Page 60 of Mistress of Bones
Azul scrunched her nose, eliciting a laugh out of him. “Brother,” she said, “will any of your friends be able to help us gain entry into the ossuary?”
He dismissed her question with a slight shake of his head. “Don’t worry about these matters today, Sister. I am working on it. Enjoy the afternoon, make connections. Things will look better soon, I promise you.”
And with that, the carriage stopped and he hopped out, then turned to help her down. She accepted his help, missing her breeches something fierce, and wondered if wearing the skirts in her aim to please had made a difference at all—he appeared no more concernedabout the ossuary than he did the last time she had asked. Did he consider it a mere whim?
Entering his friend’s house, she let her gaze explore the inside avidly: the beautiful patterns of the floor tiles, the abundance of tall vases and potted plants, the framed paintings.
The high ceilings with golden moldings helped alleviate the oppression of the entrance hall, and so did the wide stairs curving into the second floor. There, a hallway free of potted plants led them to a series of three interconnected rooms. No space for a patio in this long house.
A miscellaneous assortment of people filled the rooms, chatting in small groups or sitting on the settees and chairs strewn around. Refreshments and food had been set on tall tables, while more potted plants made their home in corners, their leaves long and impossibly green.
Azul found herself enthralled by the contrast between the muted shades of the walls and the garish colors of the guests’ clothing—not at all like the gatherings in Agunción.
This was a gathering meant to offer a haven of friendship, and Azul’s worries softened as her brother introduced her to name after name: artists, scientists, writers, socialites, from her age to over forty. She was surprised to see that even in this more intimate setting, some of her brother’s friends wore masks. Cienpuentes certainly loved her masks.
What was it about them Nereida hated so much? She had tried to fish the secret out of her during one of their card games, but Nereida excelled at not speaking when there was nothing she wished to say.
Perhaps, Azul thought, the woman had simply grown to hate them during her life in the court.
“Azul.” Her brother tugged her elbow. “Allow me to introduce you to my closest friend.”
She was introduced to a young man slightly taller than her and with a friendly face—Isile Manzar. Simply Isile, he told her, for they were all friends there.
“Do you remember the painting that caught your attention in my room?” her brother asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“I do.”
“Well, here’s the artist.” Sergado clapped his friend’s shoulder.
Azul’s surprise did not escape their attention.
“You are shocked,” her brother said with relish.
“I thought it an old master’s painting,” confessed Azul, “not a young painter’s.”
“Thank you,” Isile said. “But I’m afraid I’m not sure which painting Sergado is speaking of.”
Azul waited for Sergado to clarify, but he was already walking away, leaving her with this new stranger. The best friend and the sister—a connection Sergado was obviously eager to make happen.
“The painting of a subject’s back,” Azul said, “with the flesh stripped down to the bone.”
Isile swallowed. “That’s ah…”
“What was your inspiration?” she asked. “I have never seen a painting like that before.” What in that kind of painting drew the interest of someone like this, young and fresh and far from death? Her breath caught and she fought not to step away. Could this be the other necromancer? As a close friend of her brother, he might have access to the type of places where an ambassador’s second-in-command would be.
But, no, she corrected herself, allowing her lungs to work again. What would he gain by killing Zenjiel and bringing him back to life? He already had a protector in her brother. Why would he need the other bodies she had seen at the exhibition, the ones proving Zenjiel hadn’t been an isolated incident?
“I’m sorry, Sirese Del Arroyo,” Isile said. “That piece wasn’t meant for public viewing. It must have shocked you, yes?”
“At first, but it’s so beautifully done.”
He bowed. “Thank you, again. As for my inspiration, well, you can blame that on Norel.”
“Who?”
Isile fixed his stare on her, then grinned. “Yes, of course, you’renew in town. Come, let me introduce you to one of our more nefarious members,” he said with good humor. He led the way across the room into the next. The conversations there were livelier, louder.Fights of ideas, Azul thought as she caught errant phrases.
“Norel!” Isile exclaimed, making himself heard above the noise. A strong voice. Isile was surprisingly sturdy.
