CHAPTER SIX
L in was already in a bad mood.
The moment the carriage Antonetta had sent for her had swept up to the front of House Alleyne, it had been surrounded by torch-bearing footmen, all in rose and gold. They had been so eager to help her out of the carriage and light her way to the party that she had become flustered and left Mariam’s shawl behind, doubtless shoved halfway down the back of the carriage seat.
She hadn’t even noticed until she’d entered the ballroom and seen the eyes of the nobles thronging the place turn toward her. Their gazes were half hunger, half consideration, like the stares of vultures wondering if a bit of carrion was dead enough to eat.
She recognized only a few among them—Joss Falconet, sharp-featured and handsome, was in conversation with Lupin Montfaucon and a young woman in a purple dress. Montfaucon looked vexed. Lady Alleyne, Antonetta’s mother, was laughing with a thick-necked man wearing a gaudy pendant on a chain. Lin narrowed her eyes; that pendant was very interesting. Very interesting indeed, but at that moment, the man turned away, and she could no longer glimpse it.
Meanwhile, there were three people that Lin did not see. The Prince. Kel. And, most surprisingly, Antonetta.
It was Antonetta who had asked her to come, Lin thought, so the first reasonable thing to do would be to find her. She put her chin in the air and strode through the ballroom, aware at every moment that most of her back was bared to view.
She was halfway across the room when she saw Kel, leaning against a raised wooden stage. On the stage were Merren, Ji-An, and Jerrod, awkwardly clutching musical instruments. Lin had just stopped to stare—she couldn’t help it—when she heard her name hissed in a low voice.
“Lin. Lin. It’s me.”
She turned, searching the crowd. Nobody she knew seemed within earshot. Joss Falconet, his black eyes gleaming, winked at her, but he was too far away, and besides, the voice had been female.
“ Lin. Behind the curtain.”
Lin whirled. “Antonetta?” Behind her, a heavy ivory curtain against the wall rustled as if in a stiff wind. Lin gave a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching before ducking behind it.
She felt faintly ridiculous, but there was more room behind the curtain than she would have guessed. It hung stiffly away from the wall, creating a narrow tunnel between the heavy fabric and the patterned silk wallpaper. Halfway through the tunnel was Antonetta, her back to the wall. She wore a dress of a deep rose silk, so close-fitted that it made Lin feel positively modest by comparison. A net of diamonds held back her hair, and around her throat was a choker of rubies, dripping gold chains that connected to a gold belt around her waist, effectively enclosing her upper body in a sort of glittering cage.
“What are you doing ?” Lin whispered, edging nearer. She was positive their slippers must be visible under the hem of the curtain. “This is your engagement party!”
“Well, I don’t want to be at it,” Antonetta said rebelliously. “I hate him, Lin.” Lin didn’t have to ask who she meant. “Gremont’s horrible. He smacked Magali—she’s off somewhere crying—he flirts with my mother, and he kicked Puggles.”
“Puggles?”
“The stable cat at Marivent.” Antonetta shook her head, making the diamonds in her hair glint like raindrops.
“Still, you can’t hide here all night,” Lin pointed out.
“I know. My mother’s already searching for me. Pecking about like a bird looking for a delicious bug.” Antonetta looked gloomy. “If I have to marry Gremont, I have to marry him. But it’s too much to expect me to put on this show of being happy about it. In front of—in front of everybody.”
Everybody? Lin wondered. She was fairly sure Antonetta had been about to say a specific name before she’d caught herself.
“He talks to me as though I were a child,” Antonetta went on. “And the way he looks at me—ugh!” She shuddered. “He brought this necklace for me from Taprobana. Insisted I wear it. I think it looks like a slit throat, don’t you?”
“I think,” said Lin, “that if you don’t want to marry him, you have to tell your mother now.”
Antonetta exhaled. “She won’t change her mind. He’s already promised that he’ll give her at least a dozen of his tea plantations to turn over to silk production. It will mean thousands of extra crowns in the coffers of the silk Charter. I can’t imagine what anyone else could offer that would compare.”
Lady Alleyne is selling her daughter, Lin thought in disgust. “But surely if she knew how miserable you were, she’d change her plan—”
“She wouldn’t. Besides, it may have begun as her plan, but I have my plans, too.” For a moment, Antonetta’s eyes glittered like a cat’s. “But Gremont is trying to change the game.”
Lin was bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” Antonetta shook her head. “Do you have anything with you that might calm me down?”
“Oh—I didn’t bring my satchel. And honestly, I wouldn’t recommend anything stronger than a glass of wine. Stay here; I’ll fetch you one.”
Sneaking back into the party was easier than creeping behind the curtain had been. Peering out from her hiding place, Lin saw that everyone was staring toward the musicians on the stage. She took advantage of their distraction to slip back into the party and saunter toward a servant holding a tray of delicate glasses, each half filled with pale-red liquid.
She’d just taken one when a voice behind her said, “Fancy meeting you again.”
She turned to see a familiar young man. Dark-red hair, black eyes. A bitter turn to the corner of his mouth.
“Ciprian Cabrol,” Lin said. It was Ciprian whom she’d overheard planning to blow up the Roverge ship in the harbor; it was thanks to him she’d been able to convince the Sault that she was, in fact, the Goddess—for had she not predicted the fire, the explosion? Had the flame not seemed to come at her bidding?
Not that there was any reason for him ever to know that.
“How interesting,” he said. “When we first met, I did not realize who you were—the granddaughter of Bensimon. You did not let on.”
“It did not seem relevant at the time. And considering where we both were...” In the Ragpicker King’s mansion. Him seeking explosive black powder; her, illegal magic.
“Indeed,” he said. “A secret we must both keep.”
“I suppose I should at least congratulate you,” she said. “You hold the dye Charter now. You have what you wanted.”
He looked at her narrowly, and she realized that, though he hid it well, he was quite drunk. “Just what I wanted,” he said, “but not in the way I wanted it. I always thought that living on the Hill would be freedom, but it is its own sort of prison. Once they get their claws in you, they never stop squeezing.”
She blinked at him. “Who? The Charter Families?”
But Cabrol did not answer. He shook his head as if to clear it and wandered off back into the crowd, moving carefully.
Very strange, Lin thought, and turned, meaning to return to the curtain and Antonetta. But she had not looked behind her; she stumbled into someone immediately, spilling the contents of her wineglass all over the front of a fine silk shirt.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh—I’m so sorry—I—”
“What an interesting way to greet your Prince, Lin Caster,” said a horribly familiar voice.
Whatever words she’d meant to follow her apology died before she could speak them. She looked up into a pair of cold gray eyes, her heart sinking.
It was Prince Conor.
Later, Kel would recall having rushed up to the stage in the Alleyne ballroom in a panic, though in fact he had done his best to saunter aimlessly across the room, attracting little attention. He snatched a glass of green wine from the statue of Turan on the way, admired a few of the draperies, then slid up to the edge of the stage.
“Merren,” he hissed. “ Merren. What are you doing ?”
Merren jumped. Clearly he hadn’t noticed Kel approaching; he’d been too engaged in playing about with his lior. At least it was no longer making horrible noises. As a result, the assembled nobility had lost interest in whatever was happening on stage and returned to their drinking and amusements.
Merren knelt, making a show of fiddling with the instrument. Kel saw Ji-An and Jerrod glance over at him; Jerrod wore a hooded tunic of gold linen that half hid his silvery mask. Ji-An, in a jacket and trousers of rose silk, went back to industriously examining her viol.
Merren kept his eyes on the lior as he replied. “What if I told you we were trying to make a few extra crowns on the side?”
“Andreyen pays that badly?” Kel snorted. “I wouldn’t believe you, and you know it.”
“We wanted to clap eyes on the mysterious Magali,” Merren admitted. “Make sure she’s the same person Jerrod knows from the Maze. Since there’s a Magali that works for the Alleynes, it made sense that she’d be here tonight.” He peered into the crowd. “Have you seen her?”
Kel looked upon him darkly. “Aren’t the agents of the Ragpicker King not supposed to be active on the Hill?”
“Andreyen didn’t ask us to be here,” Merren said, his pale-gold hair falling into his face. He pushed it back. “It’s a fact-finding mission, that’s all.”
“Well, I haven’t seen her,” Kel said. “Where Antonetta goes, Magali usually follows, but I haven’t seen Antonetta, either. You know who I have seen? Artal Gremont.”
Merren still didn’t look at Kel, but his lior gave off an agonized twang as he fumbled at it. “He won’t recognize me,” he said. “It’s been too long. I think he only saw me once, anyway, out the window of a carriage.”
“Still, being in the same place with him, are you sure—”
Jerrod interrupted. “If you are looking for Demoselle Alleyne,” he said, “she is behind that curtain.”
He pointed toward a curtain of ruched ivory silk that hung against a nearby wall; Kel suspected it concealed an exit from the ballroom. He frowned at Jerrod.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite. She’s been there for a while,” Jerrod said, though he was looking not at Kel but at Merren’s bent head.
Kel considered arguing, but there seemed no point. He’d already been up at the stage for too long; he would soon draw curious eyes. Also, Jerrod was notoriously stubborn, and it wasn’t as if Kel was going to be able to convince the three of them to abort their mission at this stage.
Besides, Kel admitted to himself as he walked away, his interest in Antonetta was stronger than his suspicion that Jerrod, Ji-An, and Merren were looking for trouble. He placed his still-full wineglass on an ormolu table and—with a quick look around to make sure no one was watching—ducked behind the ruched curtain.
He did not see her at first—the curtain was thick, the light dim—but he smelled her perfume. Lavender and honey. He pushed deeper into the tunnel between the curtain and the wall and there she was, turning to look at him, her eyes widening.
“Oh,” she said, pitching her voice low. “I thought you were Lin.” She frowned. “What are you doing back here?”
For a moment, Kel couldn’t speak. The way she looked seemed to cut at him like a blade. She wore the deep rose of the Alleyne family—a close-cut dress that held her body like a lover’s hands. Over her hair was a shimmering gold net threaded with diamonds, and the pupils of her eyes had been turned to diamonds by posy-drops. Around her throat was clasped a gold collier set with rubies and trailing gold chains hooked to a belt around her waist. It looked to Kel as if the chains were meant to skim the curves of her breasts where they rose above the neckline of her silk dress. He could not help but imagine her naked, rising from her bath wearing only the ruby-dripping collar, like the Goddess Cerra rising from the sea to seduce Aigon, God of waters.
“I said, ” Antonetta whispered, “what are you doing back here? Did Lin tell you where to find me?”
“I haven’t even seen her,” said Kel, glad for the dimness of the enclosed space. He hoped it hid his expression. “And I could ask you the same. I’m sure you’re supposed to be attending this party in a more... visible capacity.”
She glared at him.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You’d resigned yourself to marrying Gremont. But now that he’s here, you’ve had to face how horrible he really is. Sadly, you can’t spend the rest of your married life hiding behind this curtain.”
“Don’t be so sure. It’s a very nice curtain.”
“Antonetta—”
“Shh.” She put her finger to her lips, painted carmine pink. “Be quiet. ”
Kel lowered his voice, which made her lean in closer to hear him. He breathed in lavender honey. “Ana. You say you have to marry Gremont. You say you have no choice about it. But I know you, ” he said with an almost savage force. “You have spent the last ten years lying with your smiles. With your every breath. What prevents you from pretending now? Why are you hiding? You’ve never hidden from anything.”
For a moment, her diamond-pupiled eyes seemed to glitter. “You can be cruel, Kel Anjuman.”
“Not like Gremont.”
“You really want to know?” She hissed the words between her teeth. “Even though there’s nothing— nothing —you can do about it?”
“Yes,” Kel said. “Tell me.”
Antonetta said, “Gremont has insisted that, as a term of the engagement, he be given the right of first night. That there be witnesses to the consummation of our marriage.”
Kel said nothing, but put a hand out to steady himself against the wall.
“All eleven are supposed to watch us,” she said. “All the other Charter holders.”
Kel said, through what seemed to him a mouth full of acid, “That’s barbaric. He has no right to ask for that.”
“He has every right,” she whispered, and he could not help but remember her words in the Caravel. You are not my father, not brother or lover. You have no rights here. Perhaps that was why she was telling him this. Because there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to anyone.
“No one has invoked this Law in a hundred years, but it’s still the Law.” He had heard many different tones animate her voice through the years. He had heard her happy and disappointed and angry and affectedly foolish, but he had never heard her sound so... flat. “After we marry, I belong to him, and he can display me in any manner he chooses.”
“Ana. What if he hurts you?” Kel said, giving voice at last to his deepest fear. “He likes causing pain—”
Antonetta raised her face to look up at him. The glitter in her eyes—surely it was tears? Or perhaps only the posy-drops? “He won’t lay violent hands on me. You know the Laws. I could have him hauled before the Judicia. He’d risk being exiled again,” she added. “No. I am not worried about him causing me physical pain.”
“There are other kinds of pain,” Kel said. “He wishes to humiliate and control you—”
“I am aware of that.” She fixed him with her cool blue eyes. “I can manage that. And besides—what could you do about it, Kel?”
It was like having a knife dipped in acid twisted deep in his side. He thought he might have actually flinched.
Kill him, Kel thought. Slip into his bedroom in the dead of night and cut his throat wide open so that it gleamed with scarlet like Antonetta’s ruby collar. She did not know he was a Sword Catcher; she did not know what he could do. What he was capable of.
And he could not tell her. Only endure her looking at him, half wearily, as if she could not imagine a world in which he might be any help to her at all.
He did not remember leaving her. Only that one moment he was with her behind the curtain, and the next he was back in the ballroom, the sounds of festivity assaulting his ears like weapons. He saw Conor, like a bird of dark plumage in his swan cloak, deep in conversation with a slim, beautiful girl with a fall of scarlet hair. Distantly, Kel realized the girl was Lin. He had not known she would be here tonight and neither, judging by his expression, had Conor.
More figures moved around the room in the dance, like clockwork dolls set in motion. He cut a path through them to the stage, where the three “musicians” were playing—the sound uneven, though not as terrible as he’d expected.
Merren glanced at him as he approached and must have seen something in his face, for when Kel arrived at the stage’s edge, Merren was already kneeling, still plucking the lior, a question in his eyes as he looked at Kel.
“Forget anything Jerrod or I may have said about the dangers of murdering Gremont,” Kel said, his voice low but surprisingly steady. “Go ahead and kill him.”
Merren did not look surprised. He did, however, look relieved. “I’m so glad you said that.” He exhaled. “You see, I’ve already poisoned his wine.”
Lin stood frozen. The party seemed to fade away around her, as if she were traveling away from it, hearing its noises in the distance. It was a blur of murmuring sound and color, and in the middle of that blur, she stood alone with Prince Conor, whose silk shirtfront she had just covered in wine.
“I see,” he said, “that I have been anointed by the Goddess. Is this ceremonial or merely a comment on my personality?”
His voice. She had forgotten his voice. How it was rough and soft at the same time, like the lap of a cat’s tongue. He wore a cloak of black feathers, clasped at the throat with a silver brooch carved in the shape of a lily. It was like something out of a Story-Spinner’s tale, a garment that seemed as if it ought to be enchanted. His hair was the same jet-black as the feathers and fell in waves over his forehead. His face was thinner than she remembered, dominated now by his eyes, fiercely gray and surrounded by coal-dark lashes.
She had remembered him as beautiful, but not as beautiful as this. As forbidding, but not as forbidding as this.
Somehow she found her voice. “How fortunate,” she said, “that you are so encrusted with jewels, no one is likely to notice the stain.”
In fact, his shirt was black; the stain was only a greater darkening rather than a bloody discoloration, the wetness making it cling to his skin. Without a word, he reached out, took the empty glass from her hand, and set it down on a small table nearby.
The colors and sounds of the room around them began to come back to her. Music had begun—a sweetly discordant tune. The musicians seemed out of practice, but the crowd of partygoers began to come together in pairs, laughter rising as the dancing began.
She expected the Prince to turn on his heel and walk away. Instead, he held out a hand. “Dance with me,” he said.
Lin’s mouth went dry. “But— Everyone will see us.”
He looked impatient. “And? You are the granddaughter of my Counselor. No one will question it. They will assume we have matters to discuss.”
Still, she hung back. “Do we? Have matters to discuss?”
He said nothing, only remained as he was, his hand extended. If she did not take it, she realized, people really would stare. One did not refuse a dance with the Prince of Castellane.
She reached her own hand out. It was immediately enfolded in his. His grasp was careful, his fingers long and sparkling-cold with rings. He drew her closer, and they began to dance. Lin did not know the steps, but the Prince— Conor, he asked you to call him Conor —clearly did.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I know you can dance.”
She felt the blush spreading across her face. The last time she had danced, here on the Hill, she had been the only one dancing. She had danced the story of the Goddess Adassa with Conor watching her, the heat of his gaze like a brand. She remembered how it had made her burn, made her dance more wildly, as if she could show him her rebellion, her fury, with every movement of her body.
Where had all that bravery gone? She tipped her head back, looking up at him squarely. Around them couples whirled and turned to the music. “I was very sorry,” she said, “to hear of the tragedy in the Shining Gallery. The little Princess—”
“Whom I treated cruelly. I know. You needn’t say it. They already say it in the city, in the streets. There are Story-Spinner tales about it. The Bloody-Handed Prince, that sort of thing.” He held his left hand up, where his rings glittered—little points of scarlet. “Perhaps they recognize, as you did, that I am a broken person.”
Her own words, flung back at her.
I think you are a broken person. I suppose it is not your fault.
How she had regretted what she’d said, hoped he’d forgotten it, as he’d surely forgotten her. But the cold in his voice was the way she imagined snow in Detmarch might feel. Her grandfather had described it to her once, saying that breathing the air in winter there was like swallowing the oil of mint leaves. A cold that burned.
He hates me, Lin thought dismally, and nearly stumbled, the next step of the dance catching her off guard. But Conor steadied her, setting his free hand at her waist, his long fingers curling around so they touched the bare skin at her back.
She heard him catch his breath. His fingers were wands of fire against her skin. She thought she had never felt anything so intensely.
Save when he kissed you. When you ached for him. When you would have let him do anything he wanted.
She shoved the thought away hurriedly. “You are angry,” she said. “But it does not matter what I think about the little Princess. What is important is whether you think you treated her cruelly.”
His lip curled at the corner. Disgust? Amusement? “You speak as Mayesh would,” he said. “And here is what I would say to him. I do not have the luxury of introspection. What matters is what the Charter Council thinks of me, what the people of Castellane think of me, and what our foes abroad think of me. What you will soon discover about being a leader, Goddess, is that you are only a vessel for your people’s hopes and fears, their dreams and desperations. What you want does not matter.”
“Is that why you asked me to dance?” Lin said as he turned them again. She was aware of other couples. Some she recognized, like Antonetta and her soon-to-be husband, standing stiffly beside each other—it seemed Antonetta had come out from behind the curtain at last—or Lupin Montfaucon with a girl in a purple dress. Most she did not. “To impart your thoughts about leadership?”
“I asked you to dance because I was curious,” Conor said. He did not sound curious; he sounded dispassionate, as if nothing she might say signified much. “If I asked you for help, would you help me?”
Her gaze flew to his face. She could read nothing there. “Would I...” Her voice trailed off. As they had left things, she had never imagined he might want her help again. “You require a physician?”
“Not I,” said Conor shortly. His grip on her waist tightened; she doubted he even knew it. She could feel the tremble in his muscles, as if he were feverish. As if it were killing him to have to ask her for help, she thought, when he so clearly hated her. He must be choking on the words.
But what could drive him to this? In her bewilderment, she forgot to look at him covertly, staring at him openly. At the silver circlet binding his brow, at the shadows beneath his eyes, the hollows below his cheekbones. The feathers at his collar brushed his jaw like a lover’s kisses.
“It is not for a physician to ignore anyone in need,” Lin said slowly. “But I have other responsibilities now, and I must do nothing my Prince would forbid me to do.”
“But I am your—” Conor began, then caught himself. “Ah. You mean your Exilarch. Mayesh told me he would arrive soon to test your claim that you are a deity.” Lin winced a little; he spoke with worse than contempt. Cold dismissal. “And if he determines your claim to be false, what happens then?”
“Surely you are not concerned for me?”
At that, he did smile—a savage wolf’s smile. “For you, no. For him, perhaps. Has anyone warned him you tear princes into little pieces?”
“If that is what you think of me, then why are you asking for my help?”
“It is a good question,” he said. He drew her a little nearer, his lips close to her ear. She breathed in the scent of him. Skin, leather, musk. “You know,” he whispered, “I do not have to ask. ”
Lin caught her breath. The ache in the pit of her stomach was almost pain now. “If you—”
The music stopped. Conor released her immediately, stepping back; her skin felt cold where he had touched her. “You should go,” he said.
Despite everything, Lin scowled at him. She could not help it. “I did not come for you,” she said. “Antonetta invited me—”
“Be that as it may. Your grandfather is waiting for you by the door, I believe.” He swept her a slight bow. “Goddess,” he said, and strode away, into the depth of the crowd.
Lin looked toward the door, only half believing it, but there he was. Mayesh stood near the ballroom entrance, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed upon her. He did not look pleased.
“What do you mean, you already poisoned him?” Kel demanded.
Merren stared industriously at his lior, as if racking his brain as to what could be the matter with it. “What it sounds like. Wait for the wedding toast. I poisoned the groom’s cup.”
“ Merren, ” Ji-An hissed. “We need you over here! Playing music!”
“I thought you hadn’t made plans—” Kel started, but Merren was already on his feet, playing his instrument, moving back toward the center of the stage. Kel caught a hard glare from Jerrod before he turned and walked away from the raised platform.
A few people looked at him curiously, as if wondering what he’d wanted with the musicians, but most were far too caught up in their own business to notice. Montfaucon and Falconet competing to impress Sancia Vasey; Cabrol with his back against a silk-papered wall, a wine bottle in one hand; Beatris Cabrol dancing with Alonse Esteve. And Conor, Conor in his black feathered cloak, dancing with Lin. Kel narrowed his eyes. Their bodies were close together as they moved through the steps of the quadrille, but neither looked happy. Then again, neither looked as if they wanted to run away, either. They seemed two people bound together by an invisible net, something only they could see. That only they could feel.
He was not the only one watching them. And though he knew Conor better than anyone, he doubted he was the only one to sense the tension between them. Lady Alleyne had her eyes on the Prince, her mouth set grimly.
And then, beside her, Kel saw Antonetta. She was standing with Artal Gremont as, in groups of twos and threes, noble families came up to offer them congratulations.
Kel thought of it all—the First Night, the poison, the cage of gold imprisoning Antonetta—and felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. It propelled him out of the room and onto a long balcony that ran the length of the ballroom. He gulped in lungfuls of fresh air before leaning on the parapet; his head was throbbing as if he’d drunk too much wine. The balcony was raised off the ground only a little bit. From here, he had a view of the jagged mountains that rose between Castellane and Sarthe, and the dark fissure of the Narrow Pass that was the only way between them.
“Kellian?”
Conor’s voice. Kel knew it without having to turn around; it was the voice he knew best in the world besides his own.
Conor joined him at the stone railing. “I had wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Tired of the show?”
“It was more than a little unbearable,” Kel said. “The years do not seem to have improved Artal Gremont.”
“No,” Conor agreed. He set his hands on the railing. His rings glittered in the moonlight. His profile was fine and sharp, his posture all coiled tension. Something was bothering him. The dance with Lin? Kel considered asking him about it, but something in Conor’s expression forbade it. “Do you know of the Exilarch?”
Interesting. “Yes. The Prince of the Ashkar people. He is always a Prince, never a King, is my understanding, for he cannot supplant their Goddess.”
“Indeed. I have seen etchings of the Exilarchs, I recall, in history books. Old men with great medallions. Rather like Mayesh.” Conor looked up at the stars. “A strange evening,” he said. “Marriage on the Hill is a bloodsport, is it not?”
“For you no less than anyone,” said Kel.
Conor laughed without humor. “But I am marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. Have you not heard? None should have cause to pity me. And gold will flow into the coffers of Castellane, and there will be peace and all will be well—”
Kel could not stand the bitterness in Conor’s voice. “And you will still wake up every night screaming,” he said.
“Perhaps,” Conor said. “But after my marriage, you will not be there to hear it.”
Before Kel could reply, he heard footsteps behind them—a deliberately heavy tread. Boots on stone. Someone wanted to be sure they knew he was approaching. He turned, expecting Falconet or one of the others, and instead saw Jolivet.
In the harsh moonlight, the Legate’s face looked craggier than ever. His hair had been black when Kel had first come to Marivent; it was almost all gray now. He was not in uniform but was still in Palace colors: a red doublet, black trousers, his lion ring gleaming on his hand. He said, “Have you asked him already about the Princess?”
It took Kel a moment to realize Jolivet was addressing Conor.
Conor frowned. “No. We were speaking of other things.”
Jolivet looked disapproving. He said, “This is important. For your safety, Monseigneur.” He turned to Kel. “The Princess Anjelica arrives in three days—”
“Three days?” Kel was astonished. Why had Conor not mentioned how soon she was arriving?
“Yes. We have kept the time of her arrival quiet, for reasons I am about to explain to you.” Jolivet paused. “Do you know of the privateer Laurent Aden?”
Kel nodded. Everyone knew Aden. He’d been a pirate before he’d gone into private work for the Kutani Court. He’d only made a name for himself in the past five years or so, but his exploits were already legendary in the city. Less so on the Hill, where privateers who were not in the employ of Castellane, and the toll they took on profits, were generally loathed. Still, Kel could recall being a boy at the Orfelinat, where he had dreamed of being a pirate with his friend Cas, thieving from the rich to give to himself. “He’s meant to be a sort of clever trickster, isn’t he? There’s a story about how he disguised himself as the captain of a merchant vessel so convincingly that he was able to off-load all the goods before the first mate caught on. And by then it was too late. Aden had escaped.”
“If even half the exploits credited to him are true,” drawled Conor, “then he may be the wiliest privateer since the days of the Empire.”
“Indeed,” Kel said, “but what does that have to do with the arrival of the Princess?”
“You do recall my fiancée is meant to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” Conor noted, an edge of amusement to his voice. “Well, it appears pirates are not immune to her charms.”
“This is beginning to sound like a Story-Spinner tale,” said Kel. “Has he kidnapped her and taken her away on his galleon?”
“No,” said Jolivet, “but he would like to. It appears he fell in love with her at some point, and since then she has been his obsession. Information came to us from Kutani that he was hoping to intercept her ship as it enters the harbor here in Castellane and take her away with him.”
“Really,” Kel said a little dubiously. “Why try to seize her as she lands in Castellane? Why not attack in his natural habitat, at sea?”
“Her craft will be guarded by Kutani warships on its journey,” said Jolivet. “But of course, by tradition, warships are forbidden from entering our harbor. It may be that Aden judges that she will be least protected as she approaches the Royal Docks.”
“But we can arrange for that not to be so,” said Kel. “We can station soldiers—”
“And we will,” said Jolivet. “We will also have ships at sea, guarding the harbor entrance. And yet, if Aden slips by somehow, there may still be violence. Nothing we cannot subdue, but...”
“Conor must be protected,” said Kel. “I understand.”
Jolivet nodded. “Castellane needs her Sword Catcher, Kel.”
Conor shook his head restlessly. “It should be me,” he said. “What was it you told me when Luisa arrived? I should not begin an engagement with a lie?”
“In that case,” said Kel, “it was Sarthe telling the lie. Perhaps we have all learned something from that.” He laid a hand on Conor’s arm, the soft feathers of the Prince’s cloak tickling his palm. “I will go. I am your shield, Con.”
The balcony door opened again, and Conor glanced irritably toward it. “Is everyone at this party planning to join us here?” he muttered as Sancia Vasey appeared framed in the doorway. She was smiling, her coppery hair tousled.
“There you are, Conor,” she said in a playfully scolding tone. “Didn’t you promise to dance with me tonight?”
Conor’s face changed instantly, as if he had put on a mask for the Solstice Ball. Gone was everything real in his expression—hesitancy, annoyance, weariness. In its place there was only a sort of bland amiability.
“So I did,” he said, “and as they say, a Prince always keeps his promises.”
“Do they really say that?” Sancia giggled as Conor came toward her. “I thought a Prince never kept his promises.”
Together, Sancia and Conor ducked back into the ballroom, leaving Kel alone on the balcony with Jolivet. He frowned at the Legate. “What was that?”
Jolivet looked at him without expression. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Why did you bother making Conor ask me if I’d escort Anjelica Iruvai? I am a Sword Catcher. You can simply give me orders. It does not matter what I want to do.”
“That was not for you. It was for Conor. That should be obvious,” said Jolivet. “And besides, I needed to speak with you—no, not about the Princess.” He waved away Kel’s next question with an impatient gesture. “About Magali Berthe. You wished to question her.” He glanced toward the door, as if to make sure no one was listening there. “She will be at the Arena on Ellsday. It will give you an opportunity to question her away from Lady Alleyne’s watchful eye.”
“Jerrod did say she was always borrowing money to gamble on Arena games,” Kel acknowledged.
“Even more important to question her, then. If she’s in debt and desperate, she would be far more susceptible to outside influence.”
“She won’t want to talk to me about it,” Kel noted.
“How fortunate that you’re an excellent actor,” said Jolivet. “Do your best to charm her. Much depends on it.”
A loud cheer went up from inside. The lines seemed to deepen at the corners of Jolivet’s mouth. “Ah,” he said. “The wedding toast.”
Wait for the wedding toast.
With Merren’s voice echoing in his ears, Kel pushed past Jolivet and dashed into the ballroom. The crowd had pushed together into a tight knot surrounding the banquet tables. Kel shouldered his way among the nobles. He used his elbows liberally, which resulted in angry grunts and mutters. The smell of damp wool and silk, sweat and perfume, was overwhelming. Over the heads of the throng he could see the stage, where Merren stood with Ji-An and Jerrod, their instruments dangling in their hands, forgotten.
At last he was at the front. He could see Conor, with Falconet and Montfaucon, clapping in a desultory fashion. Most of the nobles held empty glasses in their hands; they would be filled just after the toast.
In front of a groaning banquet table, Antonetta stood beside Gremont and her mother. Antonetta’s lovely face was set like a doll’s, her lips curved in a painted smile, her gaze blank. Artal rested one big hand possessively on her back. In his other hand, he held a ceremonial wedding goblet, its rim studded with emeralds, as Antonetta’s matching goblet was studded with rubies.
I poisoned the groom’s cup.
Kel did not move as Gremont raised the goblet and spoke in a booming voice. “I hope you’ll all join me in toasting to the alliance between House Gremont and House Alleyne. May it bring health and wealth to all of us, especially wealth.”
An even louder cheer went up. With a sly wink to his captive audience, Gremont tossed back his wine, draining his glass to the dregs.
Lin crossed the room to join her grandfather, who stood glowering, the great circular medallion that hung against his chest resembling a massive, glittering, watching eye.
He smiled when she came close, laying a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Lin was not fooled. He was furious. “What,” he demanded, “are you doing here?”
“Antonetta Alleyne asked me to come,” she said. “In the capacity of her personal physician. The Law allows physicians of the Ashkar to travel abroad at night; you know that.”
“Does it also allow them to wear whatever colors they like?” snapped Mayesh.
“My dress is marine blue,” Lin said coldly. “The color of the sea.”
Her grandfather snorted. “Antonetta Alleyne will manage without you,” he said. “Come.”
Lin went. She cast a single look back over her shoulder as they departed the ballroom, searching for Antonetta; she was standing with her mother and Artal Gremont, looking blank-faced. Lin could not see Conor among the crowd, or Kel. Perhaps they were together.
Outside, the moon had risen. It was high and full, casting a bright light over the city, and over the royal carriage that waited for them outside the mansion. As Mayesh hurried her between the ranks of torch-carrying servants, he asked coldly, “If you are here as Antonetta’s physician, where is your satchel?”
Lin said nothing. She wondered if her grandfather would point out that by the standards of the Ashkar, she was also half naked. She wondered if she would step on his foot if he did.
They reached the carriage, and a driver in Aurelian livery held a door open for Lin. She thanked him despite his connection to the Blood Royal. It was not his fault the heir to the throne was a bastard.
Once inside the carriage, she faced Mayesh as they rattled off down the Hill, her chin set. The harsh moonlight spilling through the windows made his face look more lined than she remembered. “You,” he said, managing to make the word sound like an insult, “have a tendency to look after other people without considering what the consequences will be for yourself. Antonetta cannot protect you from the Laws that govern our curfew. Only I can do that.”
Lin raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat to leave me to the Vigilants?”
He ignored this. “You should have told me you planned to come to the Hill tonight. If there had been an incident, I would have found out when you were already in the Tully.”
Lin said nothing.
“You are not usually so reckless,” he said. “I heard you met with Benjudah this afternoon. Has it made you afraid? Perhaps you are worried about what will happen when you fail the first test.”
Lin laughed. “You’re not even going to do me the kindness of saying if ?”
“It would be unkind to pretend.”
The carriage tilted as the slope grew sharper. Lin braced her hands against the seat cushions to keep herself from tipping forward. “I assume I will become an object of pity. A pathetic, mad girl who believed she could be the Goddess of the Ashkar people.”
“Really?” Mayesh looked at her with a hard gaze. “Do you think that’s all that will happen? Do you think you’ll be able to continue to practice as a physician?”
“I am prepared for that,” Lin said calmly. Inside, her stomach felt as if it had shrunk back against her spine. She had never considered such a thing; she forbade herself from considering it now.
“There are worse punishments. What if they exile you?”
The carriage evened out as the Hill gave way to city streets. Though it was late, the roads were still crowded with pedestrians—many, no doubt, on their way to the Broken Market that ran the length of the Ruta Maestra. Through the window Lin could see the flicker of lamplight and the gleam of the dark-green Fear River. “The Exilarch told me I’m far from the first woman to make this claim. If every other girl had suffered exile as a punishment, surely such news would have reached our ears.”
“Perhaps not all of these girls had grandfathers who knew the Exilarch when he was a child.”
Lin narrowed her eyes. “He mentioned that,” she said. “I did not get the impression he recalled you fondly.”
“I am sure he does not.”
They had reached the Ruta Maestra. The carriage slowed to a crawl; on either side of them were the stalls of the Broken Market, selling items that had once been whole and were now in need of repair. Lin saw a doll with a shattered china face propped against a ripped cushion; its one eye seemed to follow her. Above them, the unbroken moon gazed down on the ruined things humanity made.
She sighed. “What did you do to make him dislike you?”
Mayesh was silent a moment—long enough that Lin wondered if perhaps he would not answer her. Then he said, “Years ago, Aron Benjudah was a friend of the Maharam’s son. Asher.”
Lin stared. Everyone knew the tale of Asher Benezar, who had studied forbidden magic when he was still a boy of fifteen and had been exiled for it. It was not known what had become of him, and the Maharam would not speak his son’s name. It was a story that had taken on the character of a myth—something from the Book of Makabi, a long-ago happening. It had not occurred to her that Asher might have had friends who were still alive, still young, today.
“In Aron’s view,” said Mayesh, “I did not do enough to prevent the Maharam from exiling his son.”
“But you spoke for Asher,” Lin said, forgetting, in her surprise, to be angry. “You argued with the council. We have all heard the tale. You told the Maharam that exile was too cruel a punishment. It is why—” Why you are no longer friends, she almost said, but she held the words back; they seemed too hurtful.
“Aron was only a boy of eleven at the time,” said her grandfather. “He was badly hurt by the loss of his friend. He fastened on me as someone who could have changed the course of things if only I had tried harder.” He was not only talking about Asher now, Lin thought. “I tried to be there for him as much as I could, under the circumstances, but he was the Exilarch’s son. They never stayed in one place very long, and after Asher was exiled, they left.”
“You think he will judge me differently,” Lin asked, “because he resents you?”
“I like to think not. I only knew him as a boy; I hope he has grown to be a fair-minded man. But I thought you should know the history.”
“I am not going to change my course, zai, ” she said, reverting to the old, childish name for “grandfather.” She was weary, and they were nearing the walls of the Sault; she could see the gates and the ever-burning torches. “I am glad you were there for Asher Benezar in his time. I wish you had tried to be there for me and Josit, long ago.”
“Well,” he said, looking as tired as she felt, “I’m trying now.”