The Bone Palace - Amanda Downum [19]
“Savedra, darling.” Varis stood when she entered and held out a hand.
“Uncle Varis.” She hadn’t realized until she smiled just how unhappy her morning had been.
He was actually her mother’s cousin, but he’d been a familiar and cheering presence as she’d grown up. He’d soothed her adolescent awkwardness with shopping expeditions and visits from his tailors, and taught her to bury the gangly teenaged boy she despised under careful cosmetics and deportment. And, on rare occasions when she’d thought she would go mad, with subtle illusion charms. He had taken her away from the palace on Nikos’ wedding night and gotten her thoroughly drunk.
He took her hand, jeweled rings pressing against her skin. His cheeks creased with a smile that always looked like a smirk, no matter how sincere. He resembled none of her closer relatives, being slight and bird-boned, with startling pale eyes and translucent skin. He’d begun losing his hair before she was born, and made up for it by shaving his head; it set off the delicacy of his features. Malachite powder glittered on his eyelids, and he smelled of lime and lilac and white musk when she kissed his cheek.
He wore black, which meant he must have come from the Arcanost—sober colors were his only concession to Archlight’s dour ideas on fashion. Nothing else about the sculpture of layered velvet and leather that was his coat was reserved. Not that combining chartreuse and fuchsia was the worst of his scandals by far.
“You look tired, my dear,” he said as Savedra bent to kiss her mother. “Is that Alexios pet of yours keeping you up?”
“I keep him up, Uncle. I wouldn’t be much of a mistress if I didn’t.”
“Did you ever try that Iskari massage oil I recommended? I’ve had—”
“Varis.” Nadesda’s quiet reproving tone had worked on children and archons for thirty years. “Pretend for a moment that you have the decency not to corrupt my children. Or at least the tact not to do it while I’m in the room.”
“You know I was never any good at acting, Desda. A pity too—imagine Uncle Tselios’s reaction if I’d run off and joined the Orpheum Rhodon.”
“Hah!” Nadesda’s bright laugh was one of the rare unschooled expressions that no one outside of House Severos had ever seen. Garnets and marcasites glittered as she shook her head. “Too bad you never did. We didn’t outrage the old bastard nearly enough before he died.”
“Maybe it’s not too late. I could find a necromancer to summon him back.”
Nadesda reached for her teacup and stopped when she realized it was empty. “Sit down, Vedra. What’s the matter?”
Savedra drew up a chair and sat, envying as always her mother’s perfect posture. She ought to wear more corsets. “Can’t you guess?”
One eyebrow rose. “Something to do with the note I sent you?”
With perfect timing, a diffident knock fell on the door and a maid slipped in with a new tea tray. While she laid out the dishes, Savedra wondered if she ought to talk to her mother in private. Varis disdained politics, being more concerned with debauchery and thaumaturgy, but she didn’t precisely trust any member of her family with secrets. But, she decided, this was safe enough as far as intrigues went. He already knew about her arrangement with Nadesda.
When the maid had left and everyone had fresh tea—and Savedra had devoured a scone with undignified haste—Varis snapped his fingers. The orange padparadscha sapphire on his right hand sparkled with the motion and a hush filled the room like water, drowning the hiss of rain and crackle of the fire. Theatrics, for all he pretended not to be an actor. Any Severos could invoke the silence—the spell was bound into a marble ornament on the hearth—but there was no point in wasting a mage if you had one at hand.
After the silence deepened and scone and tea settled warm in her stomach, Savedra set her cup down. “Who sent the assassin, Mother?”
Varis’s eyebrows climbed. Nadesda cocked her head, tendrils of steam drifting around her face.