Page 50 of Mistress of Bones

XXXIV

THE COUNT, ALWAYS

A YEAR AND A HALF EARLIER

“Congratulations on the promotion, Your Honor.”

De Anví turned to face Nereida de Guzmán.

She wore a short blue jacket, tight around her torso, and a set of lighter blue skirts flaring below her waist. Combs dripping with pearls kept her artfully arranged black strands away from her face.

The only sign of mourning was the dark red ribbon braided with a lock of hair, pinned to her shoulder by a brooch sporting her family’s coat of arms—a rose and a feather.

Nereida’s direct gaze met his, but he could not read it.

Once he thought he might be able to, but the knowledge had been taken away from him after she had become one of the queen’s lovers.

He hadn’t been able to regain it after the affair had ended, and the dark circles under her eyes and tightness of her mouth told him he wouldn’t for some time to come—he would not intrude while she mourned a sister on top of her queen.

“They are not needed, Sirese De Guzmán,” he said.

“I am not interested in the position, and shall refuse it.” His duty to the royals was finished.

All he wanted was solitude and the freedom to eventually pursue the woman in front of him, not the inconveniences that came with being second-in-command to the Golden Dogs.

De Losa was supposed to reap the rewards, not him. So where was she?

“I believe the regent was firm about his choice. He won’t take no for an answer,” Nereida said with some mockery, and in the time it took him to inhale the soft floral scent wafting from her, he could almost believe they were back in the Cienpuentes of a year ago, trading wit and honest thoughts about the world surrounding them as they whirled around glittering ballrooms. Then the moment ended, and she was back to her usual demeanor these days—wariness bordering on anger.

He mourned the loss of her once-joyful spirit, and he wondered how to coax it forth again. “De Fernán is firm about many things, and then he forgets them in a week.”

A flicker of a smile was his reward. “This is true. You do not wish to lead, then?”

“Lead my own life, yes. Lead others in theirs, not so much.”

“Ah,” exclaimed someone from afar, “just the two I hoped to meet!”

De Anví turned to see Sío de Guzmán advance through the small crowd gathered at De Nolo’s house.

Members of the court were not allowed grand entertainments during royal mourning, so instead, they held these small gatherings of fifty-some people.

Sometimes a hundred. Sometimes with music.

For art’s sake, of course, not entertainment.

And if someone then decided to dance, well, that couldn’t be helped, could it?

“Sío,” Nereida said, hands held tightly in front of her waist, knuckles white.

“Nereida, dearest, how lucky to find you here! But truly, not lucky at all,” Sío said with a wink, “since I specifically looked for you.”

De Anví frowned. He had met with Sío de Guzmán a couple of times in the past, but other than the panic he had shown on the night of his sister’s death, he had been of a reserved countenance, someone who would never act so carefree while mourning.

“Are you drunk?” Nereida asked in a tight voice. Her eyes sparkled with ire, but also with something akin to fear. She was coiled so tightly, De Anví moved to block them from the sight of the others in case she struck her sibling.

“Now, you know I don’t partake, dear.” Then, addressing De Anví, Sío added, “And you, De Anví, are you ready to accept the regent’s offer yet? Time is running out, you know. He will not wait forever. Do not make all my work go to naught. He was quite insistent on De Losa, I’ll have you know.”

Nereida looked sick. She withdrew a step, and De Anví put a hand against her lower back, worried she might actually faint.

“Nereida?” he asked in a low voice. He tasted her name like the delicacy it was—one he could not often partake of outside his private thoughts.

Her gaze wouldn’t leave her brother’s face, the rakish disheveled hair, the delicate lace mask covering the upper half of his face.

“Who are you?” she asked in a shaky voice.

Sío smiled wide. “Ah, I’ve been caught. I am the Conjurer of Dreams, my lovely. We’ve met before, you know, but never quite so officially. Isn’t this body great?” He twirled in front of their stares. “So beautiful, so vital! I do not think I shall grow tired of it.”

De Anví sucked in a breath. “Witch.”

“Get out of him,” Nereida demanded. “Leave him be!”

“Why?” the Witch asked. “So he can dwell on your sister’s death? Or do you think he might appear as if nothing is amiss, showing himself to these gatherings as you do?” She made a sound of disapproval. “What would your parents think? Even your older sister refuses to show herself!”

“Rot in the Void,” Nereida told him, livid. “Get out of him this instant.”

“Ah, but he signed a contract willingly. Who are you to tell him what to do with his life?”

Nereida’s left hand went to her hip, where her rapier usually hung. But there were no rapiers in a gathering such as this. Her hands balled into fists.

De Anví stepped forward, preventing any strike. “You can’t,” he told her in a harsh, hurried whisper. “Not while she’s taken over Sío.”

Any harm done to the body would be Sío de Guzmán’s to bear, not the Witch’s. Any injury, any illness. Death.

Nereida inhaled sharply, understanding his meaning. A look of shock and impotence crossed her furious eyes as she realized how neatly the Witch had played her.

But Nereida de Guzmán would not give up so easily.

“I will find out what you did to fool him into this mockery.” She spat on the floor by the Witch’s boots. “I won’t let him become one of your toys.”

She turned and charged across the room, narrowly avoiding some courtiers and shouldering aside those she didn’t.

“Make sure to visit me later,” the Witch called after her, another big grin on her face. “I can help you forget.”

De Anví grabbed the Witch’s arm. “What are you playing at, Witch?”

Her eyes brimmed with mischief. “Nothing of importance, De Anví. Now, say, when will you accept De Fernán’s offer?

The fun we had investigating the king’s foiled kidnapping!

The fun we shall have guarding him from now on!

I will be very disappointed if you’re thinking of refusing the post, you know.

Who knows what it will take to convince others to allow me to stick around?

I fear this body will wear down from all the effort.

And it would be such a shame for the De Guzmáns to lose another sibling so soon after losing the youngest. But with you by my side?

Why, I see nothing but health and success in all our fates. ”

De Anví stared in disbelief. “You truly have no shame.”

“That might be so, but trust me, it will be for the best. Who else but you could help keep an eye on the Heart and the king?”

Anyone else , De Anví thought. Anyone in the continents but him.

Yet looking at Sío de Guzmán’s body in front of him and looking at the door Nereida had gone through, he understood with grim acceptance that it would have to be him.

He would have to stay and watch over Sío’s body, for he didn’t think Nereida could make herself look at him.

Not as long as the Witch wore him like a costume.

And if Nereida did not look at the Witch, if De Anví turned down the post and left, what extremes would the Witch go to in order to be seen?

De Anví would not be the reason for another dead sibling in Nereida’s family tree.

Emiré de Anví fought the urge to reach up and touch his neck—the collar of everything he didn’t want had been snapped closed, and it was tight indeed.

THE PRESENT

De Anví and Nereida stepped out of the room, leaving Sío de Guzmán’s remains behind.

They took a hallway, then a staircase, and joined the crowds on the street.

The nearness of Nereida’s body prickled his skin, and the bloody bundle she carried somewhere under her waistcoat was nothing he wanted to dwell on.

But it was hard not to.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Nereida said, as if she read his thoughts.

And perhaps she could—it wasn’t as if he were being coy in the way his gaze kept returning to her waist, where her purse and pockets ought to be.

“You were always too polite to ask, too reserved. You never asked how Edine died, even though everyone else did. You simply gave me your condolences.”

“I asked Esparza.”

A giggle escaped her. De Anví’s steps faltered at the unfamiliar sound.

“He was drunk for three months straight afterward. He couldn’t have told you his name.” The strange hilarity in her voice subsided as she continued, “No, I cannot answer yet. You must continue extending this unfounded trust of yours.”

“Where shall we go, then?”

“To the woman I brought to Cienpé: Azul del Arroyo. Have you met her yet?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure, no. You sneaked in without my knowledge, how could I have known who you returned with?”

Nereida frowned slightly. “My apologies. I spoke without thought.”

“And where is she?”

“Esparza was to bring her to Casa Rojita after conducting some business.”

Ah, De Anví realized, the mysterious second arrangement Esparza had mentioned but withheld from him.

Picking their way through the crowd, they continued in silence, Nereida likely putting the final pieces of her plan into place.

De Anví simply relished the joy of walking close by her side.

The Witch’s revenge would be harsh and cruel—of this, he had no doubt—so he might as well enjoy the moment while it lasted, minus thoughts of bloody fingers.

Casa Rojita was unsurprisingly full of people, and a few extra tables and stools and benches had been dragged outside. Merriment was in the air, in the food, in the drinks. It filled their senses as they made their way to the guest rooms on the second and third floors.