Page 48 of Mistress of Bones
The unease in the pit of his stomach increased. Whatever plans De Mavén had in mind, whatever role he aimed to fill beyond the one in the blue tabards, De Anví wanted no part of it. The Witch’s schemes were more than enough to fill his plate.
And if the Witch became aware someone else wanted to play with her toy? The idea was almost enough to make him lose his breakfast on the palace’s floors.
“Think about what I’ve said, De Anví,” De Mavén said in a friendly tone, “and let us talk again after Noche Verde.”
De Anví hoped not.
XVIIAZUL
The Temple rose three stories high, but only because it needed to accommodate the tall statues of the gods inside. High openings pierced the stone walls, lacking any type of glass or covering so the gods could see everything that happened outside. And with such big windows in such a big building, Azul had no doubt they must see into everyone’s hearts.
Isadora would laugh at this, at the existence of actual gods past tales of old, even though Isadora had spent years studying abroad at a Temple school. But then, Isadora hadn’t met the Emissary of the Lord Death. Hadn’t learned that at least one of the gods still had power over his lands.
A wide plaza opened on the Temple’s side flanked by three-story stone buildings. People, carts, and their wares filled the plaza itself, adding to the heat that was already making Azul sweat under her shirt and waistcoat. She was unaccustomed to such concentrated bustling. Such sudden wide space in the crowded city made the structures seem grander, and her smaller. Insignificant. Azul paid the woman who had brought her here and slipped into the house of the gods.
Inside, silence reigned—a cold and prickly sort that wasn’t much better than the heat outside. Five statues commanded the visitor’s attention, two on each side, and one featured prominently at the back.Wisely, she advanced by the wall farthest from the source of all her current problems, the Lord Death.
He and the Lord Life began the two lines of statues, since they had begun all that was. The twins—the Lady Dream and the Lord Nightmare—and the Blessed Heart had come from the Lord Death and the Lord Life’s need for company. (Azul made a small arch around the Lord Nightmare, who stood next in line to the Lord Life.) The Blessed Heart then gave the twins a son and a daughter—Hope and Despair—but the children were so similar to dreams and nightmares that the twins grew jealous and killed them.
No statues for those lost gods. Only songs and tales to remember them and the two moons in the sky, made from their remains.
Azul stood in front of the Blessed Heart’s statue at the end of the cavernous hall, with their flat chest and their round belly and the wisp of a loincloth hiding the juncture of their thighs, their only accessories the wreath on their head and the Anchor filling their eyes.
Cienpuentes liked her riches too much, so of course the Blessed Heart was her main patron. Nothing better than plentiful harvests and plentiful deals to fill her coffers. Gods like the Lady Dream belonged to country dwellers like those living in Agunción, who spent their lives hoping for more.
A girl sat on a small bench by the Blessed Heart, curious gaze trained on Azul. Isadora came to mind again, and Isadora would look like that once she was back. She would be fourteen again, the age of her bones. She would have to finish her studies again, get to fall in love with a sword anew, learn about heartbreak and learn how to break hearts. And this time, Azul would be there to guide her because Azulita, Isadora’s younger sister, hadn’t known anything about life. But Azul, a senior by several years, had learned plenty since.
“I’d like to speak with the dean,” Azul told the girl. There was always one student left to watch the prayer hall of the Temple—Isadora had often complained about the boredom of this particular task in her letters.
“She’s not in,” the girl answered.
“Well,” Azul said, “then I guess I’ll have to wait.”
The girl bit her lip. “She won’t be back for a while, sirese.”
“Where has she gone? I could meet her there.”
An instant scowl, and the girl touched the hilt of her rapier, put aside next to her on the bench. “I’m not allowed to say.”
The girl’s reaction surprised Azul. City dwellers, apparently, were more ready to start fights than even Isadora, something she’d never thought possible. “I mean no trouble. I shall wait for her return.”
“She won’t be back.”
“I will wait, just in case,” Azul insisted, stepping back.
The line of benches in the center of the hall faced the Blessed Heart, so Azul went to the smaller side benches facing the other gods and chose a seat in front of the Lady Dream. Flanked by the Lord Death, it made for an unsettling placement. But such was life, Azul told herself pragmatically: a series of dreams that always ended with Death.
None of the statues in the Temple sported strings of cloth. This was a place for reflection, not wishes. Here you were supposed to listen to the gods, not expect the gods to listen to you. And now that she knew the Lord Death was as real as the soil Isadora had turned into on the docks of Diel, she was loath to listen.
Closing her eyes, Azul allowed her mind to wander back to the mouse. The rumbling of voices and wheels and hooves filled her mind along with the sight of boots and mud and pebbles and dirt. Enjul leaned against a wall in a shadowed nook created by the joining of two mismatched buildings, a cup in his hand. He was waiting, and from the looks of it had been waiting awhile. Azul proceeded to wait with him for the major part of an hour until he roused and began moving.
Not far, just a few steps to a narrow strip of a path by the rushing waters of one of Espasesmo’s many fingers.
A woman waited there, dressed simply in breeches and a shirt, not unlike Azul’s shadow. Commoners in Cienpuentes seemed to enjoy the same nondescript clothing favored in the countryside. The woman’s face was bare, but Azul did not recognize her. Enjul, on the other hand, had donned a hat and a mask—still not the bone one—and wore his hair gathered in a loose braid down his back.
They stood at ease with each other, as friends might, but it didn’t fool Azul. This was a transaction, not an exchange of pleasantries. The woman’s demeanor was too respectful, her visage too serious. Azul couldn’t see Enjul well, or hear their conversation, but she didn’t dare get any closer. Enjul must be doing inquiries about the other necromancer, and she hoped it would lead him nowhere.
“Sirese.Sirese.”
