Page 21 of Mistress of Bones

XV

PLANS PUT IN MOTION

HOURS EARLIER

The darkness of night filled the small sitting room. One of the footmen had asked Enjul if he’d like a lamp, but he had refused the offer. Virel Enjul had often found that darkness brought its own kind of clarity.

What a shock his first view of Cienpuentes had been.

He couldn’t comprehend how greed could grip a heart with so much strength.

How people could find it in themselves to carve such a gift out of the world, to turn blue peaks into a mass of flat, barren gray.

No wonder they treated the gods as curiosities rather than divine beings, why they tied up wishes to the Lady Dream’s legs and expected her to grant them as if they hadn’t stolen her bones—their guilt would be too crushing if they were to admit the truth.

It spoke to the lows they were willing to achieve in order to keep their coin bags full.

Azul del Arroyo had acted docile as a newborn lamb during their trip to Cienpuentes, but like her countrymen and Anchor, he had no doubts she was simply biding her time to strike.

Ambassador Enzare had recommended a man who could act like a shadow, and after meeting this shadow, Enjul still couldn’t decide if he was as astute as the intelligence in his eyes showed, or as careless as his demeanor implied.

This had surprised him, as he prided himself on being an excellent judge of character.

Had he made a mistake by trusting this stranger to shadow Del Arroyo? The fact that he couldn’t himself was meddlesome, but he must conduct his own inquiries on the second malady, and Del Arroyo must be given some appearance of freedom to hang herself with.

Closing his eyes, he brought his hand to his chest and searched deep within himself. When you carried a piece of the Lord Death with you, you needed no statues or temples to aid in your prayers.

A welcoming peace settled over him.

Have I erred in trusting this shadow to follow the malady?

Enjul didn’t often ask his god directly—the god had more important things to do than answer his questions—but there was something about De Gracia’s house that made him fanciful.

Perhaps it was the way moonlight played with the shadows, the smell of blossoming Sancian flowers drifting through the open window.

Queen’s blooms. Such a delicate, resilient fragrance.

They called them jiren avels in Valanje—little moons—for they appeared as white as the two ladies when in full bloom.

Back in the ambassador’s estate, he had learned the details of Azul’s half brother’s wealth and position at court.

De Gracia’s home lived up to his expectations.

Such a grand building, yet understated. It had been a reprieve to see the marquess’s family hadn’t succumbed to the need to plaster Anchor all over the walls, unlike the ambassador’s residence.

It said a lot about Azul del Arroyo’s loyalty to her half sister that she’d rather live in the countryside than among so much wealth.

Loyalty—such a tricky emotion. It was driven by honor, which could be broken by temptation, and love, which could easily fall into obsession.

Enjul had no doubt of which side Azul del Arroyo’s loyalty fell.

Her zealousness to bring her sister back with no regard to her sister’s or the god’s wishes spoke for itself.

What made someone develop such warped views?

Perhaps it was the fact that she had so many half siblings but had only been able to hold on to one.

Here was another bizarre Sancian custom—the need to pass one’s blood on to your children.

If you desired a child so much, why not welcome one without a family?

Perhaps this was how the Blessed Heart manifested among their subjects—the need for creation rather than acceptance.

As a child, he had found it hard to leave his parents to join the Order, and at one point in the following years, he had even gone back to visit them, guided by an instinct that told him he would never fully accept the Lord Death until he had seen them again.

He found them happy and settled, glad Enjul was making a name for himself in the Order. He had nothing but fading memories of their time together and, after that one meeting, no real reason to visit again.

He now had the Lord Death.

A tingling sensation spread from his heart, easing a sort of homesickness he hadn’t realized was there. Sancia was strange and disturbing, a maze he must carefully navigate, but he had the Lord Death’s blessing, and that was enough.

Soft clacking had him open his eyes. Azul del Arroyo pushed the wooden bead curtain aside and entered the room, a small smile playing with her lips as another breeze fluttered the curls escaping from her braid.

Enjul stilled, wondering how long it’d take her to notice him. Something urged him to make some small noise. He craved the sight of her shock, the way her eyes narrowed when she tried to figure out how to outmaneuver him.

Azul let out a sigh as she approached the window. She placed her hands on the windowsill and inhaled deeply, her face sharpening under the moonlight.

Who would’ve thought a malady could contain much life ? He had wondered if he might not find the other malady by simply walking around and looking for a burst of life, but something told him Azul was unique.

He draped an arm over the back of the settee, impatient now to see her reaction at his presence. She did not disappoint.

She turned with a gasp at the rustling of fabric, then scowled. “I didn’t know you were here,” she said.

“That much is obvious,” he couldn’t help but answer.

Her chin lifted, and she turned toward the entrance of the room. “I’ll leave.”

“Why?”

His question surprised her as much as it surprised him.

“I wouldn’t wish to bother you,” she answered curtly. Then her voice became somewhat amused. “Wouldn’t want to infect you with my rot.”

“I survived the trip here by your side, I think I’ll survive another hour or two,” he answered dryly.

She stiffened at this, her eyes darting from him to the entryway. Did she expect him to want to play cards with her or something like that? He snorted with amusement. “What do you think of your half brother’s house, Miss Del Arroyo?”

Azul’s gaze returned to the view of the patio. “It’s very grand. Beautiful. It…”

“It?” he prodded when she didn’t continue. If the woman was in a sharing mood, he would not stop her. The more he knew about her, the more he’d know how to control her. It was a dangerous game, for he had a feeling that the more he knew about her, the more he wouldn’t be able to step away.

“It reminds me of home.” There was a soft, wistful quality to her words that touched something inside Enjul this malady had no right to touch. He didn’t have time to dwell on this as she arched a brow and asked, “Do you have a home, Emissary? Or do you simply go from death to death?”

He relaxed against the back of the settee and wondered if she’d take a seat or remain at arm’s length. He hoped she’d stay where she was—much easier to read—but part of him missed being toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, as they’d been back at the ambassador’s house. “My home is with my god.”

Her mouth twitched, and a wicked gleam entered her eyes. “It must be nice to carry your home along with you. Like a snail.”

Being in her half brother’s house had given Azul del Arroyo a good dose of confidence.

Slowly, he unwrapped himself from the settee and took one step toward her. She didn’t move. Perhaps the moonlight and darkened room had wrapped her in the same fanciful mood that had taken him. And perhaps, for one night, that was acceptable.

Tonight was a reprieve. Tomorrow, they’d take up arms again.

“Why did they name you Azul?”

Del Arroyo blinked at him, clearly surprised by the question. “What does it matter?”

“Names are part of who we are, are they not? If I must study you, why not start there?” His gaze flickered to the small piece of Anchor dangling from her ear.

She wore it as an act of defiance and rebellion, and while the sight of the gods’ bones being used in such a way disgusted him, it’d take a lot more to rile him. “Is it a homage to the gods?”

She let out a startled laugh. “I’m named after the summer sky.”

It fit her. She thrummed with a sort of vibrancy that was hard to find in the winter months. He leaned closer, peering into her eyes. In the dim light, they were small dark pools, with no rim to speak of. If there was Valanjian blood in her, it had been in generations past.

“And you?” she dared. “Why did they name you—?” She hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure speaking his name aloud would smite her where she stood.

Enjul smiled wide. “Why did they name me Emissary of the Lord Death? Isn’t it obvious?”

He expected her to glare at him and leave. Instead, he found an answering hint of a wicked smile. “Not obvious at all. If I were the Order, I would’ve chosen a very different name.”

One more step, and he was breathing in her scent. Rain over a grassy field, he decided. Fresh and full with the thrill of the storm to come. “Such as?”

She opened her mouth, then bit her lip. “I prefer not to say.”

“If we are to… What shall we call it? ‘Help each other’? We must be truthful with one another.”

She grew serious. “The truth is that you will never give as much as you want to take from me. Keep the reasons for your name, Emissary; I do not need them. Good night.”

A pang of disappointment hit his chest as she walked out of the room. He’d hoped this strange moonlight interlude would’ve lasted a few minutes longer.

It didn’t matter. There would be plenty of time going forward to instigate, observe. And catch.

THE PRESENT