Page 19 of Mistress of Bones

XIII

THE CITY OF A HUNDRED brIDGES

Cienpuentes spread below Azul, Nereida, and the emissary, the dozens of islands so saturated with buildings there was no original rock left to see.

The city overflowed, like the river whose delta it had invaded, to crawl around the big round bowl of the lake, as if attempting to join on the opposite side.

From their perch on the hill on the outskirts of the city, Azul had never seen something so intimidating or impressive.

The city’s Heart rose in the middle of the islands, a solid stack of gray and white stone, its multitude of windows blinking in the noon light.

The Heart’s height was far superior to the surrounding houses—and those houses were already two and three stories higher than the single-floor houses Azul was familiar with.

No space for patios in this city, although the streets did seem to form plazas here and there, and tops of trees dotted some of the paths and riverbanks.

West of the Heart lay the exception to the lack of open space: a big plaza and another big structure.

Another similar house, inspiring and intimidating at the same time, rose north of the palace.

Other buildings claimed the eye to a lesser degree, thrown across the city, places of importance.

One of them would be the ossuary.

An invisible sundial formed in her mind’s eye, except it counted days, not hours.

Now that they had arrived at Cienpuentes, this agreement between herself and the emissary would turn into a game between a resourceful mouse and a rat who thought himself a cat.

A race for her to find her sister’s bones before he realized she had no intention of helping him find the other necromancer as long as her sister remained gone.

She glanced at Enjul, riding by her side.

He was close enough that it had taken some effort to get used to the feeling, far enough to be an itch at the edge of her senses.

He had dispensed with his mask, since his presence as an emissary in Cienpuentes would demand too many explanations—and to this, she wished him good luck, because a lack of mask could not change his arrogant demeanor.

His nose was too long for his face, his cheeks too high, his mouth too wide, his lips too thin. It wasn’t a handsome face. It was a harsh face. A face that made no sense without one half covered by his bone mask.

And yet, why couldn’t she stop looking up to catch another glimpse of it?

What about it made it so fascinating she felt compelled to check if her memory measured up to the original?

Was it simply her wish for life in awe at the presence of death?

Or did it have something to do with the strange thrills of anticipation that ran along her nerves by simply being nearby?

“You’ve spent some days in Valanje,” Enjul said mockingly, catching her glance. “Surely you’ve seen other faces like mine.”

“None that matched my bleak mood so much,” she assured him, and returned her attention to the path ahead.

Keeping Enjul’s position as Emissary of the Lord Death a secret meant they would not be using Valanje’s official quarters in the city. They wouldn’t be using Nereida’s residence either, the one gifted to her by the late queen. Too public—her return ahead of the delegation would make people curious.

Nereida had suggested an inn, but Azul had had a better idea.

One that would keep them away from curious innkeepers and wagging local tongues: Azul had family in Cienpuentes, and she’d had an open invitation to visit since she was twelve and one of her half siblings had defied their father to seek her out.

Still, they had been forced to wait over a week for a response.

A week spent confined to a room much as she had been back at Diel, with not even Nereida to play cards with.

Azul was fairly certain it took fewer days to bring a message back and forth to the capital, so Enjul must’ve used the time to find out everything he could about her family.

Just as she had used one of the tiny bones she had lifted from Nereida’s supper in the ship to raise a rat and spy on the household.

This was a promise she had broken, but with herself.

After the chicken and the cat and her sister, Azul had promised herself no more.

No more of her soul given away. She wouldn’t chance not having enough to bring Isadora back.

Then Nereida had come, demanding to see what she could do.

And then Enjul had cornered her, forcing her hand with Zenjiel.

And after the bird and Zenjiel, a rat had not seemed so bad.

What a slippery slope , Azul thought as they took the path toward the city.

Cienpuentes drew nearer, and soon they passed the exterior settlements to enter the city itself.

Buildings and overhead bridges caged them in, the streets full of people and carts and donkeys and shouts and smells and curses.

They crossed bridges made of wood, bridges made of stone, bridges that looked like they would fall under their horses’ hooves, and bridges that looked like they had been built while the gods were still pondering whether to raise the lands or not.

They passed pairs of City Guards, lounging here and there as if they had nothing better to do, their distinct blue tabards easy to notice among the crowd.

They crossed a market, the carts and stalls dwindled to nothing at the late hour.

They went by small shrines with statues of the Blessed Heart, all with flat chests and a pregnant belly, some with the juncture of their thighs covered, others proudly showing a male’s member.

All with colorful strips of cloth tied around their legs and neck, each piece of fabric indicating someone’s wish.

Azul was forced to ask directions to their destination a few times, since nobody would make eye contact with Enjul, and Nereida had retreated so far beneath her wide-brimmed hat they might need to send a search party to find her again.

At last, they arrived at Almanueva. Her half family’s house, elegant and white, rose two stories high and took up a block of its own, like some genteel houses in Cienpuentes liked to do—the gentry demanded their solitude, even in such a cramped city.

The bottom floor had no openings aside from the grand main door and a side entrance for horses and carts, but the upper floor was filled with glass panels.

Azul doubted they could be opened—who would invite the city smells into their home?

A footman appeared in the side entrance, and soon they were entering a small receiving area with horse stalls. The animals would be sent back after they had rested—a city like this was not made for idle mounts, and Azul had no doubt Enjul would rather Azul waste her time by walking on foot.

Another ornamental entrance greeted them.

Another show of power. A house on a cramped island, with open space to receive riders and, Azul soon found out, a small patio of its own.

These things did not come cheap. These things were passed from parent to heir along with hefty sums of money to keep them there.

And the inside! Tall ceilings; long, wide windows; walls painted in creams and whites; and floors covered in earthy patchwork tiles.

The patio, small but open, full of bushes and flowers and a tiny pond hosting a handful of lilies.

This was not Cienpuentes , Azul thought in wonder, this was home .

Bright and airy, the harsh sounds and smells of the streets were a thing of the past. She didn’t need to close her eyes to feel herself back in Agunción, even if the riches on display were far superior to anything she would ever find in her town.

The trip had drained her, but she felt her strength returning all at once.

“Is my brother in residence?” she asked of the footman leading them.

“Not at this time, sirese. But he will be back shortly. He asked that you make yourselves comfortable. Your rooms are ready, and refreshments have been ordered to one of the parlors.”

They were led to the second floor, where three rooms had been prepared. They were tiny, barely big enough to contain the beds inside, but full of light. Azul never wanted to leave.

Her traveling satchel was brought up, along with a jug of water for the basin.

She changed into a fresh shirt and washed the dirt from her face and arms. Her hair was rebraided carefully, Isadora’s earring polished with the cuff of her sleeve.

She felt invigorated. It was too light outside to see her reflection in the window looking onto the patio, but she felt the huge grin spreading across her face.

Soon Isadora would be back. Soon Isadora would feel like this.

The grin faded.

Azul knew better than to allow her eagerness to take control. She needed to be cunning. Her half family’s power would help her only so much, and Enjul was too good at guessing her movements. She would get only one chance. She must think further ahead than the next immediate move.

Nereida was waiting outside her door, still wearing her traveling clothes.

She had dispensed with the hat, but the reluctance to show her face was obvious.

What had Nereida left behind in Cienpuentes, Azul wondered, that made her so unwilling to be recognized now that she was back?

Surely it couldn’t be her attempt to kill the emissary—she had not been arrested at the ambassador’s estate, and Enjul showed no ill feelings.

Azul didn’t ask, because she knew Nereida would not answer.

Together they made their way along the hallway and down the marble stairs, passing graceful side tables and beautiful landscapes hanging on the walls.

The same footman was waiting for them. Silently, he ushered them into the parlor, where plates filled with delicate bits of pastry filled the marquetry surface of a low gilded table.

Two matching settees framed it, almost toylike in size.

Nothing big and gaudy for this house; everything was ethereal, like the soft curtains framing the windows, the gliding vine-like legs supporting the tables, and the delicate vase full of fresh flowers.

Nereida made use of the settee, unafraid its thin legs might break under her strength.

“If this is all…”

Azul turned to the footman. “Sirese Enjul?”

“He’s gone on private matters, sirese. He informed us he will return in time for supper.”

Gone, was he? Azul nodded and the footman stepped outside through a curtain of wooden beads.

“Do you wish to go now as well?” Nereida asked while serving herself some of the cold drink provided with the food.

Azul sat on the other settee. “He will expect that. One of the men who followed us from the ambassador’s estate is likely standing guard outside the entrance.” She met Nereida’s speculative glance. “I’ve been helpless, not completely witless.”

Nereida smiled faintly and picked one of the pastries. It crumbled into flakes at her bite, but she managed not to get any of them on her person or the tiled floor. She had eaten these before, probably many, many times, while Azul had learned of their existence only minutes ago.

Azul grabbed one, then another, then a third. They overflowed her hand, and they would never fit into her mouth.

But then, she did not mean to eat them.

Retrieving another tiny bone from the sea voyage, she pressed the cakes together into a flaking, messy ball and allowed the singing in her veins to overcome the reluctance she had built over the years.

The Eye of Death flared, and the bone sucked greedily at what Azul was offering.

How easy now to allow the power to flow, how natural to feel the pinch in her soul, how simple to ignore the bite of pain in her chest, and the knowledge that she must make sure there was something left to give Isadora.

But animals pulled only a fraction, and what they took would eventually regrow.

The tiny mouse squeaked between her hands, and she allowed it free.

It leaped to her thigh, the settee, and then the floor before scurrying away.

Having the emissary return from death had been shocking enough—Azul did not want to experience such surprises again, and a mouse, small, insignificant, and unseen, would make an excellent second set of eyes where the emissary was concerned.

And unlike the bird, she’d not allow it to die from her carelessness.

Nereida watched with morbid curiosity, still and silent.

Fleetingly, Azul wondered if Nereida planned on killing her once she brought back whomever she wanted returned.

If, at their base, she and the emissary weren’t so different, and Nereida also thought her an affront to gods and nature.

But in Nereida’s case, whomever she wanted back weighed more than a fear of divine retribution.

“Do you think me a monster?” Azul asked.

Nereida’s expression darkened. “I have met monsters,” she said. “And you have a long way to go.”

The footman gathered the curtain of beads to the side, the clacking noise bringing the women’s attention to the entrance.

A young man wearing brown breeches and an open waistcoat stood there with a grin so wide it overtook his handsome face.

Azul fished for any resemblance, in the dark brown color of his hair and the slight wave it carried, in the twinkling of his brown eyes, darker than hers but holding such a similar shape.

Sergado de Gracia opened his arms. “Sister!”