Esmierka hesitated. Then she said, “Oh, Masks have mercy—we’re not having this conversation on the doorstep. Come upstairs, the lot of you.”
Suilis’s confusion at the sight of them returning with a hawk and an alta in tow transformed into a recoil at the sight of Meatball. Apparently her fear of him hadn’t been part of the act.
Esmierka continued their conversation as though there had been no interruption. “Suilis. Can you get the information Tess wants?”
From the way Suilis clenched her jaw, there were several answers she was holding in, but the one that made it out was a grudging “yes.”
Esmierka faced Tess and her would-be rescuers. “Sorry, Tess, but your word isn’t good enough. Alta Giuna: There’s a man on a prison hulk waiting to be shipped off to Ommainit for wrecking Meda Nitarra’s carriage. Can you get him free?”
Giuna shot a sidelong glance at Tess, who nodded encouragingly. She couldn’t explain the whole story right then—maybe not ever, with it touching on so many of Ren’s secrets—but she was sure this was worth it.
It didn’t occur to Tess until after Giuna nodded back that the alta had looked to her, a common maid, for guidance.
“I can,” Giuna said. “It’ll take a little doing, because the prison hulks and the penal ships fall into an odd tangle between Fulvet, Caerulet, and Prasinet… but His Grace is a family friend, and we’re on good terms with Her Charity as well. Yes, I give you my word.”
“Then we give you ours that we’ll deliver the information Tess has asked for within the next two days,” Esmierka said. With a rakish grin, she spat in her palm and held it out.
Giuna quailed only for a moment. Then, with the brave air of a woman going into a duel, she removed her glove, spat in her own palm, and shook Esmierka’s hand.
“Now get out of here,” Esmierka said.
At least the other two waited until they were downstairs and outside before they let all their questions burst out. Tess brushed them off as best she could, while Pavlin brushed burlap debris from her curls. “I’m all right, really. Alta Giuna, I’m that sorry to say, but Suilis is working—”
“For Sibiliat. I know; Master Ranieri told me.” Giuna’s jaw firmed up. “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but—”
She wiped the rest of that sentence away with a sigh, and Tess let it lie.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Pavlin asked softly while Giuna flagged down a splinter-boat. His worried touch had descended from her hair, to her shoulders, to her arms. “I saw the blood in the lane, and you missed our meeting, and I thought—”
“I’m fine.” Tess caught his hands to keep them from flitting about—and to steady herself. Now that the danger was past, the awareness of it was taking root. Pavlin’s saucer-eyed worry would only feed her tremors, and she wanted none of that. She’d talked her way out of danger with a bravado worthy of Ren. What use did she have for fear?
She gave Pavlin a cheeky grin. “Only a mud-brain messes with me. I have scissors.”
That got her a chuckle, and a smile that was all the encouragement she needed to rise on her toes and press her lips to his.
Eastbridge, Upper Bank: Canilun 19
Renata stood at the window, her gaze alternately on the street outside and the medallion in her hands. She tried more for the former than the latter, but all too often failed.
Because of the Tricat medallion, Tess had nearly gotten hurt.
Even a day later, her skin still thrummed with alarm at the memory. Tess coming into Vargo’s house, bearing answers about Suilis and Sibiliat, and a story that made Ren want to gather Sedge and go show the Oyster Crackers some Lacewater justice. It wasn’t a surprise that Sibiliat wanted Tricat; she’d admitted as much the previous winter, when she claimed it was an Acrenix heirloom. And Ren suspected that was the reason for her dizziness on the Night of Bells: the medallion showed her what Sibiliat wanted, and what Sibiliat wanted was the medallion. Resonance in a circle, building on itself.
But for someone to target Tess…
“That’s how it goes,” the Rook had said, with flat simplicity. “For two hundred years. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you got off lightly.”
Because in other situations, Tess might have been killed.
Thinking about that made Ren’s hand tighten again on the medallion until the hard edges dug into her flesh. Tricat was the numen of family, and of justice. Spun against itself, the numen of revenge.
Those impulses had lived in her for a long time. It wouldn’t take much to make them grow.
She pivoted away from the window and tucked the bronze disc into her pocket just as a knock came from downstairs. The Rook faded into the adjoining room—Grey this time, not Ryvček—and a moment later Suilis came in, as wary as a bird among cats.
Her gaze flicked over Vargo and Tanaquis before landing on Renata. “No Tess?”
“You’ll deal with me,” Renata said coolly. “What information do you have?”
“My brother—”
“Will be taken care of.” The phrasing came out more ominous than she’d intended, and Renata forced herself to soften. “He won’t be sold, I promise. We’ve already taken preliminary steps. You’ve brought something useful?”
Suilis wouldn’t have come if she hadn’t found anything to hold up her end of the bargain. Grudgingly, she reached into her pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “This is a copy, not the original, but I’m a fair hand at drafting.”
Renata believed that. Rumor said the Oyster Crackers had accurate floor plans for every fine house in the Pearls. She took the paper and unfolded it—and then the paper rattled as her hand shook.
“May I?” Vargo rose and peered over her left shoulder, Peabody poking inquisitively out from under his collar. Tanaquis followed suit on the right, without asking.
Suilis hadn’t brought her a letter or a notebook. She’d brought a diagram of a numinat. A numinat Ren had seen before… in the dream, on the floor of the Praeteri temple.
An echo of the past that is yet to be. That was what the nameless szorsa had called it.
“That means something to you,” Suilis said, a note of eagerness coming into her voice. “It’s valuable, right?”
Renata let Vargo take the paper. Her voice was steady, as her hand hadn’t been. “You’ve done very well. Now you need do only one more thing.”
Suilis’s expression hardened. “I’m not doing anything for you until—”
Her words cut off as Renata drew out the medallion she’d been holding before.
“We could free your brother, as promised,” Renata said. “But that might raise Sibiliat’s ire. Simpler for you to take this to her, per your original deal—though if she reneges on her end, let us know, and we’ll make certain your brother is safe.”
One of Suilis’s hands twitched toward the medallion; the other curled into a loose fist. “You’re having me on.”
“Not at all,” Renata said. “I’m luring my enemy out by giving her what she wants.” Or giving her what she thinks is what she wants.
If the situation with the medallions didn’t make everyone so tense, it would almost have been funny. Five of them all had the same idea at once, when Tess showed up the day before—Ren, Vargo, Grey, the Rook, and Tess herself—and the only question had been which of their proposed jewelers to approach.
With the original to hand, making a forgery was easy.
Tanaquis assured them it took more than just the right sigil to call on a Primordial, but just for safety, they’d left a minute break in the lines, too small to see without a magnifying lens. Let Sibiliat have a fake Tricat, and see what she tried to do with it. Ren had every faith that Suilis would bolt with her brother at the first opportunity, before Sibiliat could test her new acquisition.
The medallion was gone so fast and so smoothly, it made Ren briefly mourn the days when her own touch was that practiced. “You won’t see me again,” Suilis said, already heading for the door.
; “Good,” Ren muttered.
Tanaquis and Vargo already had their heads bent over the paper, with cryptic, half-complete comments darting between them like dragonflies. The Rook emerged once more, and managed to rush to their side without looking like he was hurrying. Renata said, “What will that numinat do?”
They fell silent, though Alsius still nattered on about mathematical concepts that meant nothing to her.
Tanaquis looked troubled. “It’s premature to draw conclusions without—”
“Not that premature. We can tell what Ghiscolo wants.” Vargo’s gaze slid past Renata and fell on the Rook. “He’s trying to join them together again. To remake the Tyrant’s chain of office.”
Renata went still.
“Is that so.” The Rook’s voice was menace-soft. He leaned past Vargo to pluck the diagram from the table. “How does he propose to get them all in one place?”
Oblivious to the tension, Tanaquis crowded close to the Rook and traced her finger across the page in illustration. “There are two parts to the numinat. The first is meant to draw the medallions in, using a control effect. Those who hold them may be immune to the influence of other A’ash medallions, but not to the eisar of other Primordials. It will compel them to come—much like what the Pontifex and I used to pull Renata and Vargo out of the realm of mind, when they got caught. Then, once they’re all in the figure, he’ll only need to make the adjustments here, here, and here to begin the process of fusing them.”
“He’s depending on the resonance between the numina,” Vargo added. “He has Quinat, which is enough to call Quarat to him. Sessat can bring Sebat, and if he springs Sureggio from prison, that gives him Noctat to get Ninat. It’s not a bad plan.” He leaned against the arm of the couch, a smug grin overtaking his wariness. “Too bad it’s going to fail.”
::Ah, of course. He can’t call Tuat with a fake Tricat, and without those, he can’t get the two Illi medallions,:: Alsius said, just as Tanaquis murmured the same thing.
You carry a great blessing. How many times had Diomen said that to her? That night in the temple, asking her what tool she had to hand to craft her vengeance… and the rage numinat had used amber, Tricat’s stone. All his probing had never truly been about her; it was only about finding the Tricat piece of the set. Suspecting she had it wasn’t enough; they needed the medallion itself.
Renata’s sigh of relief went down to her toes. He doesn’t have what he needs. Of course, Sibiliat would know soon that she hadn’t gotten the real Tricat, and that would bring problems of its own; houses had fallen in the struggles over these medallions. But for now, at least, Ghiscolo couldn’t—
At her indrawn breath, the Rook’s hood tilted toward her. “You’ve thought of something.”
Vargo’s gaze sharpened. Of everyone in the room, he thought the most like Ren did, with the manipulative cunning of the streets.
“Fuck me,” he whispered. “You want to let him go through with it.”
Renata had the real Tricat with her, in a pocket imbued by Tess to be well-hidden. She drew it out now. “We discussed it when we failed to destroy Illi-zero. It may be that the only way to unmake these… is to have the whole set.”
The Rook grabbed the wrist of her empty hand, his grip tight. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”
“To destroy them? Yes.” Ren met the shadows of his gaze squarely. “And that is nothing to do with Tricat.”
“No, that’s Ninat’s domain,” Tanaquis murmured. Plucking the diagram from the Rook, she examined it once more. “It would be an interesting challenge. Destruction as the apotheosis of creation. Yes, we could alter the alterations to achieve that end. Just reinscribe this Ninat figure as a tessellation rather than a concatenation…”
“Without boring you with details,” Vargo said over her continuing ramble, “it’s possible… if they had the real Tricat.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “You’re already thinking about ways to swap it in for the fake, aren’t you.”
Renata’s gaze fell on the diagram. “Those squares placed all around—those are where the medallions will go, yes?” Tanaquis had drawn similar boxes for the pattern cards when she removed the curse. “I saw this numinat when I went after Vargo. In the dream—on the floor of the Praeteri temple. I think I was seeing what would be there, in the future.”
“Tricat is time…” Tanaquis began, brightening.
Before she could start dancing down the path of theory, Renata kept going. “But the numinat was enormous, Tanaquis. Those squares were large enough for a person to stand in.”
::It makes sense. If they’re pulling the medallions through a control numinat, easier to leave everyone under that control until the whole ritual is complete. Lumen forbid Ghiscolo should risk himself to get what he wants.::
Vargo relayed the content of Alsius’s observation, if not the discontent, and added, “He holds both Quinat and Sessat. He’d need someone else to stand in for one of those.”
“Sibiliat,” Renata said. “She’s his heir, and she’s been tied into this at every other step.”
“With the Pontifex acting as Uniat while he inscribes the chain,” Tanaquis said, sounding almost cheerful. “Very tidy. I mean, it will undoubtedly kill Diomen—you can’t hope to achieve a binding like that without dying—but he’s even more dedicated to the exploration of numinatria than I am. He understands quite well that death is the gateway to the infinite.” For a moment her eyes shone.
The Rook was still as tense as a harp string. Renata said, “My question is: Knowing that, and from what you can see in the diagram… is it feasible to change the numinat’s purpose to destruction? Or would it take so long that we’d have to subdue not only whatever muscle Ghiscolo has on hand, but also every other medallion holder?” She bent her head toward the Rook. “I have complete confidence in your fighting capabilities, but—forgive me—nine or more people at once might be a bit much.”
“Oh, but nobody will be able to do anything once the ritual starts,” Tanaquis said, as though that were obvious.
Since it wasn’t, Vargo explained. “The focal numinata can’t easily be broken into—or out of. I suspect the other medallion holders will take exception to being yanked into Ghiscolo’s scheme, and he wouldn’t want to deal with that. He might have a few guards, but unless he expects trouble, he won’t spoil the secret of the temple—or the secret of what he’s doing.”
A chill went down Renata’s back. “So either I hand over the real Tricat… or I go in there myself. And I won’t be able to interfere if I do.”
She knew they would argue about it. Tanaquis, with her usual dispassionate logic, had no objection to Renata risking herself, but both Vargo and the Rook felt differently—or rather, Grey did. She listened to several bells’ worth of alternate and increasingly implausible suggestions until the others exhausted if she should go and moved on to how.
The plan they formulated was logical, and as watertight as they could make it. Still a gamble, no question—but for a chance at destroying the medallions and removing A’ash’s poison from Nadežra, she would take that chance.
But as she left Vargo’s house, she did wish there were a labyrinth on the Upper Bank, so she could pour offerings into the mouths of the Faces and the Masks. Instead she diverted down a quiet canal walk rather than heading directly to Traementis Manor. She rather suspected that soon she would have company.
It was Grey who caught up to her, not the Rook, but he pulled her under the shadow of a bridge with the Rook’s caution. Their only audience was the raft of ducks paddling around the moored splinter-boats belonging to the nearby houses.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not…” He trailed off and pulled her close. His breath was soft as down against her brow. “I needed to see you without the shadows of the hood.”
Because the Rook was torn between suspicion of her, as the holder of Tricat, and the chance to fulfill his mandate at last. Ren leaned into Grey, fighting the wary instinct that could never stop worryin
g about what would happen if someone saw. Her throat wanted to relax into her natural accent; she forced herself to remain Seterin. “I know. If this works, though…”
“I’m not telling you not to take the risk. No matter how much I’d like to.” He pulled back enough to run a finger down her cheek. In his own clothes—neither Rook nor hawk—he wore no gloves. And she was Renata enough that even that small brush of skin against skin felt illicit. “Just promise me you won’t risk everything. There will be other chances. There isn’t another you.”
She laughed, turning her face into his palm and allowing her accent to slip. “Have you mistaken me for someone else? Constant Ivan risks himself; Clever Natalya does not.” Except when she does. It all depended on the story.
“This isn’t a folktale.” Grey pressed a kiss into her brow. “You make your own luck, Szeren. But don’t press that too far.”
Szeren. The handmaiden of Ir Entrelke Nedje, who distributed good and bad fortune to mortals. The name shattered what remained of Renata’s mask, and she brought her lips to his.
24
The Mask of Bones
Isla Traementis, the Pearls: Canilun 20–22
It took three days for Ghiscolo to make his move.
Vargo set people to keep watch on the temple entrance, Acrenix Manor, and the other suspected medallion holders. The evening after the meeting with Suilis, they reported that Diomen had entered the abandoned shop in Suncross that hid the tunnel entrance, and he had not come out.
“Working on the inscription,” Tanaquis said. “Which means they don’t know yet about the fake—or else they’re planning on kidnapping Renata.”
Three days of waiting. Three days of Alta Renata canceling all her appointments and taking to her bed with an unspecified illness, which Giuna diagnosed as “overwork.” Three days of trying not to let fear consume her, the way it had consumed the Ižranyi.
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