Page 12 of Mistress of Bones

IX

THE COUNT, AGAIN

A YEAR AND A HALF EARLIER

Count de Anví studied the two toddlers playing on the plush rug.

They whined and squealed and made their presence annoyingly obvious in the big white-and-blue room deep inside the Heart.

A nurse attended them while two fellow golden tabards stood guard by the double doors: one with a pike, the other with a rapier and a pistol.

Another set of guards waited on the other side of the door behind the count and the Faceless Witch.

He spared her a glance. Damn the Witch to the Void.

She was wearing Bard Celeste in full visiting regalia: embroidered breeches, embroidered deep red doublet, chestnut hair swept into a beautiful arrangement supported by silver hairpins ending in small blooming flowers.

A lace mask matching the doublet covered the upper half of her face, but it didn’t hide the twinkle in the honey-brown irises ringed in gray.

“So,” said the Witch, “can you tell which child is the king and which one is the decoy?”

“I’m not their nurse, how would I know?”

“They do look awfully alike, don’t you think? Looking at them like this, you can understand how someone thought they might be able to swap them long enough to steal the king.”

The count returned his attention to the children. “You trust your source?”

“Yes, she enjoys her dreams too much to mislead me.”

De Anví wanted to ask what that had to do with anything, but he would rather not know. These dreams the Witch procured left him wary, just as the Witch herself did.

“Should we tell Captain de Aria of this plot unveiling under the root vegetable he calls his nose?” the Witch asked.

De Anví ignored her. The Witch was simply using his dislike for the head of the Royal Guard to provoke him.

For all that De Anví didn’t know the Witch so well—except for the fact that she was a witch—the Witch knew him too well.

How? That, he was still trying to figure out.

His servants were paid well, he didn’t attract undue gossip, and he kept no romantic entanglements.

“Surely, whoever is planning on kidnapping the king can’t have that many people willing to help,” he whispered. There were no other toddlers residing in the palace. “Taking one of the toddlers outside will be too obvious unless supported by a larger plot.”

“It doesn’t take that many if you have people on the inside,” the Witch agreed in a jovial tone that made him wonder if she’d had a hand in helping come up with this scheme.

It didn’t matter. He was nearly done with the Royal Guard; it was not his problem.

“Once the swap is revealed and news gets out that the king is gone, possibly murdered, the court will fall into disarray,” the Witch continued.

“Regent de Fernán will be a joke—how can a regent be allowed to speak policy when there is no king to regent for? The court will freeze while they search for the king, then search the bloodline when they fail to find him. They will look for another heir. And you can be assured whoever is behind the plot already knows whom they’ll find: some wonderful puppet ready to do as they need. ”

Not unlike the Witch’s bodies , De Anví thought wryly. “Will these traitors assassinate the actual king once they have left the decoy behind?”

“No, they will keep the child alive, along with any proof that he is the true king, and raise him to do their bidding. It’s useful to have an alternative plan in case things go awry and their puppet decides to grow a will of his own.” The Witch licked her lips. “Schemes, so very enjoyable.”

And the one thing De Anví wanted no part of. “I assume you paid your informant well enough that this tale will not spread further.”

“Of course I did. My dreams aren’t cheap.”

“We’ll need to find out who the leader of the plot is and take them into custody.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure that’s the correct way to proceed.”

De Anví was scared to ask, yet couldn’t help himself. “How else?”

“You take out only one person, another will take their place. It’s so much better to catch everyone in the act, don’t you think?”

“Captain de Aria will never allow the king to be used as bait.”

The Witch smiled knowingly. “That’s why we’re not going to tell him.”

“If not him, then who?” De Anví had no real power to speak of, his position too low in the Royal Guard ranks.

The only reason he was allowed in the king’s presence at all was the strength of his family name.

Accusing someone on the basis of hearsay would get him nothing but ridicule, and he had a feeling the Witch would not provide any solid proof unless he played this game according to her rules.

The Witch appeared to ponder his question, although he was certain she’d long settled on someone to spearhead the foiling of this kidnapping. The only thing he didn’t know was why she was involving him.

“De Losa, I think,” she finally said. “She is hungry for power, and won’t mind going behind De Aria’s back.”

De Anví nodded in agreement. The Countess de Losa was known for having her sights on eventually commanding the Golden Dogs.

“The proof of parentage shall need to be secured, so there is no doubt the child being saved from the kidnapping is the true king and not the decoy. There can be no doubt when the traitors fail and are apprehended that we have the correct child. The queen’s blood will be needed to ascertain the child is from her lineage. ”

“No doubt about it.”

“Without anyone knowing we’re securing it. We must not give the traitors cause for concern and allow them to cover their tracks.”

“Indeed.” The Witch’s gaze switched to his face. “How will you manage that feat? The Royal Crypt is well guarded.”

This was the point where he ought to step back, now that he’d given his opinion.

But now De Anví could not pretend he had never heard of a possible plot against the king.

He might not want the Witch’s dreamy wares, but De Anví had his own dreams for the future.

While a kidnapping might cause an uproar, it would be nothing compared with another king appearing later.

The scandal would upend all of Sancia—and his life, by association.

Cienpuentes had enough troubles as it was.

No, he must see this through or be shackled with the worry about others’ incompetence. He had spent nights waking up with his heart in his throat and his skin covered in sweat for less important matters.

As for how to find out things without anyone knowing, he knew just the man: Miguel Esparza, his favorite city rat.

THE PRESENT

Two days after his attempted ambush, De Anví donned darker, simpler clothes than he usually wore.

It felt strange not to be swallowed by whites, creams, and gold.

He welcomed the change, though, the spark of excitement and adventure that the need to dress this way had awakened inside his soul.

Of course, different clothes could only do so much as he strode through the more disreputable streets of Cienpuentes, and since he was unwilling to use a mask, people could tell something was off about him—if they didn’t outright recognize him—and it rendered them reluctant to talk.

Ah, how he missed being simply a count. How he longed for his life before his “advancement” into the second-in-command of the Golden Dogs, when not many outside court paid him attention unless he showed some coin.

“Like the old times!” exclaimed the Faceless Witch with what sounded to De Anví like all the delight in the world, still wearing her favorite man. “When we scoured the town looking for stolen royal blood!”

Gods, would there be a time when he could finally be rid of her?

When he no longer needed to keep track of her deeds?

Every day, the river grew more appealing.

Slipping into the Lord Death’s embrace would take no great effort—he had long set his affairs in order, just as he had long accepted his path in life was set and would offer no deviations.

Which was why, when he had been confronted by three masked strangers in a dark alleyway and curiosity bloomed in his chest, he’d found himself unable to resist trying to track them down.

“Be silent, Witch,” said Esparza. “Your thoughts aren’t needed.”

No love lost between Miguel Esparza and the Faceless Witch.

The Witch chuckled. “Do not lie, you can feel it too. It’s been too long since we last had an outing like this.”

And it would never be long enough , Esparza’s expression told them.

De Anví commiserated. He had considered ending the Witch in the past, but alas, not knowing her real identity or the location of her true body—not for a lack of Esparza and him trying to figure it out—would’ve meant killing the man being used as her body, while she simply moved on to inhabit someone else.

“Stay,” he told them both curtly, stopping any further bickering.

He crossed the busy street and approached a woman selling murky drinks by an intersection.

Freshly boiled tea, she told him. He very much doubted it, but bought a cup anyway and asked her if she had seen three masked men rushing away two evenings earlier.

He got nothing, just as he had gotten nothing from the other people he had already asked. Turned out, a trio of hurried masked men was not a rare occurrence in Cienpé.

“We should talk with De Gracia,” the Witch suggested once De Anví re-joined them. “It’s no coincidence, this timing of his sire’s murder and your encounter. And he might have discovered something new about his father’s death.”

The Witch’s increasing obsession with De Gracia was unwelcome news. As much as De Anví resented the Witch’s fixation on him, to have her fixated on someone outside his oversight would be worse.

“We might as well,” he said, and to Esparza, “You will come?”

A roll of eyes. “Indeed.”