Page 15 of Mistress of Bones
He had once asked her about this mask business, early on in their acquaintance—not friendship, for De Anví did not have friends, and, he guessed, neither did the Witch—and she had promised she could only peek through the masks of those who agreed to allow her in.
But then, the count had also sworn to willingly lay his life down for the sake of the king.
So, Emiré de Anví had never touched a mask since.
“You were ambushed,” she said.
De Anví stilled. He was surprised… but not truly. Amazed at how quickly the Witch had learned of it, certainly, but not that she knew—the Faceless Witch had her fingers in every house’s business. Luckily for the Witch, most scoffed at the notion of someonelikethe Witch even existing.
The citizens of Cienpuentes held two very strict beliefs: their prospects and their purses. Anything else might as well not exist. Something like the Witch was a reality they were happy to ignore unless they sought her out. An anomaly they didn’t want explained but were happy to use whenever it suited.
To everyone else, this was a young man here for a drink and talk. If the man’s friends were to walk in, they would think nothing was amiss.
De Anví knew better.
“Your ambush must have something to do with the late De Gracia,” the Witch said eagerly.
“Why do you think it’s related to the dead marquess?” he asked,curiosity slipping through. The notion that the encounter had anything to do with De Gracia’s death hadn’t entered his mind. The Marquess de Gracia had been a brusque widower uninterested in politics, despite belonging to the court. His murder had come as a shock, and rumors ran rampant. An awful debt? A secret mistress? Blackmail? Or, De Anví’s favorite—wrong place, wrong time?
He would know, having been caught in a very similar net by the Witch sitting in front of him.
“Him, a ban supporter, three months ago,” the Witch said. “Now you. Everyone knows you don’t care about the ban or politics; they might want you out of the way.”
“You can sound a little less excited at the prospect,” De Anví said dryly. “Unlike him, I’m still alive. You don’t need three men to kill someone. One with a crossbow and half a decent aim will do. It’s more likely De Losa finally got tired of her machinations and decided to buy my vote.”
And why shouldn’t she? The Countess de Losa had been poised to take the position De Anví now held if it hadn’t been for the Witch’s interference. He had often hoped De Losa’s political schemes would get him ousted, but disappointingly, it had never come to pass.
The Witch dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “De Losa is too busy ingratiating herself to De Fernán, now that the royal mourning is ending.”
De Anví mulled that over. “She’s aiming to become the regent’s spouse?”
He could see it. De Losa wasn’t the kind of person to give up on rank and power—ingratiate herself with the regent and his Anchor mining now, become his spouse next. If De Fernán were to be removed, even become regent herself.
“Forget about her,” the Witch said. “Someone must be looking to buy your influence.”
“Such as it is,” De Anví muttered before tasting his drink.
“But,” the Witch continued, fingertips drumming against the table, “what do they want? Your support for the ban? Or your opposition?”
“It doesn’t matter. Girende’s cave-in was too long ago.” And people easily forgot the lives lost, the crumbling of a faraway Anchor city into the Void. “The coffers are feeling the strain.” Especially the gentry’s. The queen had been a staunch supporter of the ban on Anchor mining, but the queen was now dead and De Fernán held the regent’s chair.
The fall of a proponent for the ban and the subsequent rise of someone who wasn’t hadn’t been lost on anyone.
“The law will change,” De Anví continued. “De Fernán will make sure of it. He likes his money too much.”
“The Temple might complain.”
“The Temple will receive new statues, and the gods will need Anchor for their eyes.”
The Witch pursed her lips. “It’s probably as you say.”
“Yet you obviously disagree.”
“The Marquess de Gracia was a stern supporter of the ban. Now he’s gone, done in by a dagger in his heart, and his heir doesn’t seem to care about what happens with Anchor.” She pointed at De Anví. “Youhave never cared, and now you’re ambushed, but not robbed or killed. The same person who murdered De Gracia might be looking to influence your vote. It’s all connected.”
De Anví studied the Witch. “Perhaps this interest in De Gracia is wholly your own. Perhaps you seek a new body and have taken a liking to his son.” And damn him if hope didn’t color his words.
If the Witch switched bodies, then there would be no reason for De Anví to stay around her, in Cienpuentes, in the Heart. There would be no broken promises, no need to keep the Witch’s current body safe.
