Page 46 of Mistress of Bones
And stolen, she had been.
THE PRESENT
The Count de Anví held Nereida de Guzmán in his arms as they twirled around the splendidly tiled floor. His hands were on her waist, her hands on his arms, and he held her a lot closer than the dance allowed. Nobody seemed to mind. The other couples were nothing but swatches of colors, blurs that tugged at the edges of De Anví’s mind, but he wouldn’t allow the unease to permeate his feelings. Not here, not now.
Above him, a thousand chandeliers illuminated Nereida’s beautiful face, the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled up at him. Not a wide smile or one full of coquetry, but the one she reserved for those closest to her. And in his dreams, for just him.
De Anví woke up slowly, the lingering colors and sounds of the dream fading away. He clenched his fists, finding both the dream and Nereida well outside his reach, then rubbed his eyes and sat up on his bed.
That had been the last of the Witch’s dreams, damn her soul.
Damn her for tempting him, over and over, and damn him for accepting.
Another day spread in front of him. Another day full of nothing but the longing to be anywhere else clashing with his certainty that one day, he’d be needed. Not by the king or the Witch or even Miguel but by Nereida de Guzmán.
Soon the count was on his way to his daily rituals—washing, shaving, eating—then on to serve his master at the Heart. On the way, he stopped by a small statue of the Lady Dream, her legs and arms covered by hundreds of strings and ribbons, some so old their color had completely faded.
Back home, statues of the Blessed Heart were preferred instead of the Lady Dream shrines usually found in Sancia’s countryside. Farmers in his area had more need for a good harvest than dreamsthat might never come to pass. Being the practical sort, De Anví had agreed with the sentiment. But Cienpé had a way of muddling your thoughts and upending your life, and now De Anví saw the use of dreaming. What else did a fellow have at the end of a day containing nothing but disappointment?
And still, De Anví resented being beholden to anyone else, so he tried to walk right past the goddess’s stony face and stop this control she had over his life.
And, like the day before, and all the others before that, sweat pooled under his shirt and on his temples the moment he took one step past. His heart began an uneven thumping in his chest, and he couldn’t quite get enough air. He could see all his hopes—the small ones that he didn’t allow himself to think about and the big ones that helped him sleep at night—wither and go up in smoke, and, cursing, took one step back and nodded at the Lady Dream, as he had the day before and all the others before that.
A sudden calm washed over him the moment he finished giving his respects. The sweat dried on his skin, his heartbeat evened. And while he hated his lack of will, he welcomed the freeing sensation.
It disappeared once he arrived at the palace and met the guards’ bows at his arrival. Nothing like the imposing building to remind him he wasn’t free at all. With a sigh, he took off his hat and walked the corridors tiled with pretty geometric designs that felt more like butcher knives under his soles.
He wondered if the three masked men would attempt another ambush later that evening when he was to meet Esparza again. The thought that they might brought a spring to his step. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with his investigation into whom the men belonged to, and at this point, he would willingly go with them to their master just to satiate his curiosity.
“De Anví,” called a voice behind him.
The count turned to see a tall, thin man standing outside one of the open doors in the corridor. He was dressed all in blue, Anchorglittering on a brooch on his waistcoat. More Anchor adorned his ears and the rings on his fingers.
“The Marquess de Mavén,” De Anví answered with a polite nod. This was the head of the City Guard, and though the animosity between the Blue Bastards and the Golden Dogs was a thing of legend, they both ultimately worked for the same child.
De Mavén walked up to him. “Escort me to the back gate, will you, De Anví? I do not wish to end with a golden dagger in my blue back.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Because, truly, what else was he to say?
De Mavén kept a pace verging on the slowest of strolls, and De Anví’s curiosity perked up again. Whatever the head of the blue tabards meant to say would take some time.
“The king is doing well, I assume?” De Mavén asked.
De Anví grunted.
“You know,” the Blue Bastards leader continued, “there are better things to do than to stand at the beck and call of a child.”
So many things, De Anví could spend days counting them.
“There is an opening in the blue ranks.”
The words were dropped easily, so easily De Anví wasn’t certain he had heard them correctly. He didn’t betray his surprise, choosing to keep a mask of indifference on his face, but his thoughts were a maelstrom. Was De Mavén trying to lure him out of the palace?
The man had made no effort to befriend him in the last year and a half, and for a while, had done nothing but sneer at his position and try to get him supplanted by one of his spies. Those schemes had been foiled—by the Witch, De Anví guessed—so De Mavén had been happy to accept that while De Anví might not work for him, neither did he care for Regent de Fernán and the king. Had something changed?
He wondered once more if De Mavén had been the one to send the three masked men after him, but discarded the idea. De Mavén had no need for such subterfuge.
