Mask of Shadows (Untitled #1)(12)

I poured myself a cup—flowery and light, much softer on my tongue than I was used to—and ignored his questioning gaze. Observations, studying your mark, knowing when to make your move. Only difference between robbery and murder was what you stole.

“Tea’s too gentle,” Three muttered to Four. “You’d think if anyone deserved a pick-me-up, it’d be us.”

I grinned. The southwestern coast of Alona was famous for its stronger teas, and it was Rath’s one true indulgence.

Four shrugged. “Not enough of us here to warrant it.”

I pulled my plate toward me. The table was spread with enough food for an army troop. They’d laid it out to appeal to anyone, and everyone was taking advantage. Five drizzled oil over a piece of toast layered with tomatoes and minced garlic, and seven others followed his lead, reaching for the common breakfast of northerners. I’d never gotten a taste for tomatoes before noon.

But they had, and now I knew where they were from.

“Didn’t realize there was an us,” I said in Erlenian. The languages were so close they might as well have been the same except for a dozen handfuls of odd words and phrases. They had been the same once, but politics had pushed them apart. I dropped a piece of thin bread on my plate, drowned it in oil and garlic, and slid a tomato slice on top. Least I could save myself from the tasteless muck of tomatoes by adding garlic. “You’re awful chatty for someone in a competition to the death.”

I’d give them no hints about who I was or where I was from, not like the hints they were giving me. I’d no runes and no striking features, only warm umber skin and a handful of scars. I’d nothing left for them to take, no friends and no family, other than my place as Opal.

And it was mine.

Four offered me another tomato. “While the bells were a lovely touch, you’re too short to put any fear in me. Nothing personal.”

I speared the tomato with my knife.

“Three!”

We all turned to the door. Two glided into the room with her fists clenched and mask askew. She whispered to Three as they passed.

We sat in silence after that. Only the scrape of knives against plates and the rattle of spoons in cups broke the quiet. Five crunched his way through his toast, half-listening to Eight and Seven whispering back and forth. The split between Erlend and Alona had changed more than the languages. Five was the image of an arrogant northern lord, all splayed limbs and cocked head, taking up a good hand’s width of Two’s spot at the table.

Three returned, and Two knocked Five out of her space in her haste to pull out Three’s chair. Four left, returned, and then Five, Six, another and another. Each private meeting lasted long enough to let me settle before the red-collared servant shouted the next number. I twisted the ring round and round my finger, rubbing the sigil with my thumb, and breakfast rebelled in my stomach. Five had sword work callouses and a fancy gold necklace shoved under his collar. An apothecary sigil covered Eleven’s slender shoulder. Eight walked with the telltale gait of someone with a knife in his boot. But I was skilled and worrying wouldn’t help.

“Twenty-Three!”

I rose, rolling my shoulders back, and took long, steady strides to the door.

Let the audition begin.





Eight


Amethyst’s mask was lopsided when I entered, the dusky ribbons loose around her head and barely knotted. Emerald flicked her fingers to get my attention. I sat in the lone chair.

“I can see your first problem.” Emerald leaned across the couch and rested her chin on long crooked fingers. “You’re far too underfed.”

“Not uncommon for uninvited auditioners.” Ruby peered at me through his eyeless mask, and the sting of it burned the tips of my ears. Up close, I could tell there was a thin mesh—soft metal or cloth—painted to match the red covering where his eyes would be. He tilted his head to the side. “Twenty-Three, Sal, Sal, Sal, brought the hand of Grell da Sousa. Knife work was sloppy but willing to practice.”

Amethyst chuckled. “Grell da Sousa? The old street fighter in Kursk?”

“One and only.” I nodded, spreading out the hem of my dress so I was sitting like Emerald—taking up space and showing off what muscles I had but not splayed out like Five had been.

“What do you do?” Emerald studied my feet and worked her way up to my face. She corrected my posture till my spine was straight as hers. “You look like a runner.”

“Thief.” I stiffened. “Highway jobs, housebreaking, and some street fighting on the side.”

“I take it you’re one of those haunting the highways, terrorizing poor coaches, and stealing all our things.” Ruby crossed his legs and let out a soft laugh that made me think it wasn’t a question at all. He turned to the others. “They killed Grell with a pin.”

Emerald scoffed. “You killed him with a pin?”

“He marked his routes on wall maps and held them up with old hat pins. It was safer to get him near a map. He expected knives.” I shifted, the “they” hot in my ears. “And you can call me ‘she’ when I dress like this. I dress how I am.”

Which was fine by me. I wore a dress, and people treated me like a girl. I wore trousers and one of those floppy-collared men’s shirts, and they treated me like a boy. No annoying questions or fights over it.