Page 88 of Mistress of Bones
She had worn her expressions in the form of a mask for too long, and he was desperate to see it gone.
“My heart!” exclaimed the Faceless Witch, still wearing Sío de Guzmán. “What a surprise! Nereida de Guzmán, back in Cienpé.”
De Anví dragged his gaze to the Witch. Her expression—what he could see of it under the mask—appeared fascinated.
Nereida entered the room properly, stopping a few paces away. She wore no mask, her green eyes hard and cold in the lamplight. “Blessed night, Witch.” A slight nod toward De Anví. “Count de Anví.”
Call me Emiré, De Anví had wanted to ask in their last dance, before the queen interrupted it. He had never gotten his wish. Uncrossing his arms, he took a side step to stand by the Witch’s left shoulder. The move did not go unnoticed, and Nereida’s chin rose ever so slightly at the display.
“Last I heard,” said the Witch in a good-humored voice, “you were well on your way to Valanje. Did the envoy get turned around in the sea?”
“The envoy had no trouble getting passage across,” Nereida answered in clipped tones.
“Ah, Valanjian food, then. Was it not to your liking and you had no choice but to return?”
“The food was not a problem.”
The Witch let out a short laugh. “You missed me, then, is that it?”
De Anví felt a muscle in his jaw jump at the same time Nereida furrowed her nose with distaste. She recovered fast, smoothing her expression.
The Witch hopped off the crate and stretched her arms. “Or perhaps,” she said cunningly, “you’ve come back out of concern for De Anví’s attempted kidnapping?”
She gave De Anví a fast glance. “Kidnapping?”
Damn the Void if he wasn’t shocked at the hint of concern in her voice. Words left his throat before he could stop them. “It was nothing of concern.”
She remained silent, so the Witch spoke instead: “Did you at least gather what I need?”
De Anví had suspected that Nereida wasn’t in the envoy for the sake of the court’s interest in Valanjian dealings. Now he had his proof.
“I didn’t have the time, no.” Nereida took a step closer. Something morphed in her expression, in her posture. Her hatred for the Witch shone through.
The Witch huffed. “If concern for His Honor did not force your hand, and you didn’t bother with my inquiries, why are you here? We had a deal, did we not, Nereida de Guzmán?” She patted her chest. “Do you not care about your brother’s body any longer? I’d have thought you still did, having lost one sister already.”
Nereida smiled, a slow curving of her lips that sent De Anví’s heart pounding. This was his Nereida. The Nereida of the dances, the fearless sword fighter, the one whose eyes kindled and sparkled with all kinds of mischief.
He was back in the ballrooms, back in his dreams, back in his hopes. He was undone.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Nereida said, full of mockery. Her mask was gone, her feelings out in the world.
The Witch cocked her head. “Changed your mind? Well, you are young enough to think things can go as easily as that.”
Nereida looked at De Anví. “Will you stop me?”
Unnecessary question, for he would never. He thought of Esparza and his desperate wait for the Lord Death. Well, De Anví had always known he would win that race. “No.”
“Hold her for me, then.”
He grabbed the Witch’s arms, immobilizing them.
Stilling after an initial struggle, the Witch asked, “What’s this? A betrayal by my closest allies? I am impressed, it must be said.” She craned her neck to glance at De Anví. “You are aware of the consequences of this, yes?”
De Anví allowed nothing to show on his face. “Yes.”
Then Nereida brought out a dagger, and the Witch pressed into his chest. The renewed struggle didn’t last long, and her body relaxed. De Anví had no doubt that her infuriatingly smug smile was back on her face.
“Now, put that away, child,” the Witch said. “You want me to believe you’ll hurt your own brother?”
