The Liar's Knot

by M. A. Carrick

  “I erred that night, yes. I fell to my zeal, instead of mastering it. May we sit?”

  His response was neither answer nor apology, but there was no profit in being hostile. Renata gestured him to one of the high-backed chairs and took another, making sure the light from the windows fell on his face, so he couldn’t retreat into shadow. “Then educate me, Master Diomen. Speak plainly of these blessings, these gifts.”

  His hand made a slow sweep of their surroundings. “Places such as this are profane, and not meant for such secrets. It would be far better for you to rejoin our circle. I came here today hoping to persuade you to do so.”

  “Master Diomen, I’ve been given a variety of reasons for why I should wish to be a part of your circle. The political benefit of having such allies—but I can manage House Traementis’s business without that. The answer to a question Meda Fienola and I have been investigating—but that, we have already achieved.” After a fashion, at least. Even if Tanaquis was right about eisar, that didn’t tell her who had cursed the Traementis. “And finally, the deeper mysteries of the Lumen. But I am not an inscriptor. So if you wish to persuade me to return, you will need to convince me those mysteries are worth what I went through that night.”

  There was a fourth reason, of course: Vargo, and whatever goal he was pursuing. But she wasn’t about to admit that.

  Diomen frowned. “The mysteries of the Lumen are not merely about inscription. Can you honestly say that you do not wish to understand yourself better? Your education in Seteris was lacking, but surely it was not so barren as to strip you of all interest in self-discovery.”

  Weaving his long fingers together in a net, he said, “The threads of the Lumen connect us all, sometimes in obscure ways. They brought you to our sect, and they brought you to that circle. Will you step off that path before you’ve followed it past the point illuminated by your present understanding?”

  His words and gestures held an echo of pattern imagery, and once again, she wondered what he might have heard, and from whom. “Tell me, Master Diomen. What have you discovered about yourself, past the edge of illumination?”

  “My path is not your path. But if it will help you to see another’s…”

  The weight of his gaze lifted off her, drifting to the sunbeams that cut through the windows. From the flicker of his pupils, she couldn’t tell if he was searching his past, or only following the dance of dust.

  In the silence, the air became so still that when he spoke at last, the dust motes shifted with his breath. “When I left Seteris, I thought I was the enlightened one, bringing my knowledge to beat back the darkness.” Diomen waved at the window as though implicating all of Nadežra in his past self’s disdain. “You surely must know what I mean. Every person from Seteris comes to Nadežra with certain… opinions.”

  “Disdain, contempt, pity. Yes. Go on.”

  “These opinions are foolish.”

  She didn’t bother stopping her eyebrows from rising. Diomen said, “I do not speak of politics or culture, but of wisdom. We Seterins are the inheritors of the great wisdom of Enthaxis—but we have allowed that inheritance to ossify. We behave as if we know all there is to know about the Lumen, the numina, the divine sigils we use to call on the Lumen’s grace. But as you yourself have experienced, there is more to numinatria than the mere channeling of heat and force and sound. There are emanations we have no names for.”

  A chill ran down her spine at the memory of rage. “You mean eisar.”

  “Eisar are the smallest part of what I mean. I cannot unfold to you all the secrets of the Praeteri; it is for good reason that one must pass the Gates of Revelation before entering into the Great Mysteries. But I can tell you that when I came to Nadežra, I discovered there is wisdom outside the rigid boundaries of Seterin orthodoxy. There is power.”

  The sunlight made Diomen’s eyes gleam with the fervency of his words. Studying that gleam, Renata thought, He’s sincere. This wasn’t the pitch of a charlatan; it was the sermon of a true believer. And she understood why Tanaquis might find the Praeteri worthwhile.

  She understood why Vargo might, too.

  Renata kept her voice steady as she said, “What if I have no interest in power?”

  “Power is a means to an end, not an end in its own right. Is there truly nothing you desire? Nothing lacking in your life? Nothing you wish to achieve?”

  Nothing the Praeteri would want to give me. Numinatria could not provide the feeling of safety she craved, the safety she’d lost the night her childhood home burned down. Nor could it resolve the conflict inside her. The gap between Renata Viraudax and Arenza Lenskaya, with Ren drowning in between.

  Diomen was waiting, watching her with those too-intense eyes. Her stomach churned uneasily, though she couldn’t say how much of that was him, and how much was the Whistling Reed’s beer. What was he driving at? What secret did he think she was holding back?

  Renata said, “I’ll grant you this, Master Diomen; you’ve given me a great deal to think about. When is your next ceremony?”

  “Two days hence,” he said without hesitation. “The night of Canilis Tricat. Meda Fienola leads a small group in celebration of the minor holy days.”

  Renata frowned. The adoption ceremony was also scheduled for the third day of the third month. With Tricat being the numen of family, everyone agreed that was the ideal timing. Although the ceremony would be in the afternoon, the celebratory ball was that night. Was Tanaquis intending to leave early? Very likely, she supposed; a numinatrian ritual was more Tanaquis’s preferred sort of celebration than a ball would be.

  “I’m afraid my duties prevent me from attending that night,” she said. “But I will speak with Tanaquis and see whether there’s another I might join you for. Next month for Suilis Quarat, if nothing else.”

  “I hope to see you sooner.” Diomen stood, looming over her. Renata stood as well, refusing to give him such an advantage.

  And she made a point of giving him only the minimal curtsy expected from an alta to a commoner. “We shall see, Master Diomen.”

  The Aerie, Duskgate: Canilun 1

  When Grey stalked into the Aerie, he was tired, bruised, and pissed off. The entirety of Nadežra seemed in a mood to pick a fight with the first person who breathed at them wrong; this time the spark had been a puppet show in Remylk Square. Whether it had actually mocked House Destaelio or not, Grey didn’t know and didn’t much care. Somehow that had escalated into a full brawl, and by the time Grey’s patrol put that down, the puppeteers had gone missing.

  Grey found them in a neighboring alley, in the custody of Lud Kaineto. Who claimed to be questioning them over possible Anduske sympathies, as if criticizing the Cinquerat made one a radical.

  These stingers of Caerulet’s were becoming more and more of a problem.

  I should have known better than to trust those soft words. Grey had wanted to believe Caerulet’s promise that he wasn’t looking for scapegoats. He’d wanted to believe Nadežra could change—that he could help change it, from within.

  But lately he felt like the only good he did was when he was wearing a hood.

  He planted one hand against the Aerie’s stone wall and made himself breathe deeply. The Rook’s anger surged up within him more and more these days. Ryvček had warned him: Many who wore the hood wound up losing themselves to it. She’d taught him to cultivate a separation between his two lives, to be Grey when he was Grey and the Rook when he was the Rook. But he wasn’t as good at the divide as she was. Ryvček had survived for over twenty years, then achieved the rare feat of letting go. Grey doubted he would last half so long.

  With those thoughts roiling in his mind, he was less than pleased to enter the main room and be accosted by Rimbon Beldipassi.

  “Captain Serrado!” The man hurried forward with his usual broad smile and ready hand, clapping Grey familiarly on the shoulder. “Just the man I was hoping to see! In fact, even more perfect than I’d realized—how intriguing. Can I bend your ea
r for a moment?”

  “If you’re offering me a business opportunity, Mede Beldipassi, I’m afraid I’m busy.” It was a coin toss whether it would be some new business scheme, or complaints about troubles with an existing one. The turmoil among the Lower Bank knots had already collapsed one of Beldipassi’s concerns in Kingfisher—not that he seemed to care. He always had three more to replace it.

  Beldipassi leaned closer. “No, no, not that. Something a bit more… private. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “My office is this way.” If nothing else, the cramped space might encourage him to be brief. But in case it failed: “Coffee?”

  At Beldipassi’s nod, Grey diverted them past the officers’ nook to secure two cups, then headed upstairs. Someone had dumped a box of confiscated possessions from the Kingfisher raids on his desk: items too worthless for any hawk to pocket, which would be sold off through a shop in Suncross. It made his office seem even smaller. Grey hesitated in the doorway before shifting the box to the hall outside and ushering his unwanted guest in.

  “This is where you work? How—ah—cozy.” Beldipassi resorted to putting one foot up on a stack of reports so he could lean aside for Grey to shut the door. It placed them awkwardly close together, but unfortunately, he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Now, this will sound a little strange, but hear me out. I understand that there’s nobody in Nadežra more dedicated to finding the Rook than you. I need you to—well—help me find him. For a conversation. Set me up as a sort of bait, maybe. And then once I’ve had a chance to talk to him, you can swoop in and capture him! Profit for everybody.”

  Grey stared, half expecting one of his fellow captains to pop their head through the doorway and shout Surprise! But nobody did, and Beldipassi watched him with an air of eager conspiracy, as though his proposal made any sort of sense.

  “I don’t have time for pranks, Mede Beldipassi,” Grey said, reaching for the door.

  “This isn’t a prank!” Beldipassi leaned against the door, though that might have been for lack of anywhere else to go. “I’m quite serious. I have—oh, it’s difficult to explain. You heard about my cabinet of curiosities, yes?”

  Everyone had, for the brief window of time when it was popular. “I have. Please get to the point.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. I collect old things; history is a passion of mine. And a while back I came into the possession of a fascinating artifact—something I never put on display. I believe that the Rook, being immortal, is the one person who might be able to tell me more about what it is and where it came from. I don’t mind if you capture him afterward, but I need the chance to speak with him first. Please! I’m prepared to pay handsomely, if that’s your concern.”

  It stank of a trap. It wasn’t possible that what he was looking for would just land in his lap.

  Still, he had to ask. “What sort of artifact?”

  “A numinatrian piece that fell into my hands while I was putting together my exhibition,” Beldipassi said. “A medallion. At one point somebody welded a loop onto it so it can be worn as a pendant, but there are remnants along the sides that make me think it was once part of a Seterin-style chain of office.”

  Forcing himself to act normally was the hardest thing Grey had ever done. He backed into his chair, gestured Beldipassi to the guest chair he tried to keep clear for Cercel’s use, and took a long draw from his mug to steady his heart—never mind that coffee usually had the opposite effect.

  “You heard about the Rook’s accusations the night of the Essunta attack?” Grey said, setting his cup gently back on the table. At Beldipassi’s nod, he lowered his voice. “This doesn’t leave my office, you understand. But… a few nights later, the Rook paid me a visit.”

  It was like watching a small child react to a good storyteller. Beldipassi’s eyes went as wide as Jagyi’s. “Of course,” he breathed.

  The fish was on the hook. “He offered to help me avenge my brother. So if you’re serious about this, Mede Beldipassi… I have a way of getting a message to him.”

  “Yes! Please do! Er—I suppose that means you won’t be trying to arrest him afterward. Probably for the best; he would blame me. Quite rightly, as it happens. Yes, better to keep this all friendly. As friendly as a meeting between him and someone like me can get, that is.” His nervous laugh was almost a giggle.

  If this was a trap, then Beldipassi was an ignorant tool in someone else’s hands. Grey would have to take extra care—but that was a concern for later.

  Because there was a chance, however faint, that Beldipassi held not just a relevant thread… but the first loop in the process of undoing a knot.

  He’d thought all along that Vargo might have it—Vargo, who according to Ren was somehow tied to the ghost of Ghiscolo’s dead brother—but so far his searching had turned up nothing. And he’d be an idiot if he let that assumption blind him to this opportunity.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Grey said. “If I’m able to arrange something, I’ll leave a message with the place and time at your house.” Already he was considering options. And risks. And precautions.

  Beldipassi stood and wrung his hand. “Thank you, Captain Serrado.”

  No, Grey thought, barely able to contain his smile. Thank you.

  Charterhouse, Dawngate: Canilun 2

  The meeting was supposed to be an ordinary business matter. House Indestor’s charter for the translation of foreign books had been granted to the Traementis after Indestor’s dissolution, but it had gotten caught in the bureaucratic snarl of the Charterhouse for months. Renata thought she was visiting Argentet’s office to sign the necessary documents that would finalize the transfer.

  She knew as soon as she walked in that Sostira Novrus had something else in mind.

  Like the other Cinquerat offices Renata had been in, Argentet’s overlooked a central atrium, a small stamp of greenery caged in marble and stone. Instead of taking the position of authority at her desk, Sostira led Renata out to the small balcony behind, where a carafe and cups had already been laid on a table. In the courtyard below, several clerks argued, their voices echoing off the walls.

  Renata accepted the coffee Sostira poured with a graciousness as false as her hostess’s. After doctoring her own cup with honey and a liberal dollop of cream, Sostira said, “We’ll get to your charter concerns in a moment. But first… though we haven’t had a chance to speak privately since the Indestor trial, I’ve heard rumors that you and Eret Vargo are no longer on good terms.” Her smile as she sipped the bisque-pale coffee was the satisfied one of a woman whose schemes had paid off after too long a wait.

  Benvanna Novri had been at the initiation ritual in the temple. Of course she would have mentioned it to her wife. Renata made herself smile and said, “I don’t believe I thanked you for your warning on the day of the Indestor judgments, Your Elegance.”

  “No, I don’t believe you have.” Sostira let that hang just long enough to resemble a threat. Then she said, “But since House Traementis is eager to show their gratitude, I hope I can count on their support during these trying times.”

  She might have simply meant the tensions and unrest in the city. But the Rook’s accusations against her had rekindled the resentment Mettore Indestor once stoked against her house. And not just in the streets, but within the Charterhouse… and House Novrus itself.

  The last thing Renata wanted was to dive headfirst into the center of such a tangle. She tried for flattery instead. “Small dogs may yap, Your Elegance, but there’s nothing to fear from their teeth.”

  Setting her cup down with a decisive clink, Sostira said, “Wolves, my dear. Don’t mistake us for anything else. We’re all wolves. And unless you wish to feel my teeth, you’ll use your confounding popularity to shore up my support.”

  The harshness of her response took Renata aback. “Your Elegance—”

  “Do not take that for an idle threat, Alta Renata, nor the desperate flailing of a woman in peril. House Traementi
s’s fresh reputation rests largely on your shoulders. Cross me, and I will bring you down. And your new family will fall with you.”

  Renata’s pulse leapt as if she were in battle. Which, in a sense, she was. What leverage did Sostira have, or imagine she had? This was the moment where ordinarily Renata would expect a blackmailer to hint at the nature of her leverage, but Sostira gave no specifics. Yet she also spoke with utter confidence: not the bravado of someone making a bluff, but the certainty of someone with a weapon in hand.

  Nodding in satisfaction at Renata’s speechlessness, Sostira stood and made her way back inside, pulling a folder off her desk. “But enough of personal matters. You came to settle business. It took considerable effort on my part to push this through, but here’s the foreign translation charter. You only need to sign and put your seal here.”

  Out of sheer defensive reflex, Renata read the entire document Sostira laid in front of her, because she wouldn’t put it past the woman to have drafted an additional clause binding House Traementis to support Novrus. But the text was as it ought to be, and she silently did as told.

  “A pleasure as always to see you, Alta Renata,” Sostira said, even walking her out as though they were more friends than acquaintances—let alone possible enemies. “Please pass along my regards to your aunt.”

  And with that strange farewell, she left Renata alone in the autumn-chilled atrium of the Charterhouse.

  14

  The Mask of Mirrors

  Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Canilun 3

  On the holy day of Canilis Tricat, House Traementis more than doubled in size, with four new adoptions.

  “Quarat,” Tanaquis had said, nodding in approval, when Renata told her about Donaia’s final choices. “A good number for growth.” She would be the first; the second was Nencoral, a distant cousin of House Fintenus with significant trade connections; the third was Idaglio Minzialli, a rich delta gentleman whose current family had forbidden him to marry the man he loved.