Page 80 of The Mercy Makers
“The masks are still quite a novelty, to me,” she tells him, glancing up at his approving nod.
“Ager mé Aialen,” Amaranth says. “The young one. Those were all diamonds.”
Diaa sighs sharply. “She dislikes that it wasn’t she on the wedding seat.”
Lyric grimaces, and Iriset nods. Jealousy was correct—and possibly a motive for murder.
“Is she on your list?” Lyric asks his sister, who answers no.
“Ager would need an ally with better access. Maybe one of her parents, though. But I think the woman in the half-mask was Naira mé Rinore.”
“Yes,” Diaa agrees. “Naira had it designed to connect with her sister’s mask.”
Iriset has heard that name. “Does she have reason to dislike me?”
“She was vociferously against your marriage,” Amaranth drawls.
“Oh Holy Silence,” Diaa says dismissively. “Naira would never stoop to something so vulgar as murder. And in such a sloppy way!”
Amaranth laughs with what sounds like true delight. “An excellent defense of your old crony, Mother.”
Diaa purses her lips. “May I summon our meal now, or will there be more unappetizing talk?”
“One thing, please, Your Glory.” It’s easy for Iriset to let her face fall into sorrow as she stares at the half-filled cup of wine before her. “Ambassador Erxan. Is he… his body…?”
“It’s being treated in the Ceres traditions,” Lyric says gently, touching her knuckles. He slides his fingers along hers to link them. “With help from the attendants you and he brought with you. We’ll send him home properly.”
“Did you determine how he died?” Diaa asks. “Non-miran are so susceptible to poison.”
“Heart attack,” Amaranth says. “No sign of poison, either mundane or architectural.”
Iriset squeezes her eyes shut. “May I have a moment with him before he goes? There are… prayers I would make.”
“Of course.” Lyric lifts Iriset’s hand and places it near her wine cup.
With a very slight smile, she takes his advice and drinks it. The first chance she gets, she’ll corner Amaranth alone and make her explain more about this investigation. Demand names. Who to look out for, the security measures they’re taking—surely they’ll give her a taster or something annoying, or extra Seal guards.
“Mother?” Lyric says.
Diaa sighs and claps her hands, summoning attendants with their meal.
For the rest of the evening, Iriset quietly listens to the conversation—mostly directed by Amaranth—absorbing the talk without participating. Topics range from the usual mirané gossip to troop movements at the Bow border. The latter Lyric shies away from, claiming it’s business for after the Days of Mercy, to be discussed with General Bey and his miran, not at dinner the night after his marriage. Diaa and Amaranth share a look that clearly says they’ll speak of it alone later since he refuses. Lyric says if they wish to discuss martial concerns, better to spend it speculating on where the rebels in the Rivermouth district are getting their money. It can’t all be traced to the undermarket, especially given the recent abrupt changes to that undermarket. Which suggests they have a patron wealthy enough to hide the losses or scheming enough to wash it. Diaa makes an offhand comment about tax credits for the barges moving through that district, which begins an involved argument about repairs to the Crimson Canyon, necessary before the autumn rains, and designing a new channel for balance in the south. Lyric is interested in a proposal from the Third School that balance might be achieved with a suspension bridge instead of a channel, if the bridge is designed precisely.
(“Aren’t they all designed precisely,” Amaranth drawls, rolling her eyes briefly to Iriset.)
Iriset, frustrated she can’t make her valuable architectural opinions known, stares hard at her pumpkinseed cake, glad there’s no need to grow used to a life cloistered by ignorance in return for good sex. There are two days until her father’s execution and then she’ll be gone, too.
Thinking of leaving, though, makes her stomach twist.Because her pulse beats in time with her husband’s. Itfeelsas though she belongs here.
When it’s finally time to depart, she tries to maneuver herself alone with Amaranth, but Her Glory maneuvers against it, denying Iriset a private word, so she retires with her husband without the chance to interrogate Amaranth.
When they reach their greeting room, Iriset dismisses the waiting attendants. She can tend to her husband, she says quietly, and should while the binding sets. Her encouraging smile draws complicit smiles from the attendants.
“Do you mind if I work for a little while?” Lyric asks when they’re alone.
She does mind, but supposes she can’t, and nods her reassurance before drifting into the bathroom. There’s no way to sneak out alone to look at her array, so she might as well take advantage of this magnificent pool for a no-crying soak.
Unfortunately, she wakes up with water in her nose, coughing painfully from having slipped under the water as she dozed. It ends her bath on a sour note, and so Iriset is cranky when she walks into the half-circle study.
