This wasn’t the Ižranyi card. It was the card of the Meszaros, representing the virtues and failings of that clan. They were the Children of the Horse: stubborn and slow-witted, their detractors said, but also hard-working…
… and honest.
The message inside the envelope was only three words.
When you’re ready.
Kingfisher, Lower Bank: Canilun 4
Alinka was a skilled herbalist. Thanks to the tonics she’d given him before she left, Grey was only nursing the memory of a headache by the time a soft knock sent him to the door.
His muscles ached—his bones ached—and a reddened splotch on his chest stung like a burn he didn’t recall getting. But he was alive, and had somehow landed on Alinka’s stoop for her to find in the early dawn hours, wearing unfamiliar clothes and stinking of zrel as though a bottle had been summarily dumped over his head.
He had so many questions. All of which fled when he opened the door and saw Ren—as Arenza—standing on the other side.
She held herself stiffly as he silently gestured her in, barely nodded as he offered tea. He felt her gaze on his back while he ground up pieces off a brick and whisked it into something almost too strong to be drinkable. She looked like she needed it, and Masks knew he did.
She still hadn’t spoken by the time he placed cups on the table. Why should she? You’re the one who promised her honesty.
“You got my message,” he said, then shook his head at the stupidity of that opening. “I—”
“I assume you want this back,” she said, and laid the Rook’s hood on the table like the accusation it was.
Grey pushed the hood aside. “I wanted to make certain you were safe. Last night…” She sat too far away for him to reach out, and might not welcome it if he did. They’d grown close in their various personas—Captain Serrado and Renata, Grey and Arenza, the Rook and the Black Rose—and he knew her well enough to guess at her thoughts.
Vargo had played her. He’d made her believe in the possibility of friendship, while the whole time he’d been using her. Right now, she would be wondering if Grey had done the same.
Had she understood the meaning of the card? She was a szorsa, but the clan cards weren’t common anymore. Grey took a steadying breath and said, “I can’t apologize for not telling you before. I have an obligation. But… I never set out to hurt you. And honestly, I’m glad you finally know. I don’t like lying to you.”
“I believe you.”
Her reply was so quiet, for a moment he wondered if he’d imagined the words he wanted to hear. But then her masklike expression cracked into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t bitterness, either. “You gave me a kitten,” she said. “Because of my nightmares. Yes?”
Grey nodded. It was an old Vraszenian superstition, alongside a red thread to keep away the zlyzen. Cats defended against nightmares, chasing them down like little mice.
She ran her thumb across the edge of her teacup. “The Rook knew not that I was having nightmares. Grey Serrado did—but he couldn’t give Arenza a cat, not when he might later see it at Traementis Manor. You helped me, in a way that meant I would never know you had.” A huff escaped her. “A lot of that going around these days.”
Before he could ask what she meant by that, she met his gaze and said, “Even at my most suspicious, I cannot see anything in that other than kindness.”
The heartfelt ring of her words brought an unexpected catch into his throat. Had her life seen so little spontaneous kindness that a kitten for her nightmares took on such importance?
“Has it helped at all? The kitten?” He didn’t think so. She looked almost as exhausted as she had after the Night of Hells. However long of a night it had been for him, hers must have been even longer.
Now her expression lightened into a soft smile. “Yes. Though only when I actually sleep, which I did very little last night. Aren’t you going to ask what happened?”
Grey wanted another quiet moment to savor the comfort of her forgiveness, but his life didn’t allow for many of those. He forced himself to break away from that smile, gaze settling on the hood. He took a sip of tea—too hot, too bitter—and said, “Is Beldipassi safe? Did he have… anything?”
“He is safe, and he has a numinatrian medallion. Something the Rook recognized.” Ren’s voice tightened. “As did I.”
“You’ve seen one? Was it the Tricat medallion?” He’d initially abandoned that suspicion when he learned she wasn’t truly Letilia’s daughter. But if she’d had it, all this time…
Grey knocked his cup over, reaching for her wrist. “Tell me you have it still.”
The force of his reaction made Ren recoil, slipping out of his grasp. “Not anymore. I lost it. And—am I right to think it’s the source of the curse on House Traementis?”
“Yes.” His fear turned queasy, spreading cold through him like the spilled tea across the table. Once a family lost their medallion, there was no hope; the repercussions would eddy outward until they struck everyone in the register. It had taken down multiple noble houses in Nadežra’s history—was doing the same right now to the former Indestor.
When he’d inherited the hood, he’d learned the truth about House Traementis’s ill fortunes, but he’d been helpless to do anything to stop their fall. Renata’s adoption seemed to have turned things around for the Traementis. But if she’d had the Tricat medallion and then lost it…
He mopped up the tea, hands shaking. The nightmare had started again. Not Ren. Please, Masks have mercy on us all—not her, too.
Before he could make himself speak, Ren’s hand twitched toward his own. “We are not under it anymore! Tanaquis was able to remove it. Ask me not how; all I know is that she used as her focus the cards that had shown me the curse.”
“Thank the Faces.” He shut his eyes and took the not-quite-offered hand, his skin cold against her warm fingers. Until Leato’s death, he’d hoped the Traementis’s store of ill luck had run dry. The idea that the curse might have been renewed by a second loss of Tricat was gut-wrenching. But after a lifetime of resenting charlatans and women with good intentions but no gift, he’d finally met a szorsa truly blessed by Ažerais. And it seemed pattern could do what numinatria on its own could not.
If only pattern could solve all of Nadežra’s problems. “Where did you lose the Tricat medallion? When? We have to find it. It’s…”
He hesitated. She’d worn the hood. She’d gleaned something of the medallions’ importance. But sorting through the Rook’s memories was hard even for their chosen bearer, never mind a substitute—especially when reaching for those memories meant giving more of oneself to the role. “The medallions are connected to Kaius Sifigno. You know the stories of how he couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t be killed… It wasn’t just exaggeration. His chain of office was a set of medallions, one for each numen, all linked. It held power enough to let him take all of Vraszan. The chain—the Uniat piece—broke when he died. The various nobles around him stole the pieces.”
Had it felt like this for Ryvček, when she finally had a chance to share the weight of that secret with someone else? Ren’s eyes were wide as his flood of words continued. “People have been fighting and killing each other over the medallions ever since. The woman who created the Rook knew that power would go on poisoning Nadežra. She drove herself to annihilation, trying to recover and destroy those pieces, but the Rook… continued.” Not quite a spirit, not quite a ghost—all three parts of her soul caught in the weave of the hood. In becoming the Rook, she’d done more than create the pieces of a disguise; she’d created an identity, a persona. And she’d imbued it so deeply with her passion that afterward, there was nothing left of her—not even a body.
At least those of them who wore the hood afterward didn’t pay as high of a price.
“That’s why you suspected me,” Ren breathed. “Rightly, as it turns out. But I—I swear, I knew not what I had. It was among the jewels I stole from Letilia when I left Gan
llech. She must have stolen it from the Traementis when she left.”
As Ryvček had always suspected. The decline of their house started with the flight of one spoiled brat.
“Where is it now?” Grey asked. To have two medallions within reach… “And where’s Beldipassi? What happened last night?”
Ren quirked one eyebrow at him, amusement softening her mouth. “You ask three questions at once. Which should I answer first?”
“You could have answered two of those instead of giving me sass.” He fought a smile. “Where’s Beldipassi?”
“With Ryvček.” As Grey’s shoulders relaxed, Ren nodded. “Then I guessed correctly. I knew she was your teacher, and—tell me. Was she the one in the hood when I escaped the prison?”
“Have you any notion how hard we worked to set that up? All my efforts to hide, and still you suspected. We tied ourselves in knots to lead you off the scent—but here it all falls apart in a fortnight.” Grey released her to run a hand through his hair, sighing. “So, Ryvček has Beldipassi. What of his medallion? And Tricat?”
“His looked to me like Illi in its zero aspect. I left it with him; I liked not the idea of taking it myself. But whoever set things up last night sent a fake Rook to speak with him—Fontimi, the actor from the Theatre Agnasce.” Faint laughter shook her shoulders. “He was terrible. I can only hope I looked not so foolish. He went with Beldipassi; I convinced him the alternative was being killed by his employer. As for Tricat… Gammer Lindworm tore it from me during the Night of Hells. It fell when I pulled her knot charm off at the amphitheatre. I—” Ren grimaced. “It never occurred to me that I should pick it up.”
He could hardly blame her. And it was better for her that she didn’t have it.
Worse for everyone else, though, if it was lost in Ažerais’s Dream.
A brief silence fell. Yesterday Grey had been dreading the quiet of these rooms, without Alinka and the children to distract him. But it was warm, and the quiet was a gentle one, and he was less lonely than he’d been in years.
Because of Ren.
He couldn’t say that to her, not yet. Instead he asked, “How is it I still live? That curse should have killed me.”
Ren’s teacup reversed course, thunking onto the table rather than rising to her lips. She opened her mouth, then caught herself; he could see the internal argument as she hesitated. Finally she shook her head. “I… cannot bring myself to lie. This is the first honest conversation we’ve had; to stain that would be wrong. But… I also cannot tell you.”
Her refusal sharpened his curiosity. What could have saved him, that she was unwilling to confess to? Not a medallion; Tricat was gone, and Beldipassi still had his. Tanaquis Fienola had dealt with the Traementis curse; perhaps Ren had gone to her again? Or the curse hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought—after all, he had damaged it. But there would be no reason to hide that, if so. Something to do with pattern? For all he knew, Tess had employed some arcane Ganllechyn stitch-witchery.
Grey forced himself to stop. Even if he guessed right, she wouldn’t tell him, and by trying to guess, he was pushing at the boundaries of her secrets. He’d done that more than enough already.
Especially since there was an unspoken question beneath her words. Do you trust me?
With his mission, and with his life. He’d decided that last night.
“Then I will press not,” Grey said.
Ren fiddled with her teacup. “Your Vigil coat—I forgot to bring it. I will send that along. And—” She hesitated, then reached into her pocket and drew out The Constant Spirit.
He laid his hand over hers. “That was meant as a gift. Keep it.”
“How came you by it?”
It was fascinating, listening to the subtle shifts in her wording. She was disguised as Arenza, but speaking as Ren: her accent fainter, sliding in and out of the markers of Vraszenian speech. When she spoke of pattern, those elements strengthened—and his own voice was responding, easing out of the Nadežran accent he assumed all too easily these days. “It belonged to my mother.”
“Your mother was—” Ren caught herself.
“Meszaros? Yes, this Kiraly has the blood of a plodding horse.” He smiled at her discomfiture. “I know what you meant. Yes, she was a szorsa, though she lacked your gift.”
“A szorsa? But you…” Ren’s lips pressed together.
Her diplomacy was more than he deserved, when he hadn’t exactly made his disdain a secret. Scrubbing exhaustion from his face, Grey said, “My issues are not with szorsas, but with frauds. Ažerais’s gift should be honored.”
Bitterness edged those words—his grandmother’s words. But now wasn’t the time to burden Ren with the weight of his past. Forcing his voice to lighten, he said, “This tea is barely drinkable. What say you to something better?”
Thankfully, she let him change the subject. And the amused tilt of her lips was as bright as the sunlight coming through the window. “Better? Is it wise to be drinking alcohol so early in the day?”
“Who said anything about alcohol?” he asked, retrieving the packet Alinka had left behind for him. He knew whom she’d meant him to share it with. Collecting the cups, Grey said, “What say you to spiced chocolate?”
Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Canilun 4
The sweet warmth of the chocolate stayed on Ren’s tongue as she left Kingfisher, changed personas, and took a skiff to the Upper Bank. It was more than taste; it was the odd, not-quite-comfortable comfort of having sat at Grey Serrado’s kitchen table, with no masks between them.
It felt like being naked for the first time with a lover. Except that he’d apparently known the truth of her for months now, ever since the night the Rook had invaded her kitchen. And he accepted it. All that time spent fearing he would turn on Arenza if he knew who she really was… but he’d known all along.
Had he feared the same from her? That she would hate him for lying? Ren understood why he had, though. And while the bruised part of her soul kept bracing for something else to hurt, inch by inch, breath by breath, she’d relaxed into the novelty of being herself around someone other than Tess and Sedge.
If only the discovery of his secrets didn’t come with the news of an ancient poison eating away at Nadežra.
The Mask of Worms, in her pattern for the Rook. Kaius Rex’s chain of office, shattered into pieces, but each still holding a fragment of the original power. Sibiliat had claimed the medallion Ren stole from Letilia was an Acrenix family heirloom, but Ren doubted it, and Grey had confirmed. The Acrenix showed no sign of the type of decline that would have accompanied such a loss. In fact, he now suspected them of holding the Quinat medallion—and possibly Sessat as well, lost in the fall of House Indestor.
She stopped halfway up the river stair, one hand against the damp stones to keep herself steady. The fall of House Indestor.
Meppe.
People stared at the fine alta running, but she didn’t care. Renata slammed through the front door of the manor, shouting, “Meppe!”
Suilis popped into view. “He’s in Era Traementis’s study, alta.”
Where Renata had sent him to start work on their ledgers. Meppe had all but glowed at the prospect; he genuinely seemed to enjoy the straightforward tedium of clerical work. When she burst into the study, he overturned his ink. “Renata—”
“You’re coming with me to Whitesail.”
Isla Stresla, Kingfisher: Canilun 4
Grey would have liked to burrow back into bed after Ren left, but that was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He only took the time necessary for a basin wash and a shave before carefully folding up the hood and heading for the opposite corner of Kingfisher, where Oksana Ryvček lived.
The midday streets were oddly quiet, even in the market plazas. He passed shopkeepers fretting on their stoops in search of custom that wasn’t there, returned the wary nods of a few carters who recognized him even out of uniform, but the homey buzz and bustle of Kingfisher was absent. Ever since the Dockwall
escape, the Vigil had been patrolling the Lower Bank with more vigor than usual, and the Ordo Apis kept breaking into places to search for the missing prisoners. Supposedly following up on leads, but Grey suspected at least half of it was random strikes to keep people afraid, so that no one would shelter Andrejek.
Which meant it was accomplishing nothing at all. Grey didn’t much like leaving the Anduske trio in Vargo’s hands, but he’d seen firsthand the precautions the man was taking. Nobody was going to find them anytime soon. Which was a good thing, since Koszar’s new injuries had set his plans for confronting Branek back almost to where they’d been after Veiled Waters. The only thing weighing in his favor was that Branek blamed Prazode for not protecting Gulavka, Prazode blamed Branek for blaspheming against Ažerais, and the resultant infighting would keep the Stretsko busy for a while. Ren’s doing, she’d admitted over chocolate.
A wry smile of admiration tugged at his mouth as he climbed the steps of Ryvček’s townhouse. His teacher must have set one of her cousins to keep watch, because he’d barely released the fox-headed knocker before the door opened.
“She’s in the training room,” the girl told him, as though that wasn’t always where Ryvček was. With a nod of thanks, Grey went to the back of the house.
“You had an exciting night,” Ryvček said in greeting, not pausing her usual drill.
“Beldipassi?”
“Comfortably ensconced in my attic. And Fontimi in the cellar, not so comfortably bound. He started second-guessing his cooperation around breakfast.” She swept a bow to her imaginary opponent before racking her practice blade and drying her sweat-damp face with a towel. “After two decades failing to achieve anything of note, I’m glad to be included, but also surprised. Why send them to me?”
Grey closed the door against possible eavesdropping. “I didn’t send them. Nor did our hooded friend. Whoever hired Fontimi was waiting with a numinatrian curse that nearly killed me. Ren was the one in the hood last night.”
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