Page 47 of Mistress of Bones
Once that thought was gone, De Anví entertained another one: accepting the offer, switching to the headquarters in the city, and watching the uproar among the Royal Guard. De Fernán would bellow at the lack of loyalty, and the Witch’s expression would be one to behold. After so much scheming and maneuvering to get him into this position, that he’d trash all her efforts.
He tasted the image like the best of wines.
Alas, that was what it could only be—an image in his mind. He could not trust the Witch wouldn’t do something dangerous with Sío de Guzmán’s body were he to abandon his post, or enact some other plan that would make his life even worse.
“I hope you can fill the post soon,” he said easily. “Perhaps gift it to the winner of the next exhibition?”
“There’s a thought. A hothead in charge of other hotheads. Nothing would ever get done. No.” De Mavén shook his head. “This post requires maturity, experience.”
“Some say I have neither.”
“You might be young, but nothing rattles you.”
Nothing used to, in any case. “You waste your time, Your Grace. I am content to remain where I am.” Adding that he was loyal to the king would’ve been too big a lie.
The head of the blue tabards didn’t insist. Such things were probably too low beneath his boots. Instead, he gestured toward one of the landscapes adorning the walls of the wide corridor. This one in particular pictured Girende as it must’ve looked before it sank into the Void—a cluster of brown and gray buildings by a winding river against a background of yellow and green fields. Not a hint of Anchor to be seen, except on the frame itself.And wouldn’t that be something, De Anví thought,if the city and its inhabitants had given up their lives for the pieces of Anchor embedded in that frame?
Surely, not even the Lord Death must have such a dark sense of humor.
“Do you believe Cienpuentes will one day go the way of Girende?” De Mavén asked.
“No.”
All the Anchor that could be mined out of Cienpuentes had already been extracted. If the city hadn’t gone into the Void yet, there was little hope it might in the future.
“Of course not,” De Mavén agreed. “De Fernán wouldn’t risk his house, only others’.”
De Mavén was a ban proponent, then, although De Anví wasn’t completely sure if this was due to true belief or the need to be contrary to the regent at all times and all costs.
“What about you, De Anví. Do you believe we should resume the mining of Anchor as your master does?”
Ah, what a dangerous question in the current political climate. A climate De Anví had no wish to join. “I believe the court will come to a decision with or without my input.”
De Mavén chuckled. “Possibly. I suppose as someone whose fortunes aren’t based in Anchor, it doesn’t affect you either way.”
Unlike many other members of the court, whose families had long counted on mining and selling their blue wares across Sancia and to the east. Bremón and the other countries beyond might not dare touch the Anchor under their feet, but unlike Valanje, they had no trouble wearing it on their persons.
“Do you think the gods resent us?”
De Mavén’s question took him by surprise. “Why should they?”
“We mine their bones and expect them to make our prayers true for no return.” His gaze sharpened, and De Anví shifted his attention to the doors at the end of the corridor, wishing them closer—at their current speed, they might not reach them until a week from now. “Why shouldn’t they resent us?”
De Anví had often thought they probably did, but that if there was any mercy in the world, they could no longer see what humanity thought of their existence. Not a sentiment worth sharing at the moment, though. With Esparza after a few tankards? Yes. With the head of the Blue Bastards? Perhaps another day.
“If the gods hadn’t wanted us to use their bones, they wouldn’thave placed them in such obvious places,” he answered noncommittally. “Why ought they resent us when they gave us free range?”
“And yet, some think Girende was a warning that we have gone too far.”
A belief commonly held.
“Some think that since we aren’t listening, perhaps there is worse to come.”
A chill settled in De Anví’s gut, but he refused to look at De Mavén. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I cannot tell if you’re trying to warn me or if you’re trying to entice a response.”
“What would you say if I said I was trying to do both?”
The numbers against the ban must be dwindling fast if those like De Mavén were doing away with subtlety and accosting their rivals at their base. De Anví wondered if he was being tested in some way, if De Mavén was gauging his reactions toward something beyond the Anchor ban.
