Dust and Light by Carol Berg Read Free Book Online Page B

permitted.”
    Bastien burst into exuberant laughter, slapping his knees and shaking his head side to side. “Mother Samele’s tits! When I put in that bid five years ago, I’d have laid gold bricks to coffin nails I’d never see a pureblood sorcerer standing here in his silks and satins, ready to do my will—no matter he’s got a broom handle up his ass. Garibald and Constance say you must be the most incompetent spelltwister was ever delivered of woman. But you’re not, are you? You’ve a mot of skill in those hands. I can see that.”
    “I’m very— Yes. I certainly—” I stopped. Stupid to get flustered. Of course people would assume me of little worth. Sent to this awful place to fill a
five
-year-old bid.
Goddess Mother!
    I sucked in my pride and nodded. “The gods have indeed graced me with a strong bent for portraiture.”
    “Soon as you started talking of me owning your magic, you tucked those hands behind you. As if to keep them safe. As if to keep their best work for yourself.” A frown wiped away his glee. “But you can’t do that, neither, can you? No matter that these Registry folk sent you here, where you’d rather not be.”
    I tried to ignore the speculation in his tone. “You will always receive my best work.”
    “Good to get that straight.” He folded his meaty arms across his chest. “Now
take off
that mask and say it again. I like to see who’s I’m having a converse with.”
    We were alone. I slipped off the bit of silk and tucked it into my belt.
    “I am a competent portraitist, Master Bastien. Some judge me better than that.” My voice remained cool and empty; gods reward my parents for insisting on constant practice of personal discipline! “My family’shonor and my own ensure that my contracted master will ever see the best work I can produce.”
    “All right, then. Good.” He tilted his head, squinting fiercely. “Why wouldn’t you before? The mask, I mean. Thought we might have to bust fists about that.”
    Every day of my life had prepared me to submit to a contracted master, and ninety-nine out of every hundred masters were ordinaries. Even so, pureblood protocols were not common knowledge among them. One could not bristle at every order just because this man was so
very
common. And fierce. And hard. Gods save me from ever needing to
bust fists
with him.
    “We were not alone before. We are permitted to remove our masks when in the presence of our contracted masters or mistresses, but not when in the presence of . . . others.”
    “Other of us ungifted folk, you mean.”
    I inclined my head. A gesture left the answer less stark. I’d no wish to demean him or his associates.
    “Hmmph. And if I was to say you need it off when performing your duties?”
    It would likely be a mistake to remind him that my wearing the mask would proclaim to all that he now had a pureblood bound to his service. He was in no way stupid.
    “If such an exemption is written into the contract, then of course removing the mask would be permissible. If not, you may apply to the Registry for such a release.”
    “I’ll think on it.” He sprang to his feet. “Come. Let’s see what you can do.”
    Bastien rummaged in his book press, then proffered a few worn scraps of parchment and a stick of plummet. “These’ll do for now. We needs must find Garibald. Doubt you can do aught with the folks I was examining when you arrived.”
    Parsing this last comment did naught for my belly.
Dead-pits
, he’d said
.
Five-year stew
. Purebloods were laid in family tombs, but ordinaries buried in old cities like Palinur were oft dug up and their burial ground reused. The remains were boiled to clean the bones. . . .
    Banishing that vile imagining, I slipped on my mask, clutched the supplies, and trailed after Bastien. The wild hair left his age uncertain, but he moved like a taut spring and his eye displayed the clarity and ambition ofyounger men. My inner eye—my bent that could create his