I’d had little comfort to offer. The remembrance of her grief and the weight of her head on my chest ached like old wounds, as I slipped on my mask, hopped over the wall, and hurried up the lane. A cloud of yellow smoke and frost haze masked the lower city.
I had not expected ever to walk this particular lane again. But a pureblood head of family had the authority to summon each of his children to the family home without specifying a reason. If I worked matters right with Claudio de Cartamandua, he would arrange my meeting with Max.
“Best run, pureblood,” snarled a woman who was skinning what appeared to be a cat. “Orange-heads drove out a number of your kind just yesterday. We’ll see purebloods plowin’ come spring. Your pretty fur cloaks’ll ne’er keep ye warm in the mud.”
A few others joined her taunts. For once I was happy to see armed warriors in Registry black and red patrolling the upper end of the lane. They rousted a few sleepers who had wandered too close, but did not challenge me as I strode past them to the iron gate with the bronze gryphon.
How truth can change everything. Unlike the last time Serena Fortuna had brought me to these gates, my gut did not seethe with fear and loathing, nor did my skin blanch at unwelcome memories. None of the past had been my fault. Claudio and Josefina de Cartamandua-Celestine were not my parents. As I touched the lock and assembled my favorite spell, it occurred to me for the first time that Claudio, not Max, was my brother—and only half a one at that. Laughing, I fed magic into my spell, and the familiar lock shattered in a fizz of gold sparks and twisted bronze. Then I yanked the bellpull to wake them up and walked in.
Chapter 19
Five heavily armed guards met me in the entry court, blocking the gap between the iron lampposts and the lily-shaped brazier dedicated to Deunor Lightbringer. Their challenge died upon their lips as I removed my mask. They could not fail to recognize me or recall the dread prince who owned my contract.
“Announce me to Eqastré Cartamandua-Celestine,” I said with true Aurellian arrogance, while gloating childishly inside at naming my erstwhile parent as an equal. Truly this pureblood lunacy brought out the worst in me.
I did not wait for their return. Rather I strolled into the columned reception room, where my family had sold me to Prince Osriel. Naught had changed there, from the richly colored floor mosaics that displayed the order of the planets to the marble statuary, gilt caskets, tapestries, and urns. For generations, pureblood families had profited from Navronne’s hunger for sorcery. My family had been particularly successful at it until I’d come along.
“…impossible! Where is this visitor?” Claudio strode into the room in the company of the guards, as well as two gentleman attendants of exceptionally sturdy physique. He halted when he caught sight of me. “Magrog’s teeth!”
“Patronn.” Maintaining protocol, I sank to one knee and touched my forehead with my gloved fingertips. His servants were present, and I was not yet ready to proclaim my true heritage. Proof of one member’s tainted blood would call into question the lineal purity of every member of the family. I could ruin this house by removing one of my gloves.
For fifteen years this stocky, black-haired man adorned in red and green velvets and a fox-lined pelisse had been the bane of my life, unrelenting in his despite, deliberate in his cruelty. For twelve years more, I had struggled to survive in alleyways and battlefields, choosing poverty, abasement, and danger in preference to his sovereignty and the life it prescribed. Today, as I rose from my brief genuflection, I looked Claudio de Cartamandua-Celestine in the eye and smiled.
His glare of malice shifted to uncertainty. His eyes narrowed, and his powerful fists began to quiver. “Insolent…”
Protocol forbade him to touch me. My contract permitted only Osriel to do that. I longed to tell Claudio I knew his dirty secrets, but what I needed today was for him to summon Max. In no wise could I expect willing cooperation, and it was not yet time for threats, which meant I had to proceed very carefully.
“Please do not trouble yourself with the conventions of refreshment or pleasantries, Patronn. I am here strictly on business, and must make speedy work of it. My royal master bids me—” I twirled a finger to indicate his retinue. “Ah, I really must present his request in private.”
Though he would clearly prefer to strangle me, Claudio motioned his attendants to the corners where they could not hear us, and then seated himself in a delicate armchair. He left me the choice to remain standing, drag another chair to his side, or sit on the floor—any one of which would be demeaning to a pureblood. As he intended. He was a bit discomfited when I chose to perch on a marble table a few steps away. My position only emphasized the difference in our height.
“You look well, Valen,” he said. “Does submission to the Bastard suit you, then?” Curiosity poked through his studied calm like a kitten’s sharp claws through silk.
“My master believes in strict discipline, as you warned me.” I folded my gloved hands in my lap. “And he has schooled me quickly in his requirements. Fortunately, he is pleased with my talents. So much so that he is interested in pursuing a contract with another of our family. In short, he desires a cartographer to map the new bounds of his kingdom. My difficulties with written language preclude such service, of course. But what prince would consider other than a Cartamandua to make him maps?”
“His kingdom? You’re saying Osriel the Bastard intends to claim the throne?” His dark eyes raked my face, hunting signs of the mockery and lies that had passed my lips far more often than serious discourse.
But thanks to this man, I was well practiced in deceit. I only smiled again and shrugged. “He has his plans. As you might imagine, I tried to divert his attention to other mapmakers, but he would have none. He bids me insist, and I do not disobey. I am to remind you that Evanore’s gold could ensure our family’s fortunes for decades to come.”
My father sprang from his seat, walked away a few steps, then spun to face me, calculating. “You cannot be serious.”
“I told him it must be Max or Phoebia, as Nilla and Thalassa have taken the Celestine bent instead of yours. Janus, of course, is out of the question. And you…well, you are head of family and could not possibly leave Palinur. My master will not be denied, Patronn.”
There passed a long silence. He chewed on his lip and did not take his eyes from me. I strove to remain neutral in expression.
He lowered his brows, pursed his lips, and glanced at me sidewise. “Phoebia has decent skills. Max’s are better, if he would only get off his horse and use them, but he is contracted to Prince Bayard.”
I swallowed my disgust at his connivance. “I need to speak with each of them, of course, to form a better estimate of their experience with such work and their degree of willingness to cooperate with a demanding master. Once my lord has my report, he will send Mardane Voushanti to negotiate terms. He doesn’t quite trust me to do that as yet.”
Yes, that last point made him relax a bit. That any master would trust me was the most difficult of all these matters for him to believe.
“Phoebia is easily available,” he said, “and Max…fortunately he is in the city just now. I can send an official summons as head of family, which requires no explanation to his master.” He rubbed his chin in a mockery of indecision. “But, of course, to release him from Prince Bayard’s contract…that would cost a great deal of money.”
Somewhere in our family veins must run a river of lies. Had Max not complained to me of how our family’s contract value had waned due to my rebellion and long disappearance, I would have believed his last concern.