The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 3
She gasped. Osani was silent? Had that ever happened to a Greatmask in the history of the city? “What does that mean for House Cavallo? For the city?”
“If the rumours are true, and Osani has stopped responding, then Cavallo will lose much of its standing. But what worries me, is that Anaskar will have but one Greatmask left to defend its people. Argeon.”
“You are its defender.”
He took both her hands in his own. The calluses from years of knife work were rough against her hands. “Not forever.”
Her shoulders slumped.
“I will help you, Petal. It will be difficult, but you must do this. With your mother gone and now your brother, we are the last of Falco House. You must take up Argeon and protect us. There is no-one else I can trust.”
His face was set and there was a note of worry to his voice.
Sofia bit her lip. There truly was no-one else. And Tantos would have taken her place, had their roles been reversed. Father needed her. The whole city needed her.
She would learn. She would bear the weight of the new role. Become Successor, then eventually Protector... She would be the first woman in a hundred years to do so. She would make him proud.
Sofia squeezed his hands. “I will do my best.”
“And I will be here for you.”
Chapter 4
A cruel wind played in the mountains, lashing at her robe where she stood with hands gripping the parapet, Pietta at her side.
How long before the city below would be hers to protect? Perched on the mountainous coast, steep peaks sheltered Anaskar on three sides where the city stepped down to the harbour, three tiers each with formidable walls.
Nestled behind the walls of the First Tier sat the palace, its carefully arranged grounds a home she’d left but rarely – the last time to stand before the ocean, clinging to Tantos as mother’s funeral pyre glowed on the horizon. In the Second Tier, a mixture of mansions, markets, shops, homes and gardens that even the palace folk sometimes visited. And finally, crammed behind and sometimes against the walls of the Lower Tier, warehouses, shipyards, slums and factories, from which grey lines of smoke climbed, and where the scurrying figures became antlike. The masts of dozens of ships, their sails rippling, were black against the sunset.
If she ran down and tried to book passage on one of the ships, would they allow her? A rueful smile for a child’s thought. No. Abandoning her father was no option.
Beside Sofia, Pietta put her back to the harbour, shielding her face from the sun and closing her eyes. They’d both been up since dawn trying to finish Sofia’s quota of masks. When her father woke her and explained she need not work, Sofia shook her head. “I want to. It will keep my mind busy.” Only it hadn’t. Images of Tantos, his dark hair slipping beneath choppy water, lurked behind her eyelids.
“Are you sure you can do it, Sofia?” Pietta asked.
“I have no choice.” She straightened. “Father believes I can.”
“I do too, Sofia.”
She smiled. “Then I’d better start training. Tantos was two years before he took the Mask, and another year before he came close to learning the role of Successor to Father’s satisfaction. I bet I’ll have to prove myself in less time.”
“Lord Danillo has high standards, doesn’t he?”
Sofia sighed. “He once had Tantos pronounce a word in Neutral Voice near to a hundred times before he was satisfied. I remember because I had to count.”
“And that’s something you’ll have to do, learn to speak that way? The same as all the other Mascare?” Pietta made a face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it. I never know who I’m speaking to.”
“That’s the whole point, Pietta.”
She frowned. “Won’t it be hard to disguise your voice? You’re a young woman and they’re men.”
“Very hard.”
“Oh.” She paused. “You know, I once saw one of them save a woman in the street from criminals. He was like a whirlwind of knives. Will they teach you to do that?”
“They’ll try.” Sofia shrugged. “But I think I’ll end up spying on visiting dignitaries. I’m hardly built like a soldier and father won’t risk the Successor.” She fell silent.
“At least wearing a Greatmask will be fun,” Pietta offered.
“I’m not sure of that. Argeon scares me.”
“But the Greatmasks are meant to protect us – aren’t they always watching, you know, if we’re attacked by the Medah or something? Aren’t they good?”
“Some legends say a Greatmask can wipe out entire battalions.” She gave a wry smile. “Doesn’t sound that good.”
“But they are, deep down, right?”
“Father used to tell Tantos that Argeon had a will, but that the wearer was the one who decided whether the mask was used for good or ill.”
An arch look, “Well, you can always have Captain Emilio protect you personally if you get into trouble.”
“Pietta!” Sofia blushed.
Someone cleared their throat.
Prince Oson leant against a stairwell wall, black hair caught in the wind. His thick cloak was thrown open and he toyed with a dagger. “Good evening to you both – though I regret to say, Pietta my dear, that you must leave us now.”
Pietta was caught with her mouth half open. She shut it and performed a deep curtsey before slipping away.
The Prince strolled over. “Ah, sweet Sofia, have you thought upon my offer?”
Not again. And not that honeyed tone. She suppressed a shudder, controlling her features. “I have.”
“And?” He placed the tip of the dagger against his chin.
“And I cannot accept, your Highness.”
“That is a... rash decision.” He took a deep breath, leaning close to whisper, breath hot on her ear. “Imagine, Sofia, if our houses were joined, what we could accomplish for the city. What prosperity, what safety.”
“That might be true, but we are not in love.”
“Couldn’t we be?” A slimy smile.
Polite but firm. “No, your Highness.”
Oson moved to the wall with a shake of his head. When he turned to her, his eyes were narrowed and his voice grown cold. His moods were fickle. Like a damned animal or a madman. “You will regret such a decision.”
She stepped back. “Your Highness?”
“I have heard your father’s pitiful idea, Carver.”
“What does that mean?”
He looked down on the city with a proprietary expression. “It means there’s no way I will accept you as my Protector, Falco. You’re simply not strong enough.” He met her eyes. “And not only because you’re a woman. Your whole family is withering.”
Sofia flushed but held her tongue. How quickly his contempt resurfaced. For years he’d ignored her, but recently, he’d begun to court her. All political manoeuvring. He’d certainly had little time for Tantos.
If she lashed out now, Falco would be ruined. “And has the king said he will not allow it? The Heads of the Houses?”
He snickered. “We all know where House Falco stands on the matter. Those Falcos which are left in any event. I understand your brother is now fish food?”
She clenched a fist behind her back. Driving a chisel into his throat wouldn’t fix anything. “Did you wish for something from me, your Highness? Because if not, I will be leaving.”
She made to sweep by, but he caught her arm. His fingers dug into her flesh. “Not yet you won’t.”
“Let me go.”
He shook her. “You will listen to me.”
Sofia broke his grip, breathing hard, but stood her ground. “Say what you have to say then.”
He sneered. “Very well. A warning then. Just remember, Mascare training can be especially... taxing.”
“What does that mean?”
He turned and headed for the stairwell. “My father has called the Heads of the Houses to meet. You’ll find out what it means then.”
Sofia glared at his back a moment, then slapped the parapet with a curse. What was he getting at? Did the king know what his son was doing? Likely not. More important, did Father know?
Sofia ran to a stairwell opposite and took the steps three at a time, a guiding hand held close to the wall. She only stopped when she reached her rooms, mumbling a greeting to the Shields and bursting inside.
Charging into the study, she slid to a halt.
Her father stood before the fire, his shadow large on the wall. He stared up at Argeon, lips moving soundlessly.
“Father.”
He turned to smile at her. “Sofia.”
“Is everything well with Argeon?”
“Yes. I was explaining that you and he were to speak.”
She shifted. “Now? Don’t we have to wait for the Successor’s Ceremony?”
“Soon.” He moved closer. “You are troubled.”
“Father, the Prince came to me earlier. He means to block us. He said the king was calling a meeting tonight.”
“Weasel.” Her father’s voice was hard. “Centuries of cooperation between the Houses, centuries of loyalty to the kingdom and now this upstart. I suspected he would try as much, but it is I who asked the king to call a meeting. He supports us, Sofia.”
He stroked her cheek and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Good. But there’s more.”
“Oh?”
“He asked again for me to consider the union of our Houses.”
“With your hand?”
She nodded.
“Never.”
Sofia hugged her father. Let the Prince think he could stop them. Falco was stronger than he knew.
***
Rain pattered against tall windows lining the throne room. House tapestries hung between patches of darkness, illuminated by lamplight. The proud yellow of Casa Falco hung across from the throne, as did the Stallion and Sea Turtle – though the King’s Swordfish dominated the entire back wall in a dark orange.
Each banner lay bold against dark stone. The few times Sofia visited the throne room they’d been part of the walls, nothing more. Now, seeing her falcon spearing the sky, it was as though the bird called to her. Its continued flight rested on her own as much as her father’s shoulders. Everything was different now.
King Otonos looked around the table. His dark eyes were sunken and his beard grey – he was so different from his sneering son. Oson took after the Queen, a sickly woman Sofia had rarely seen. “Let us proceed.” His voice had lost the boom that once startled her as a child. A pallor lurked beneath his tan.
Her father stood. He wore only his travel mask but his robes were those of his office, trimmed with silver. “Thank you, my King. I will be brief, as I believe my intention tonight is well known. In light of my son’s death I would offer my daughter, Sofia, as candidate to the role of Successor. His strength is her strength. She will serve Anaskar and its King well.”
From across the table, Oson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The two Mascare beside him were silent also. One would represent Cavallo, the Stallion, the other Tartaruga – the Turtle. All eyes rested on the king.
He leaned toward her. “Sofia, this is a grave responsibility. The guardianship of a Greatmask, of my family and our city, is nothing you can accept and then walk away from. You must be certain, above all else.”
She lifted her chin. “I am ready to learn, your Majesty.”
“A fine answer.” A smile flicked across his lips. “Know that I have no objections. I trust in your father and believe that you will become a fine Protector for my son.”
“Your Majesty, if I may?”
Sofia wasn’t sure which House the Mascare spoke for, but his voice was the same, unemotional tone his kind spoke with. Soon to be her kind.
The king waved a hand. “You may, Solicci.”
“I’ve no doubt Danillo’s daughter has merit, but it’s an unorthodox move which may cause her trouble. Regrettably, Sofia might face undue opposition from her fellow students.”
The other Mask murmured his agreement.
“It’s been over a hundred years since a woman took the robes, Father.” The Prince’s tone was entirely reasonable, moving into mock apology. “I fear the Mascare might take offence, but I say now that I suspect they would sooner accept Lord Hosan’s ridiculous notion of allowing common folk to enter training, before accepting a woman. Such is the state of things.”
Sofia clenched her hands together, keeping them beneath the table. Eels, the three of them. They were hardly concerned about her, and without use of Osani, Cavallo would find it difficult to put forth their own candidate. Not without first sullying her ability.
Her father offered no response, waiting for the king. Otonos glanced to the banners a moment. “That is worth considering. But as heads of your Houses, I’ve no doubt you will be able to adequately prepare your flocks. If there are no other speakers?” His expression did not encourage further discussion. The Prince straightened, but at a bare flick of movement from Solicci’s hand he was still. The king did not seem to notice, speaking to her father.
“Train her well, Danillo.”
“Of course, your majesty.”
“Now.” He spread his hands on the table. “To matters of an equally pressing nature. Renovar. What have you discovered?”
Her father answered, his voice even. To Sofia, there was a strain but his bearing was firm. “Storms have kept ships from returning even as near as the Far Islands, so I cannot confirm what is happening in Renovar at present. But the last report spoke of a powerful weapon, held by an ambitious new Conclave. It bears watching, and in fact, I maintain a full Quarter ought to be sent to Renovar.”
“A different Conclave? That is new,” the king said.
“Yes. Former leaders were replaced due to an ‘unpatriotic stance.’ If word of a weapon of power is true, then I wish to know more.”
“And I still disagree, my king,” Solicci said. “We cannot afford to waste time and risk the lives of four Mascare on a fishing expedition based on rumour alone. Or further, risk our standing with Renovar. They have long been among our closest trade partners. It’s unlikely they would become aggressors.”
“Ambassador Lallor remains evasive, Sire,” her father said. “He claims not to know of any changes in the Conclave, yet he is clearly concerned about his homeland. I see it in his eyes.”
Solicci shook his head. “The Ambassador has been in Anaskar for years – what would he know of any developments in regards to the Conclave?”
“Messenger birds do leave the city.”
Solicci snorted. “And few return in winter. Lallor’s fear is just that – fear. He has heard rumours and fears they will impact trade and so he talks them down.”
“Perhaps.”
The rest of the conversation washed over her as they began talking in circles.
Oson scowled at the tabletop, barely acknowledging questions directed his way. Sofia hid her grin. The prince wasn’t going to make anything easy for her, but she would be ready. She would carry the honour of her house.
Become Successor.
Chapter 5
Sofia sidestepped.
Her opponent’s wooden knife met air, stirring dust motes in the morning light. She snapped her hand over his extended wrist and twisted an arm behind his back, placing her own knife against his throat.
“Be still,” she told him between lungfulls of air. Sweat trickled down her throat. She was getting the hang of the footwork, but a handful of lessons didn’t make her a master. For an hour now they’d sparred in the training hall and she finally had the better of him – but was it enough?
“Stop.” Her instructors rose from their perches, red robes swirling as they crossed the floor.
She let Ritorio go. He snickered beneath his mask. “Whatever you say, Carver. No Falco, no woman, will get the better of Casa Cavallo.”
She’d never seen his face, but it would have been plastered with sneers. And that blasted voice, so smug. “Shut up.”
“You’re only here because your father’s Protector and your brother’s dead,” Ritorio hissed. Sofia squeezed the handle. If only it were steel.
Luciano placed his large frame between them. He glanced over his shoulder. “Leave.”
Ritorio bowed and scurried off.
“Sofia.” Luciano’s voice was heavy. “I saw your body language. You let him anger you. Remember, a Mascare is calm, he is the chill of steel. The whisper of night.”
“Or she.”
He shook his head and beside him, Uche waved his hands, a sigh in his voice. “In Neutral, Sofia. And with at least a modicum of respect.”
“I will control my temper.” She lowered her voice and kept it even. But it was nothing like the Neutral, plain voice everyone else used. She sounded like a young woman, only worse – a woman trying to conceal her gender. “It’s useless, Uche. Everyone knows who I am, and I can’t get the voice right. And even if I do, they’ll see my build.”
“You will not give up, however.”
Luciano stepped forward. “Enough. She will pass those tests as best she can. Let me finish. Sofia, again, your left hand, be mindful of it. Your aim remains shaky.”
“It’s so different without the proper feel of steel.”
“Granted, but that is not something you are ready for. You did well today, however.”
“Thank you for your trust, Dirratore Arms.”
“If I may?” Uche asked. Luciano stepped back so the poisons master could stand before her. He presented her with strapping to be worn beneath her robe. A linfa-belt, each slot contained a coloured vial. Poisons and powders to be used in shadow, where she would probably spend much of her life. As had father. “Borrow this and practise filing vials, according to potency and purpose, with your eyes closed. Feel the weight, the shape. You never know under what conditions you may need to access the vials.” He winked at her. “Just don’t let anyone but your father see you with it. A Novice ought not to carry the linfa.”
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