Page 15 of Mistress of Bones

XI

AZUL

The room fell silent but for everyone’s strained breathing as a new man entered the hall, followed by another man dressed in the same black tabard as the rest.

Anané and Oren reaffirmed their sweaty grips on their weapons. Azul could tell they would make their stand to the end, and, Luck willing, it would be swift. But not before they took a few black tabards down with them.

Nereida lowered her rapier, shrewd eyes locked on the newcomer. He had long brown hair tied back and wore a traveling cape, breeches, and high boots. Wide light-blue rings surrounded golden irises. Valanjian.

And something more, different from every other person in the room.

Azul almost took a step forward, shocked by the sight. Then the connotations of a Valanjian’s presence there hit her. Her stomach rebelled.

The emissary’s murder had caught up with them.

“I regret the inconvenience.” The newcomer’s voice lacked any inflection, as if he had no stake in what came out of his mouth. “I am Silvo Zenjiel, and I’ve been sent by Valanje’s ambassador in Sancia to extend an invitation to one Sirese De Guzmán and one Azul del Arroyo to become her guests.”

Anané and Oren didn’t relax. Their gazes stayed on Zenjiel, except for a quick look at Nereida.

“Strange way to invite someone,” Oren said. “Guests aren’t usually found at the end of a rapier.”

“My men grew overzealous, nothing more,” Zenjiel said.

“Then the sireses are free to go?” Anané asked.

“It would be in their best interest not to.”

Oren’s mouth tightened with resolve, and Azul knew that he was willing to offer his life if it meant giving them a chance to escape.

“Nereida,” Azul whispered, although she wasn’t sure what she wanted to ask.

Nereida didn’t look at her. Instead, she cleaned and sheathed her rapier. “The invitation would be accepted more eagerly if our guards were allowed to leave uninjured.”

“A fair request.”

“Sirese, no,” said Anané. “Allow us to go with you at least.”

“Go,” Nereida said, “tell Sirese Del Valle that we are the ambassador’s guests and will be taken care of.”

“As you wish, sirese,” she answered stiffly. “But we shall remain here for a few days. In case you change your mind.”

Nereida acknowledged this with a nod, then addressed Silvo Zenjiel. “Take us to our new gracious host, then.”

Azul kept her chin up, but on the inside, she was prodding at every window, every entrance of the room, seeking another way of escape.

They were in Valanje’s hands once again.

To her surprise, the moment the black tabards turned toward the door, Nereida pressed a dagger into her hand so quickly Azul almost dropped it. Swiftly, she slipped it under her long waistcoat.

The hilt was made of animal bone.

Another two men were waiting outside the inn, holding on to their companions’ horses.

“Such an escort,” Nereida commented. “Are the roads this unsafe?”

“No one will dare touch you,” Zenjiel answered easily.

Azul and Nereida exchanged a look. They were as good as caught and caged.

De Biel opened the door of a covered carriage.

Grimly, Azul stepped inside and made space for Nereida, De Biel, and Zenjiel. She tried to hold Zenjiel’s gaze, but he ignored her and grew a faraway look.

His disinterest rattled. She was prepared to barter her way out of being dragged to Valanje, scream and kick if need be. She hadn’t counted on being treated like an unimportant package.

And there were so many questions she wanted to ask of him. But she couldn’t. Not with an audience.

Instead, she studied him, cataloging his blank features and comparing them to other Valanjian men she’d seen through the years, to Enjul, the Emissary of the Lord Death.

The emissary had been easy to read—he hated her.

Zenjiel offered no such ease. The world appeared to leave no mark on him, and the observation left a pool of unease deep in her gut.

Would Isadora have looked like this, given enough time?

No, Azul reminded herself. Not Isadora. Isadora would not have gone through life like a cart through a well-trodden path. She’d have broken the wheels and cut across the fields, no matter how difficult, and she’d be laughing her heart out.

The trip to the ambassador’s estate took a few hours.

Azul had no real experience with the gentry’s country homes, and her grim determination gave way to disbelief as she stared at the massive gardens leading up to the main house.

All straight lines and right angles, the way Sancians liked their buildings.

Two stories tall with high windows looking onto the front, it was a rectangle of beautiful stone, so light gray it was only a few steps away from blinding white.

The inside was just as awe-inspiring. Two black tabards stood at attention by the main door, and a third one preceded the group while Zenjiel led them across a grand entrance hall and down a side corridor. Azul walked carefully, afraid to crack and sully the polished tiled floors.

A slight breeze carried through the corridor, and Azul allowed herself to enjoy the coolness, allowed herself to study the mosaic of Anchor discard filling the upper half of the wall with different hues of blue.

It took a big block of Anchor to collect the small pieces used in jewelry and other shows of wealth, and the resulting refuse, while nowhere as valuable, was itself a treasure.

Here, displayed along the corridor, elegant and carefully arranged, was Sancia’s pride.

What a contrast with the bare hallways of the Great Council House in Diel.

Voices rose ahead, and Azul forced the awe out of her face. Nereida’s dagger was a reassuring bulk against her lower back. They hadn’t searched her for weapons; they hadn’t taken away Nereida’s rapier.

She wondered if they were being taken to some locked cellar, and had been allowed to keep their blades to end their own lives.

“Sirese Zenjiel,” Azul said, choosing to strike now rather than from a dank cell. “May we speak in private, if only for a few minutes?” If she could convince him they had apprehended the wrong people, seed enough doubt and earn enough freedom to attempt an escape…

He appeared not to hear, so Azul had no option but to keep walking behind him.

The corridor merged into a longer one. Windows lining one side allowed a view into a beautiful square patio filled with endless geraniums, pomegranates, and queen’s blooms.

“Take that one to the blue rooms,” Zenjiel said, waving toward Nereida.

And then Nereida and most of the escort were gone, leaving Azul alone with Zenjiel and a single guard.

Leaving Azul with an opportunity to escape.

She glanced at the guard walking behind her. She could take him.

Zenjiel was another matter. Him, she was unwilling to harm—not yet. There was a lot that she needed to ask.

He stopped by an open door and indicated that she should step inside.

She tried to claim his attention again. “Sirese Zenjiel—”

“Miss Del Arroyo,” cut a voice from within the room.

Unease crawled under her skin, so strongly she was sure if she looked down, she would see her flesh ripple across her arm. She turned toward the voice.

Her heart halted, then began a merciless pounding.

Virel Enjul stood there, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other forming a tight fist. Golden-violet eyes fixed on her beneath the puzzle of bones on his face, that cruel mouth of his forming an unforgiving line.

It couldn’t be, Azul told herself, taking a few faltering steps into the room. He must be a brother, or a twin. Maybe all emissaries looked the same.

But you’re dead , she wanted to say. I saw you bleed and fall and die.

“We will wait outside, Emissary,” said Zenjiel.

The door closed behind Azul, leaving them alone in the small room.

“You have been a nuisance, Azul del Arroyo,” Enjul said without preamble, firm and solid and not part of her imagination. This man who had been dead.

“But you’re dead,” she did say then. She stumbled back, hitting the door.

He didn’t need his bulky chestpiece for Azul to feel the strange weight of his presence pressing down on her.

He wore a long cream-colored Valanjian shirt, the folds parting to reveal his long brown pants.

His golden hair fell loose over his shoulders and back, caressing the embroidered collar of the shirt, his eyes shadowed beneath the bone mask.

“I am the Emissary of the Lord Death, Miss Del Arroyo. Your weapons hold no sway over me. Death decides who lives and dies.”

Shock fading, Azul forced her mind to work. Would the Lord Death also decide who lived and died outside his land? She could use Nereida’s dagger and test this theory. Then what? How would she escape the guards?

And if she did end his life, would he simply stand back up, like some creature from the Lord Nightmare? How many times could you kill Death’s emissary before Death killed you himself?

Without her, how would Isadora live?

“How did you catch up so fast?” she asked, staying plastered to the door.

“Even if you crossed right behind us, how did you know where we would—?” Her words died as she realized the truth.

“You knew all along. You knew I’d go to Monteverde and find no bones there.

You knew I’d be forced to travel to Cienpuentes. ”

The last words were a whisper, more awed than she wanted, but some things just couldn’t be helped. Like the sweat pooling on the small of her back or the uneven hammering of her pulse.

“Of course I knew,” he answered. “The rituals of death are an emissary’s purview.”

“You mean to drag me back to Valanje?”

Enjul crossed his arms. “I meant what I said in Diel. You may come willingly, or I’ll bring your corpse. Which will it be, Miss Del Arroyo?”

“We are no longer in Diel. You have no authority here.”

His smile was slow, alluring—a trap. “The Lord Death has authority everywhere. Who will stop me? Not you, not your companion. You already tried. None but your court would dare stop an emissary, and who are you to them? No one—they showed as much back in Diel. Accept your fate. You are young; your life need not end so soon.”

Azul suppressed a shiver at the hard glint in his eyes and held her hands tight against her ill-fitting waistcoat. “Once you have me in Valanje, what will become of me?”

“What you become will depend entirely on yourself. Help me understand the nature of your malady or…” There was a certain relish in the way he said those last words, the satisfaction of someone looking forward to her failing whatever test he had planned.

Azul welcomed the reminder of her fate. “Capitulation or death, is that it? Like some Divinadian play?”

“If that is how you choose to see it.”

“That’s quite hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Enjul tilted his head. “Is it?”

“I want to speak with Sirese Zenjiel.”

“If you hope to plead your case, know that not even the ambassador has authority over me. Zenjiel cannot help you.”

Azul fumbled behind her back until she found the handle of the door. “I don’t need his help. I just need you to answer for your hypocrisy.”

“Miss Del Arroyo—”

She finally got the door open. Zenjiel and the guard still stood outside, turning to stare at her.

Azul looked at Enjul over her shoulder. He waited, clearly amused.

“Explain to me, Emissary, why you direct your disgust at me when you are happy to allow Sirese Zenjiel his freedom,” she said with ill-contained anger as she reached for Zenjiel’s hand.

Their fingers met.

And Silvo Zenjiel promptly turned into a corpse.

Azul stared in shock as the mass of decayed flesh and bone dropped to the floor. Shouts rose in the air; the stench of rotting meat slammed into her nostrils. Azul gagged, then was wrenched backward.

Enjul loomed over her, his teeth bared in an enraged snarl. He shook her shoulders. “What did you do?!”

Her teeth clattered. She gripped his wrists. “Nothing! It wasn’t me!”

Enjul stilled, returned his gaze to the remains of Zenjiel scattered halfway into the room. The bone of Zenjiel’s skull peeked through the putrefied flesh; white showed on bony fingertips. The guard bent in half and heaved on the precious tiled floor.

The mask concealed most of Enjul’s expression, but his shock was obvious.

Zenjiel’s body had been dead awhile, that much was clear. Dead well before Azul had been brought into the house. Dead well before she had touched his hand.

And then the gleam of shrewdness returned to the emissary’s eyes as he arrived to the same shocking conclusion she had back when Zenjiel first stepped into the inn:

“There is another one of you.”