading her to. She couldn’t remember what was next on her schedule—something she was probably late to—but if she wasn’t getting in a sedan chair, that meant it must be close enough to walk to.
Which was true… after a fashion.
The door Tess opened for her led not to an office, but to a room with a lightstone, a good mirror—and a set of clothing Alta Renata would never wear.
She stopped on the threshold. “What’s this?”
A nudge of Tess’s hip propelled her into the room. “Something long overdue, if you ask me. Which you didn’t. That’s why Sedge and I put the plans together ourselves. Go on with you. There’s soap for your face as well.” Tess waved at the clothes, her grin turning saucy. “Or have you forgotten how to dress yourself without help?”
Tossing off her own grey-and-white maid’s surcoat and underdress, Tess stepped into the full skirts, twill half jacket, and woolen stockings of a girl born on the streets of Little Alwydd, while Renata—Ren—blinked. “Don’t I have an appointment?”
“Alta Renata is meeting with a very exclusive and mysterious merchant from Ghus who’s only in Nadežra for a few hours. Ren is putting on this outfit and going out to celebrate her brother’s birthday.”
“Sedge doesn’t know when his birthday is.”
“Then there’s no saying it isn’t his birthday, is there? Hurry, or he’ll be beating people back from stealing our table.”
Equal parts wary and bemused, Ren asked, “What table?”
“At the Whistling Reed. We’re going to be customers instead of robbing them blind!” Tess grinned as though it was a treat to visit the seedy Lacewater music hall from their Finger days. And Ren realized, blushing for shame, that for Tess and Sedge… it probably was.
Her mind reflexively summoned objections, even as she leaned against the wall and began unlacing her tight, fashionable boots. If the Ghusai merchant wasn’t real, she could and should be doing other things with this time. Donaia had made her final decisions on the adoptions, but Renata was behind on filling out the paperwork. She had letters to answer, clerks to bribe, a warehouse in Dockwall she was supposed to go inspect. Adding this to the list—
That thought stopped her dead, like she’d walked straight into a blade. Since when did my brother and sister become just another item on my schedule?
“Usually one takes both boots off,” Tess said. “But if you want to wear one and go barefoot with the other, you’ll fit right in at the Whistling Reed.”
Ren had no idea what her expression looked like to Tess, but to her it felt like a horrible mélange of guilt and desperation. “Tess—”
Her sister took the boot from her limp hands, nodding with more understanding than she deserved. “Get on with you. I know how fast you can be when you want.”
In changing her disguise, yes. Tess had only put out the soaps to wash away the imbued cosmetics—nothing to replace them with. When was the last time she’d worn her face bare, for more than the brief moments between masks? Her hands trembled as she worked.
&nbs
p; With friendly impatience as soothing as warm tea in winter, Tess bundled Ren out the door. She chattered with all the familiarity of a sister and none of the respect of a maid, and the sheer bloody relief of that made Ren want to stop in the middle of the street and—
“Oof!” Tess patted her on the back with a confused hand. “What’s this for?”
“I just wanted to,” Ren said, pulling back from the hug. And if her eyes watered as she said that, Tess was kind enough not to mention it.
Together they pushed through Suncross’s bustle into Lacewater. Ren kept her head down, even though the odds that anybody would recognize her as the fourteen-year-old Finger who’d tried to murder her knot leader were low. But she kept watch in her peripheral vision, and what she saw troubled her.
Lacewater had always been one of the poorer parts of Nadežra, with overcrowded tenements and the occasional grasping landlord who raised his rents until he drove the “undesirables” out. But it had gotten much worse since she lived there, and worse still in the last few months. She saw more beggars on street corners, ragged enough that they must be sleeping rough, their faces pinched with hunger even though the markets were flooded with the harvest. Ren kept a hand over her purse out of reflex, then wondered if she should just let some pickpocket take it. They needed those coins more than she did.
The Whistling Reed was as lively as ever, though. The noise of chatter over the sawing of fiddles and shrieking of fipple flutes shook the dust from the rafters; it hung heavy on the air, thickened in places with the haze of pipe smoke. Ren and Tess pushed along the edge of the dance floor until they reached the table Sedge was guarding. His theatrical scowl split into a boyish grin as Tess flopped into a seat and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow.
“You did it,” he said, winking at Ren and sliding a mill across the stained table to Tess.
She pocketed it before grabbing one of three waiting mugs and taking a hearty swig. “I didn’t even have to bind her!”
Indignation popped Ren upright on her stool. “You placed bets on whether I’d come?”
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