Page 54 of Mistress of Bones
“Your doing?”
The speculation in the woman’s tone was more alluring than beauty or money could ever be to the Faceless Witch—she so loved secrets. Loved to find them, untangle them, savor their content, and then, only then, use them.
“I will admit to it,” the Witch said, “if you admit to your name.”
“Seems hardly fair, since you won’t tell me yours.”
The Witch put her hand to her chest, today clad in a dark crimson waistcoat with golden leaves vining the neckline and hem. “Ah, but I need to retain some secrecy so you’re tempted to seek me tomorrow.”
Another smile, a calculating gleam in her eyes. The morsel might be from the countryside but knew better than to fall headfirst into the Witch’s charm. It only made her more intriguing. “Azul del Arroyo.”
“Like the summer sky. How fitting. How lucky. Now, tell me, what did you wish to know? I must reward this honesty of yours.”
Del Arroyo returned her focus to the plaza. “Will you tell me about those people over there? Those dignified ones.”
The Witch leaned against the parapet bricks, her half cape draping over her left shoulder and arm, curtaining them into a private nook away from prying ears.
“Are you certain, Azul del Arroyo, that you want to waste your time learning about others instead of me? About those”—she waved toward the plaza—“you can ask anyone. Their names are well known. About me, though, you can only ask me.”
Another round of jeers and cheers filled the air while Del Arroyo paused to rethink her query.
“No,” she told the Witch, shaking her head. “I’m fresh from the countryside, and I have to begin somewhere. Tell me.”
A deep sigh preceded the Witch’s next words: “If you wish. The man over there, in the blue-and-silver waistcoat and stiff cravat isnone other than Dío de Mavén, head of the City Guard. Although if he doesn’t get rid of that thing around his neck, we might be looking for a replacement. How can he breathe in this heat? The woman sitting by his side is his niece, Maril de Mavén. By their right, that one with the ruddy cheeks is De Pío, one of the captains of the Guard. See how nobody stands near him? He probably still reeks from last night’s drunken feast. The opposite from him is De Aria, the head of the Golden Dogs, His Majesty’s Guards, and that one, the one standing like he’d rather be anywhere else, is the Count de Anví, his second-in-command.”
“The regent doesn’t attend?”
“Hah!” the Witch exclaimed. “Does this look like the sort of gathering a regent or a queen would attend?”
Del Arroyo shrugged. If she was hurt by her laughter, she didn’t show it. “Seems like everyone is enjoying it well enough.”
“No, countryface. Those you see here are nothing to those who own the Heart. Haven’t you noticed your host isn’t here?”
The Witch grinned at the sharp glance thrown her way.
“My host?”
“The Marquess de Gracia, of course.”
“Is he the reason you sought me out?”
“Hmm-hmm,” the Witch answered. “I’m quite a curious person, you see. I aim to learn all I can, but De Gracia’s servants are too well paid to talk.”
“I appreciate your honesty, but there is nothing to learn. I’m a temporary guest, and soon I’ll be gone. You ought to ask De Gracia directly, if you wish to know more.”
“How formal, how priggish. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Nothing here suits me,” Del Arroyo muttered.
“Ah, but I think it could if you wanted it to.”
Del Arroyo didn’t bother responding to this. Instead, she asked, “Why do people like masks so much in this city?”
“They find it coy; they like to flirt. A game.” A wicked smile—Sío de Guzmán produced the best ones, just short of rakish, yet tooobvious to be anything else. “And idle people do love entertaining themselves.”
“So do you,” Del Arroyo pointed out.
“Only with those worth my efforts.”
