Page 59 of Mistress of Bones
“You could always murder His Majesty in his sleep and blame me.”
“I am not so far gone I wish to harm a child, tempting as it might sometimes be. Nay, someone will eventually find a way to supplant me, and the Witch won’t be able to do a thing about it.”
The thoughtful tone didn’t match his glib words. “It really worries you,” Esparza said, “De Guzmán asking to speak with the Witch.”
“It troubles me that she is back without a word. What a time to make her reappearance, right before court goes into session. What does she want of the Witch? She’s avoided her since she took over Sío. What has changed?”
Esparza didn’t answer. He had been running through the same questions since that morning.
“I will make the appointment on your behalf,” De Anví said. “Don’t go near the Witch.”
“De Guzmán won’t like it.”
“Well, she doesn’t like me anyway. What’s one more opportunity to disappoint her?”
XXIAZUL, NOT FORGOTTEN
Two days had passed since the exhibition. Two days spent playing games with those around her.
With Nereida, games of cards. With Sergado, games of waiting for ossuary entry. With Enjul, games of sneaking into each other’s rooms to rile the other.
The emissary had searched Azul’s room right after the exhibition, and Azul had used his absence the following day to search for his mask. What would be more fitting than using its bone to raise an army of spies? Instead, all she had found were sketches tucked away on a table. Sketches made with paper and ink meant for letters. Sketches of plants and birds and bone masks meant for a rounder face—something a youth might wear, or a woman—forming pleasing patterns instead of a broken, scary visage.
The art gave her pause. She would never have expected such a zealot to do anything that wasn’t related to his god, and she wondered what else he might keep hidden away, secret from the world. A love for plays? A penchant for collecting pretty stones?
A lover?
No, it didn’t fit him, Azul decided, and if the unpleasant twisting in her gut lessened at the thought, who would know?
She had followed him the next day, wanting to bother him as much as he was bothering her. He had led her through a web of streets filledwith high-end artisan shops and houses, and Azul, well aware of her shadow, had been careful to keep her expression blank while allowing her attention to snag on a few random passersby for a little too long. Let the emissary and her shadow spend their evening figuring out if she had singled them out because they might be the other necromancer’s victims, or because she had taken a liking to their shirtsleeves.
It was a dangerous game, but Azul couldn’t stop herself from trying to prod him. Virel Enjul exuded arrogance, so sure in his power, so certain she’d eventually acquiesce and help him find this other necromancer. But Azul wouldn’t truly help unless she risked meeting Death—it was the only thing that kept her within Isadora’s reach.
Isadora.She was failing her sister. Four days had passed since arriving at Cienpuentes, and they felt like a year. No news from the dean. No news from her brother. No way to know whom else to ask without arousing suspicion.
She hadn’t seen the masked stranger from the exhibition again, although she had half expected to, since he had been so interested in her brother. Asking about his identity would take her nowhere: young, dark haired, average looks, wearing a mask. She had snorted at the thought.Welcome to Cienpuentes, would’ve been the answer. No, no point in waiting for him, as much as she could use someone completely unrelated to her family, her captor, or Nereida.
And on the fifth day, finally an opportunity to find more allies without Enjul or his shadow being present: an invitation from Sergado to a private gathering with his circle of friends. He was tired of her long face, he had told her.
In the afternoon, they got into her brother’s open carriage—more of a cart with plush leather seats—leaving Nereida and Enjul behind. But not Azul’s shadow, elegant on his saddle a few paces behind the carriage.
Azul settled on her seat, arranging her skirts. She had chosen these and a short waistcoat instead of her usual breeches because they had appeared, along with some other clothes, in her room by her brother’s grace. Today she aimed to please.
“Brother,” she asked as the cart advanced through the cobbled streets, “where is your personal guard?” Lina del Valle had one, and even Azul did in the form of the shadow riding right behind them. She looked around once again, and found no one except the young man sitting by the driver.
“I don’t have one.”
She was surprised. “But you’re a marquess now. You must take care.”
Sergado smiled. “I haven’t gotten around to hiring someone. One of the footmen will suffice for now. Who would dare attack me out in the open?”
Azul eyed the footman’s back and wondered about that. The exhibition had proved there were plenty of people in Cienpuentes with more than passable skill at sword fighting, and who could say no to a good amount of coin?
The carriage moved on, and Azul returned her attention to her brother.
“Tell me more about your friends. You said these gatherings can be large.”
“Well, I must collect as many friends as I can. It’s the only way to survive here and not die of boredom,” Sergado said dryly. “As for my closest friends, you will meet them soon enough. No point in spoiling the surprise, is there?”
