Mistress of Bones by Maria Z. Medina - XXX. The Count, Once More

XXX
THE COUNT, ONCE MORE

A YEAR AND A HALF EARLIER
The shutters were open to the night air, the curtains drawn. De Anví and Esparza peered through the curtains, watching the building across the street and the second-floor passageway linking it to the next house. Underneath another bridge, a trio of men huddled around a shabby brazier—the only light in the street aside from Luck and Wonder, which were currently hiding behind a cluster of clouds.
Esparza, wearing an old blue doublet, rubbed his arms. “Tell me again, De Anví, why we must suffer not only in the dark but in the cold.”
De Anví didn’t bother to answer, his attention returning to the door of the building opposite. The Countess de Losa and part of the King’s Guard were waiting in another building up the street, ready to strike the main house, where the conspirators against the king hid. He and Esparza and a few City Guards had been pushed to the side to watch over this annex—a glorified servant’s door attached by the walkway—in case someone managed to escape.
He didn’t mind. He welcomed it, in fact. Let De Losa earn all the glory—he had no use for it. Once he was done with this mess, he’d go back to his family’s homestead in the countryside, where people meant what they said, and he would be left alone and at peace.
“You’re sure you found the queen’s blood? You’re sure it was there, in the crypt?” he asked, not for the first time. Asking settled the part of him that would not stop prodding his ribs. It worked for a few minutes, at least. “Did you take care to take one vial? We might need it to prove the child’s identity.”
“Two vials, resting there inside her stone casket, one now under lock and key. Did you know they put the old twin princes side by side? It’s amazing their caskets haven’t fallen off their ledge to get away from each other.” A shiver ran down his frame. “Come to think of it, perhaps the stories are true and their essences remain behind to keep torturing each other. And they put King Harea in his own niche. I suppose getting away with murdering all four of your older siblings ought to be rewarded in some way.”
“If you would like to ever collect your own reward,” De Anví told him in a cold voice befitting the chilly space, “perhaps you could be of help and pay attention to the outside.”
At the lack of response, he fixed his attention on Esparza. A small smile tugged on the man’s lips, and his hand toyed with the edge of the curtain.
Realization hit him. “Gods, you’re in love again.”
Esparza grinned wide. “You know me too well.”
“Put her out of your mind if only for a night, will you?”
The other man remained silent for a few moments, staring into the street without really seeing what was in front of him. “This time it might be fated.”
“Our saving the king?”
“Ná. True love, De Anví. True love!”
“You’ve claimed such before,” De Anví pointed out.
“Not like this, my friend. A kindred spirit at last.”
Or at least for the next few weeks, De Anví thought dryly.
“I finally understand what you find so compelling about De Guzmán,” Esparza said. De Anví gave him a sharp look, which Esparza met with a laugh. “I’m only interested in the younger sister, don’t worry. Although, perhaps you should. The queen has been dead for over six months. Make your move before someone else catches Nereida’s whim.”
De Anví’s heart made that strange leap it always did when he thought of Nereida. It sent heat through his veins and stabs of anxiety across his nerves. The worry, forever present in the back of his mind: that their courtship might never come to pass. “After the mourning,” he said. “It wouldn’t look right otherwise. You know some still think she’s behind Her Majesty’s death.”
“You worry too much about what others might think. She was her lover for a few months, not her spouse. Everyone knows she had nothing to gain by her death. Think of Countess Leonés. She didn’t care what others said when she took a new spouse three weeks after the old one ended up in the gutters.”
“It is not your place to question me,” De Anví reminded him. Esparza shrugged in a way that said he didn’t care about the warning but he did care about enraging those who gave him coin.
Esparza had it partly right. While De Anví did not care what others said of him, he would not put Nereida in such a position. She deserved his best, and for her sake, he would wait.
Esparza leaned closer into the window, his whisper urgent and sharp. “Someone comes.”
De Anví shook off the memories of his and Nereida’s last dance together, although he could not get rid of the lingering bitterness. How different things might’ve been if only he had spoken up. He rubbed his chest, but the searing regret did not abate.
“A carriage,” Esparza added in a lower voice.
De Anví heard it now, too, horses clopping on the flagstone. A simple covered cart appeared on the street, coming to a stop in front of the building. De Anví and Esparza tensed when two people alighted from the back and went to the door. It opened for them immediately, as if someone had also been keeping vigil.
The cart moved away, leaving the newcomers inside the house and the street deserted again.
“One of them carried a big bundle,” Esparza said.
“A toddler. The king?”
Esparza gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure?”
De Anví flexed his hands. “That was the plan, according to the Witch.”
“She also told us they would take him to the main house.”
De Anví tapped the wall with his boot, attempting to find the perfect combination of speed and solidity with each thunk and cursing himself for beginning its search. Tearing himself away from the encroaching fixation and hardening his will against the anxiety stopping would produce, he shoved the curtain open and stepped over the windowsill. “We’ve been played,” he snarled.
Alarmed, Esparza followed him through the opening. “The Witch lied to us?”
De Anví raised his hand and made a sign. One of the men huddled by the brazier under the bridge slipped away up the street. Trotting, Esparza and De Anví crossed the street and reached the narrow alleyway cornering the building.
“She’s playing one of her games,” De Anví whispered roughly.
“To what end?”
“To give me a present I do not want. She must’ve figured out De Losa is set to lead the charge on the main house and claim ownership of the plan’s success, so she maneuvered the traitors to make the king end up here, or gave us the wrong information so De Losa would be at the wrong spot instead of us.”
“Why not stop the ploy altogether? Why risk the king’s life?” Esparza snorted. “No, never mind. I already know the answer.”
Because the Witch didn’t care about who resided in the Heart. She only cared about schemes and how much joy they brought her.
Esparza’s hand landed on De Anví’s cloaked arm. “There’s someone else.”
De Anví followed his gaze. A man was darting out of another alleyway, looking around before crossing the street.
“Not one of mine,” Esparza added.
“Go deal with him,” De Anví ordered curtly.
“No need, he comes to us,” Esparza answered, going deeper into the alleyway and stopping by the far corner. He only had to wait a few moments before the newcomer hastened by the backstreet.
Esparza grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, twisting one arm behind his back.
“Wait,” De Anví said. He walked closer to the struggling pair. The darkness was nearly complete, but something about the man’s features felt familiar.
“Release me,” the man seethed. “On the order of the City Guard.”
“De Guzmán,” De Anví said in surprise, his hand stilling around the grip of Valiente.
Esparza stepped back instantly. De Guzmán spun and glared at them. “How dare you?”
“Mind your words with His Honor, the Count de Anví,” Esparza barked.
De Guzmán stiffened and lowered his head. “Your Honor.” His gaze flickered to the other man. “Esparza?”
“Why are you sneaking around?” Esparza asked, his tone low but menacing.
“I … Oh, you’re the reason, isn’t it?” De Guzmán turned angry. “She lied to me about Iriana, and she came to meet you, didn’t she? What have you dragged Edine into this time? Curse you—”
“Lower your voice,” De Anví snapped.
“Sorry, Your Honor,” De Guzmán said, immediately contrite.
Esparza took hold of De Guzmán’s doublet and pushed him against the wall again. “What do you mean about Edine?”
“She’s somewhere around here,” De Guzmán hissed. “Looking for you in the middle of the night, I bet. How dare you drag her into one of your schemes?”
Esparza’s hold loosened. “I have no meeting with Edine, De Guzmán. I am here with the count today. Where is she? What is she doing around here?”
De Guzmán’s shoulders crumpled, his anger vanishing. “Oh, damn, she was telling the truth.”
“Explain.”
“She’s convinced some dirty ploy is being done behind our sister’s back.”
De Anví was suddenly alert. “Your middle sister?”
“No, Iriana. Edine wanted to investigate some rumors. I’ve been trying to find her in this maze.” He hesitated. “Will you help me look for her?”
Esparza opened his mouth, but De Anví made a sound of warning.
More sounds came, different ones, from a distance: faraway shouts and the rumble of running.
Esparza cursed and pushed De Guzmán away. He glared at De Anví, as if seeking permission, but De Anví could not give it. Saving the king was more important than following his latest conquest.
“Go,” Esparza barked to De Guzmán. “Find Edine and take her away. I will find her later and we’ll sort this out.”
De Anví didn’t wait to see if De Guzmán did as he was told. He strode back to the main street and turned the corner. A second later, Esparza joined him, rapier in hand. Figures ran through the passageway above.
Ahead of them, the door of the house started to open. Esparza took two fast steps and kicked it the rest of the way. Cries rose, a scramble. Esparza produced a dagger in his free hand and went in.
“By the gods’ Anchor bones!” he exclaimed with savage relish, “I will make short work of you lot, for I’ve got someone waiting for me.”
Opening his cloak and unsheathing Valiente, De Anví followed.
THE PRESENT
No smile, no mischief, graced Nereida de Guzmán’s features when she appeared at the entrance of the small storage room. De Anví drank in the sight—the black hair artfully gathered in a braid around her head, the dark blue waistcoat, the embroidered cream-colored breeches, the polished ankle boots. She was the hardest, most bitter liquor he had ever tasted: burning all the way down to his chest, grabbing an instant hold of his mind. He didn’t move from his place by the lamp, his back against the wall, and he watched her gaze take in the room, take in the Witch sitting on a crate, then widen as it found him.
Nereida despised surprises as much as he did, and the tightening of her mouth told De Anví he would pay for this at some point. A price he was eager to pay for catching her fleeting, unguarded shock.
She had worn her expressions in the form of a mask for too long, and he was desperate to see it gone.
“My heart!” exclaimed the Faceless Witch, still wearing Sío de Guzmán. “What a surprise! Nereida de Guzmán, back in Cienpé.”
De Anví dragged his gaze to the Witch. Her expression—what he could see of it under the mask—appeared fascinated.
Nereida entered the room properly, stopping a few paces away. She wore no mask, her green eyes hard and cold in the lamplight. “Blessed night, Witch.” A slight nod toward De Anví. “Count de Anví.”
Call me Emiré, De Anví had wanted to ask in their last dance, before the queen interrupted it. He had never gotten his wish. Uncrossing his arms, he took a side step to stand by the Witch’s left shoulder. The move did not go unnoticed, and Nereida’s chin rose ever so slightly at the display.
“Last I heard,” said the Witch in a good-humored voice, “you were well on your way to Valanje. Did the envoy get turned around in the sea?”
“The envoy had no trouble getting passage across,” Nereida answered in clipped tones.
“Ah, Valanjian food, then. Was it not to your liking and you had no choice but to return?”
“The food was not a problem.”
The Witch let out a short laugh. “You missed me, then, is that it?”
De Anví felt a muscle in his jaw jump at the same time Nereida furrowed her nose with distaste. She recovered fast, smoothing her expression.
The Witch hopped off the crate and stretched her arms. “Or perhaps,” she said cunningly, “you’ve come back out of concern for De Anví’s attempted kidnapping?”
She gave De Anví a fast glance. “Kidnapping?”
Damn the Void if he wasn’t shocked at the hint of concern in her voice. Words left his throat before he could stop them. “It was nothing of concern.”
She remained silent, so the Witch spoke instead: “Did you at least gather what I need?”
De Anví had suspected that Nereida wasn’t in the envoy for the sake of the court’s interest in Valanjian dealings. Now he had his proof.
“I didn’t have the time, no.” Nereida took a step closer. Something morphed in her expression, in her posture. Her hatred for the Witch shone through.
The Witch huffed. “If concern for His Honor did not force your hand, and you didn’t bother with my inquiries, why are you here? We had a deal, did we not, Nereida de Guzmán?” She patted her chest. “Do you not care about your brother’s body any longer? I’d have thought you still did, having lost one sister already.”
Nereida smiled, a slow curving of her lips that sent De Anví’s heart pounding. This was his Nereida. The Nereida of the dances, the fearless sword fighter, the one whose eyes kindled and sparkled with all kinds of mischief.
He was back in the ballrooms, back in his dreams, back in his hopes. He was undone.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Nereida said, full of mockery. Her mask was gone, her feelings out in the world.
The Witch cocked her head. “Changed your mind? Well, you are young enough to think things can go as easily as that.”
Nereida looked at De Anví. “Will you stop me?”
Unnecessary question, for he would never. He thought of Esparza and his desperate wait for the Lord Death. Well, De Anví had always known he would win that race. “No.”
“Hold her for me, then.”
He grabbed the Witch’s arms, immobilizing them.
Stilling after an initial struggle, the Witch asked, “What’s this? A betrayal by my closest allies? I am impressed, it must be said.” She craned her neck to glance at De Anví. “You are aware of the consequences of this, yes?”
De Anví allowed nothing to show on his face. “Yes.”
Then Nereida brought out a dagger, and the Witch pressed into his chest. The renewed struggle didn’t last long, and her body relaxed. De Anví had no doubt that her infuriatingly smug smile was back on her face.
“Now, put that away, child,” the Witch said. “You want me to believe you’ll hurt your own brother?”
Nereida came closer, the smile broadening, the Witch stiffening. “Ah,” she said, “but you are not my brother, are you?”
She plunged the blade into the Witch’s gut, and De Anví felt the body jerk in his arms, felt his own limbs stiffen in response and sweat gather at the back of his neck. Disbelief and relief warred inside him—that she had dared, and that it was over.
“I wonder what happens now,” Nereida said smoothly, her hand pushing the dagger farther in. “Will you die along with your host, Witch?”
The Witch hissed, and her body went lax in De Anví’s arms. He grunted and lowered her to the floor, propping her back against the crate.
Blood pooled from the wound when Nereida yanked the blade out. She made no move to stop the flow, and neither did De Anví. He simply looked at her, waiting for a cue. Would she turn the dagger on him now? He almost welcomed it. A much better way to die than what lay in wait for him—one did not cross the Witch, and one did not get rid of the Witch quite so easily.
“Nereida?” The rough words came out of the injured body, laced with pain, with shock, with regret—and warmth. Feelings the Witch was incapable of.
The Witch was gone.
Nereida knelt by the man’s side and grasped his hand. “Si-so.”
Sío de Guzmán looked down, blinked, then looked back at her, at the bloody dagger abandoned to the side. “Someone stabbed me?”
“It’s only temporary,” she assured him, and for the first time, De Anví wondered if he had done right in helping her. There was no coming back from this type of wound.
“No,” De Guzmán pleaded. He coughed and blood spattered on the beautiful white cravat, the cream-and-gold waistcoat, chosen by the Witch, no doubt, to mock the count. “No, Nida, let me die here.”
Nereida’s grip tightened. “It sounds impossible, but I promise you, you will come back to me soon enough.”
“I don’t doubt you,” De Guzmán answered after another bloody cough. He grimaced in pain when he tried to sit straighter, his free hand pressing against the wound. “You and Edine—you always got what you went after. But not this time, Nida. Let me die, finally.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Nereida told him roughly. “The Witch won’t have the opportunity to get her claws into you again. We’ll leave, and she will never force you into being her toy again.”
“I wasn’t a toy.”
“Of course you were. She stole your conscience and your body just to play one of her games.”
“I was willing.”
“What?”
Her brother’s pained gaze sought hers. “I entered the contract willingly, Nida. The Witch didn’t force me.”
Nereida dropped his hand like it was a red-hot coal. Sío tried to take hers back, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Explain,” she demanded, her face taking on a deathly pallor.
“Understand me, Sister, I beg of you. I had to find a way to forget.”
“Forget? Forget Edine?” she asked in disbelief. “Why would you want that?”
“No!” he exclaimed, and spat more blood onto his waistcoat. “I would never want to forget Edine.” He straightened, his eyes bright with urgency. “Don’t you see? She died because of me. It was my fault. I knew where she was going that night, Nereida. She came to me, worried Iriana was involved in treason against the king. I stood by, too scared to act. I chose to believe she was imagining things, and then I was too late to find her. They cut her down not three streets from me, and I could’ve stopped them! I could’ve stopped them but…” He slumped back, the sudden burst of energy gone. “I did nothing, Nida. Nothing. I stood there, a coward. I did nothing. I didn’t even have the guts to face her body. I let Iriana deal with it all.”
“No.” Nereida wiped tears from her cheeks, leaving a smear of blood across her skin. “Be quiet!” she cried when Sío tried to speak again. “It was not your hand that killed her. You were being used yourself. It’s what you like doing best, isn’t it?” she asked with fury. “Being used by others? Iriana, the Guard, the Witch?” Her mouth compressed into a thin line. Then, “It ends now. Now you get to live and undo your wrongs. Not by being someone’s toy and forgetting, but by living on.”
She raised her dagger and stabbed him in the chest. A slight miscalculation, a crack of a rib. De Anví slapped a panicked hand on Sío’s mouth, muffling his scream. Then Nereida leaned into the hilt and slid the blade all the way into her brother’s heart.
Sío went limp, head lolling to the side. De Anví removed his hand and wiped the red palm on Sío’s shirtsleeve.
“Why?” Nereida said in a shaky voice. “Why are you here?”
De Anví looked at her bowed head, yearned to take her face in his hands and tilt it upward—the position did not suit her.
“Why?” she demanded again, this time looking at him. “Why would you help me like this? Do you enjoy being a murderer too?”
De Anví sat back on his heels. “I trust your judgment. Of all of Sancia, of all of Luciente, you’re the one I trust.”
“Why?” she shouted. “If you trust me so much, why wouldn’t you help me before I was forced to do all this?”
“I did help you,” he pointed out. “I kept an eye on him, did I not?”
“That’s not … Why? We have barely talked in over a year, and now … what? What would make you trust me like that? Are you so daft you cannot trust yourself and you need someone else to guide you through life on a leash? Do you think you know me so well from some worthless conversation and a few dances? How weak you are! You had no trouble letting me go to the queen; you had no trouble staying away. Is that what you enjoy? Watching, knowing you’ll never be good enough to partake?”
De Anví leaned over her brother’s body and took her shaking hands in his. His gaze held hers, his voice steady. “Do not doubt, Nereida. Whatever it is you came here to do, whatever it is that made you scare the Witch away and end your brother’s life, see it through.”
Her eyes were a kind of witchery in themselves, a raging storm one moment, a calm sea the next. The agitation in her face ebbed; her breathing eased. With her hands still within his grip, she took a few deep breaths.
The familiar sharpness returned an instant later.
“What did the Witch mean,” she asked, freeing her hands and standing, “by asking if you were aware of the consequences?”
De Anví straightened up along with her. “It has been in my mind for a while now, the possibility that she might use her dreams to gain the ability to harm her clients. The possibility for blackmail is too high to pass up.”
“You mean something like poison?” Nereida asked, taken aback. “You think using her dreams gives her the chance to poison you?”
“Careful, De Guzmán,” he chided her, “your worry for my person is showing.”
“Not worry, De Anví, only shock that you would be fool enough to take her dreams.”
De Anví went to the door and peered outside the room. “It was the only way I had to reach you.”
“Even after suspecting she might poison you?”
A shrug was his answer.
“But even then, why help me tonight,” she insisted, “if you suspected this might happen?”
He gave her a small half smile. “I wished to be of real help, for once.” Opening the door wider, he stepped outside into the corridor connecting the room with a high bridge between buildings. “Grab the lamp. It’s time for us to leave.”
Nereida didn’t move. “How long do you think you have?”
“I do not know, so we better go ahead with the rest of your plan before I am forced to pay my due.”
“If you insist,” she said, kneeling again by her brother and pulling her dagger out of his body. “But I can only hope your willingness to help will remain after what must be done.”
Then, to De Anví’s shock, she proceeded to dig the dagger into one of Sío de Guzmán’s fingers and make an awful mess of cutting it off.