Page 4 of Mistress of Bones

III

AZUL

NINE YEARS AND A FEW MONTHS EARLIER

A zul sat on the grass, her back to a tree while Pica, her favorite cat, lay curled up by her side.

Her family’s whitewashed house rose in the distance, short and square, no windows to be seen.

They were all inside, opening into the tiny patio her mother adored so much whenever she deigned to live with them.

Azul hated that patio.

Small, suffocating. Why stay there when there was so much outside?

Carefully, she unfolded Isadora’s letter, arrived just the day before but read plenty already.

Azul missed her sister like she would miss her heart if she woke one day and found it gone.

Her tutor had recently taught her about that organ, guided by her curiosity.

To think there was a thing inside your chest that kept you alive.

But if you couldn’t see it and you couldn’t touch it and could only sometimes hear it, did such a thing really exist?

It seemed far-fetched. Even if she had seen their cook rip a chicken open and take out its innards plenty of times, it didn’t seem possible.

But it was. She had this thing, a heart, inside her chest, and having Isadora away felt like her sister had taken it with her.

Azul flattened the letter on her lap and read greedily. The first attempt was always a little slow—she’d rather listen to stories than read them, and Isadora’s writing was tiny and crammed together to save space—but after a dozen rereads, the words flowed easily.

Dearest Azulita,

I wish I were home with you.

Azul snorted at the sentiment. Isadora was lucky to be away at the Temple’s school, and she couldn’t understand why Isadora would wish to be back instead of wishing Azul would join her.

But Azul could never join Isadora at such a distant school—a whole five towns away!

—because the offer was only for Isadora.

One of their mother’s customers had given the invitation to send her eldest daughter as a reward for another healthy baby delivered.

Another child for a couple who could not have one of their own.

Azul knew she should be glad her mother provided such a service, had been told often enough what a great gift to Sancia she was, but what was the point of having so many half siblings if she never got to meet them?

And those were just her siblings on her mother’s side—what if she also had siblings on her father’s side?

She’d heard murmurs, as children often did when adults forgot they existed.

Comments about another sister or a brother in the court of Cienpuentes.

Once, Azul had been eager to learn all about them, but the fancy had passed quickly. She had Isadora. Why should she wish for anything else?

The lessons here are interminable, and the benches hard under my ass—that is a new word for you, Azulita, and learn it well because you’ll find many uses for it in your life.

Just don’t let anyone else hear you say it.

Mayhap when I am back, we shall have a contest, see which of us finds the most ways to put it to use!

Azul looked down at Pica and whispered, “Ass!” somewhat afraid the word might drift all the way into the house and fall into Cook’s eager ears.

Pica yawned, showing a row of neat teeth, then snuggled into her paws.

Azul giggled and returned to the letter.

Last weekend, we had another exhibition and I bested everyone in class.

You should have seen Mari’s face when my rapier touched her vest!

You’d think I’d run her straight over with my Maravillosa instead of poking her with the end of my training blade.

The horror! The outrage! The queen, brought down by a mere peon!

The dean told me afterward that next time they’ll have me fight the girls in the upper year if I want. I think I shall. They’re very good, and what joy is there in fighting those you’ve already defeated? What do you think, Azulita?

Azulita thought her sister would do as she wished, as she always did, so she refrained from forming a true opinion on the matter.

It is most unfair that even though I won the fight, I’m still stuck having to care for the Temple.

The statues are old and the pedestals older and someone stole the Anchor from half their eyes.

The Blessed Heart has no eyes left, and the Lord Life stumbles around with just one.

The Lady Dream still has both of them, because one of the girls’ family is part of the court and donated them.

I think one day I shall like a piece of Anchor too.

Something flashy. I’ll flaunt it around Agunción, and everyone will be in awe.

I think I shall embroider that on a ribbon tonight and tie it around the Lady Dream’s leg.

Then I’ll embroider one letting the Lord Life know Mari once cursed him for allowing me to live. He shan’t be happy about that!

I can’t wait to see you again, Azulita. There is so much I wish to tell you about. Curse these single sheets of paper! Why can’t they give us more to write home? Know that you are in my heart, and I miss you dearly, and once I am done with this place, you and I shall never be apart again!!

Love, Isadora

Azul folded the letter and held it close to her chest. One day they would be free to do as they wished, travel where they wanted, meet the rest of the world.

Valanje, with its Anchor peaks, and Bremón with its red lakes.

The cities painted inside the frames in the parlor, and the ones her tutor had described to her.

Faraway places too scary to visit alone, but the trip of a lifetime with Isadora by her side.

Until then, she’d have to be content with seeing Isadora during her yearly school break.

She couldn’t wait.

THE PRESENT

There was a knock on the door, and Azul almost leaped out of her skin at the unfamiliar sound.

None of the servants had knocked. Nereida hadn’t knocked.

And here it came again, the sound, repeating.

Whoever was behind the door wanted her to think she was in control.

And so, the time had come to face either Serunje or the Valanjian emissary, Azul guessed, tugging at the folds of her plain shirt.

The third knock came, with no change in cadence or strength, and this put her on edge more than the knocking itself.

“Come in,” she said.

The door opened, and a large man stepped into the room.

Azul couldn’t help but take a step back.

His height was his own, but the breadth had been aided by a massive dull-white breastplate made of bone, topped on each shoulder by equally bulky shoulder plates.

Not the small ornamental ones those like De Guzmán and other nobles wore, but giant things meant to send a message, meant to impress. Meant to frighten.

And frighten they did—she had never seen the like. A man like this would barrel into you, and you would never stand back up. He would unsheathe the long sword hanging from his hip and run you through without a second thought. But it was his face that struck her the most.

A marquetry of animal and human bone pieces had been fitted into the shape of a mask that covered the upper half of his face, long fangs running down his cheeks.

Were he to smile wide, they would dig into his flesh.

But someone like this did not own that kind of smile.

Blond hair hung in long, loose waves around his face and down to his chest, seemingly snagging on the thorns and tiny spikes of the armor only to flow like water instead as he moved deeper into the room.

When she found his eyes through the two holes in the mask, she saw deep violet rings framing golden irises.

Death, here to claim her. This was no shriveled shell of a person too consumed with tasting death to live, as the scary tales described emissaries. This man was different . Magnificent. This man took her breath away and sent her heart tumbling inside her chest.

This man was worth serving gods.

His eyes widened the moment they fell on her, and she was glad she had caught the tiny movement in this controlled, self-assured man.

He had probably expected something else.

A grander presence. Not Azul del Arroyo, a nineteen-year-old countryface who couldn’t even fight with a rapier, because all she had been taught was how to use a dagger.

But Azul had met Death before. At the inn, at Agunción, at the docks of Diel. For Isadora, she would gather her courage and face it again.

“So, you’ve come to kill me,” she stated. She didn’t know what to focus on: the mask, the eyes, the hair. The spikes on the breastplate.

The emissary stared back, eyes unfathomable, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He made no movement, said nothing. He didn’t even seem to breathe.

Azul finally settled for looking into his eyes. “If so, go ahead and end this waiting. Leave this room with an innocent soul added to your collection of bones.”

His mouth lifted slightly on one side, and Azul knew she had said something wrong.

And still, he wouldn’t talk.

And still, she fought not to squirm under his stare.

She reached for the chair. A way to hide the increasing trembling of her limbs.

“Is it ‘killing’ when you can never escape Death?” the emissary asked. The voice fit the man: deep, not quite smooth; silk snagging on roughness, like his hair. It tumbled inside her head and crawled down her throat.

She turned slowly, dragging the chair between them. “It is when you deal it without reason.”

“I am Virel Enjul, Emissary of the Lord Death.” He lifted his hands.

Big, with long fingers ending in blunt nails blackened at the ends.

“My hands are his hands. My reasons, his reasons.” The mask’s fangs did dig into his skin when he smiled wide, a mocking slash in a pale face surrounded by white bone and golden threads of loose hair.

“The gods do not murder, Miss Del Arroyo. They impart divine will.”