Page 14 of Mistress of Bones
Esparza returned the stare with a mocking one of his own. “It’s a race, then, to see who meets him first.”
Silence settled over the small table, the murmur of other conversations drifting close. “If the god is willing,” Esparza finally muttered, tipping his mug against his lips, “I’ll find him first.”
“Any rumors that should concern me?” De Anví asked, studying the other man. Although he wore nondescript breeches, shirt, and an open doublet, Miguel Esparza was in fact a member of the blue tabards, the City Guard. But what made him valuable to De Anví was his excellence in scurrying where he wasn’t wanted. The count took a heartier sip of his drink. Esparza often called himself a rat, and the word carried no insult, because that’s what he was—a city rat. Fast, stealthy, with a bite.
“Nothing I’ve heard.”
“The Marquess de Mavén?”
“Quiet as a duck on a pond.”
“Then I guess those men weren’t his.”
“Whoever they belong to—if they belong to anyone beyond their coin—must like you alive, even if slightly broken in the process.”
“They said their employer wanted a word with me.”
“Court politics?”
“Likely, but nobody has attempted kidnapping before.”
“You weren’t so high up in the Golden Dogs last time court was in session.”
The man wasn’t wrong, De Anví conceded. “If it was important business, I’m sure this won’t be the last time I hear of it. And the other matter? Is that why you happened to cross my path?”
“What, can’t one wish to spend some time with a friend? Ah, don’t answer, you are right.” Esparza retrieved a small pouch from inside his doublet and handed it over. The count didn’t bother examining the contents—he knew what it held, since he’d asked Esparza to procure it for him: a single sliver of pure Anchor. So tiny it could easily fall between his fingers and never be found again.
Cienpuentes had once been as bright and blue as the sky—or sothe tales went—but there was barely any glittering Anchor left. It had been mined away except for the bottom of Espasesmo’s delta and the lake, places not even the smartest engineers knew how to access without condemning their workers into the strong currents and the maelstrom in the middle of the lake.
Though they had tried.
He pocketed the pouch.
“You won’t look inside?” Esparza remarked.
“Why, have you decided to start fleecing me?”
“I was able to acquire two pieces. At a lower price.”
De Anví’s eyebrows arched. News of the likely Anchor mining vote must be spreading. Someone was going to be either very happy or very sad about making this deal.
He wondered if he should look for full pieces again. He had once entertained the idea of turning the few he already owned into a set of necklace and earrings—the most beautiful of gifts, fit to adorn the most beautiful of women. Different images flicked through his mind, different designs—the yearning in his heart taking shape.
With a sigh, he forced himself to wipe the thoughts from his mind. What good was a gift when you had nobody to gift it to?
At least, not anymore.
“It’s true the mining ban is being lifted, then?” Esparza asked before taking a sip of his drink. “Girende’s sinking, forgotten so soon.” He studied the count. “You are part of the court. What will be your vote? Will you condemn us simple peasants to Girende’s fate, or abide by the late queen’s wishes?”
“When I decide, I might let you know. Now, go, before the Witch arrives.”
“You don’t need to order me twice.” Esparza finished his drink with one last giant gulp and a bigger shudder, tipped his hat, and left.
De Anví didn’t have to wait long for the Witch to appear, wearing her favorite young man. It had been a while since he had seen her using another body, and sometimes he wondered what her victimsthought about while the Witch took over. Did they still see and hear and feel, or were they thrown into a dark dream?
The Witch took the seat opposite De Anví, and he could see the eager gleam in her green eyes, not quite concealed by the mask covering the upper half of the face.
The man she was currently inhabiting was in his early twenties, with the same dark hair and lightly tan complexion shared by nearly everyone in the tavern, including the count. The mask, a simple snug affair covered in black fabric, had no ribbons tying it back around the man’s head.
