She thanked him with another curtsy. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”
“As do I.” Leato helped her into the sedan chair and closed the door once her skirts were safely out of the way.
As the bearers headed for the narrow exit from the square, Renata drew the curtains shut. Traementis Manor was in the Pearls, a cluster of islets strung along the Upper Bank of the River Dežera. The river here ran pure and clear thanks to the numinat that protected the East Channel, and the narrow streets and bridges were clean; whichever families held the charters to keep the streets clear of refuse wouldn’t dream of letting it accumulate near the houses of the rich and powerful.
But the rocky wedge that broke the Dežera into east and west channels was a different matter. For all that it held two of Nadežra’s major institutions—the Charterhouse in Dawngate, which was the seat of government, and the Aerie in Duskgate, home to the Vigil, which maintained order—the Old Island was also crowded with the poor and the shabby-genteel. Anyone riding in a sedan chair was just asking for beggars to crowd at their windows.
Which still made it better than half of the Lower Bank, where a sedan chair risked being knocked to the ground and the passenger robbed.
Luckily, her rented house was on Isla Prišta in Westbridge—technically on the Lower Bank, and far from a fashionable district, but it was a respectable neighborhood on the rise. In fact, the buildings on the Via Brelkoja were so newly renovated the mortar hadn’t had time to moss over in the damp air. The freshly painted door to number four opened just as Renata’s foot touched the first step.
Tess made a severe-looking sight in the crisp grey-and-white surcoat and underskirt of a Nadežran housemaid, but her copper Ganllechyn curls and freckles were a warm beacon welcoming Renata home. She bobbed a curtsy and murmured a lilting “alta” as Renata passed across the threshold, accepting the gloves and purse Renata held out.
“Downstairs,” Ren murmured as the door snicked shut, sinking them into the dimness of the front hall.
Tess nodded, swallowing her question before she could speak it. Together they headed into the half-sunken chambers of the cellar, which held the service rooms. Only once they were safely in the kitchen did Tess say, “Well? How did it go?”
Ren let her posture drop and her voice relax into the throaty tones of her natural accent. “For me, as well as I could hope. Donaia refused reconciliation out of hand—”
“Thank the Mother,” Tess breathed. If Donaia contacted Letilia, their entire plan would fall apart before it started.
Ren nodded. “Faced with the prospect of talking to her former sister-in-law, she barely even noticed me getting my foot in the door.”
“That’s a start, then. Here, off with this, and wrap up before you take a chill.” Tess passed Ren a thick cloak of rough-spun wool lined with raw fleece, then turned her around like a dressmaker’s doll so she could remove the beautifully embroidered surcoat.
“I saw the sedan chair,” Tess said as she tugged at the side ties. “You didn’t take that all the way from Isla Traementis, did you? If you’re going to be riding about in chairs, I’ll have to revise the budget. And here I’d had my eye on a lovely bit of lace at the remnants stall.” Tess sighed mournfully, like she was saying farewell to a sweetheart. “I’ll just have to tat some myself.”
“In your endless spare time?” Ren said sardonically. The surcoat came loose, and she swung the cloak around her shoulders in its place. “Anyway, the son paid for the chair.” She dropped onto the kitchen bench and eased her shoes off with a silent curse. Fashionable shoes were not comfortable. The hardest part of this con was going to be pretending her feet didn’t hurt all day long.
Although choking down coffee ran a close second.
“Did he, now?” Tess settled on the bench next to Ren, close enough that they could share warmth beneath the cloak. Apart from the kitchen and the front salon, protective sheets still covered the furniture in every other room. The hearths were cold, their meals were simple, and they slept together on a kitchen floor pallet so they would only have to heat one room of the house.
Because she was not Alta Renata Viraudax, daughter of Letilia Traementis. She was Arenza Lenskaya, half-Vraszenian river rat, and even with a forged letter of credit to help, pretending to be a Seterin noblewoman wasn’t cheap.
Pulling out a thumbnail blade, Tess began ripping the seams of Ren’s beautiful surcoat, preparatory to alteration. “Was it just idle flirtation?”
The speculative uptick in Tess’s question said she didn’t believe any flirtation Ren encountered was idle. But whether Leato’s flirtation had been idle or not, Ren had lines she would not cross, and whoring herself out was one of them.
It would have been the easier route. Dress herself up fine enough to catch the eye of some delta gentry son, or even a noble, and marry her way into money. She wouldn’t be the first person in Nadežra to do it.
But she’d spent five years in Ganllech—five years as a maid under Letilia’s thumb, listening to her complain about her dreadful family and how much she dreamed of life in Seteris, the promised land she’d never managed to reach. So when Ren and Tess found themselves back in Nadežra, Ren had been resolved. No whoring, and no killing. Instead she set her sights on a higher target: use what she’d learned to gain acceptance into House Traementis as their long-lost kin… with all the wealth and social benefit that brought.
“Leato is friendly,” she allowed, picking up the far end of the dress and starting on the seam with her own knife. Tess didn’t trust her to sew anything more complicated than a hem, but ripping stitches? That, she was qualified for. “And he helped shame Donaia into agreeing to see me again. But she is every bit as bad as Letilia claimed. You should have seen what she wore. Ratty old clothes, covered in dog hair. Like it’s a moral flaw to let a single centira slip through her fingers.”
“But the son isn’t so bad?” Tess rocked on the bench, nudging Ren’s hip with her own. “Maybe he’s a bastard.”
Ren snorted. “Not likely. Donaia would give him the moon if he asked, and he looks as Traementis as I.” Only he didn’t need makeup to achieve the effect.
Her hands trembled as she worked. Those five years in Ganllech were also five years out of practice. And all her previous cons had been short touches—never anything on this scale. When she got caught before, the hawks slung her in jail for a few days.
If she got caught now, impersonating a noblewoman…
Tess laid a hand over Ren’s, stopping her before she could nick herself with the knife. “It’s never too late to do something else.”
Ren managed a smile. “Buy piles of fabric, then run away and set up as dressmakers? You, anyway. I would be your tailor’s dummy.”
“You’d model and sell them,” Tess said stoutly. “If you want.”
Tess would be happy in that life. But Ren wanted more.
This city owed her more. It had taken everything: her mother, her childhood, Sedge. The rich cuffs of Nadežra got whatever they wanted, then squabbled over what their rivals had, grinding everyone else underfoot. In all her days among the Fingers, Ren had never been able to take more than the smallest shreds from the hems of their cloaks.