CHAPTER THIRTEEN
E arly the next evening, Kel dressed as Kel Anjuman to escort Anjelica to her meeting.
He was still reluctant to go—reluctant enough that he cursed under his breath as he dressed in soft leather boots, a mossy silk tunic, and a gray-green linen jacket with a wide, lined hood. But Anjelica would go whether he accompanied her or not, and the results could be disastrous if she went alone. They could probably be disastrous either way, he thought, and slid a dagger into the top of his boot. Then added another one, up his sleeve, just in case.
Upon leaving the Castel Mitat, he found Lilibet in the courtyard garden, pacing back and forth. She looked up eagerly when she saw him, only for disappointment to flash immediately across her face. It was a phenomenon Kel had observed countless times: At a glance, Lilibet would mistake him for her son; at closer hand, she would realize who he was, and her face would fall.
She, too, wore green, just as he did. The color of Marakand. Today her dress was velvet, the color of emeralds, and a choker of emeralds circled her throat. She said abruptly, “Where is Conor?”
“With Mayesh,” Kel said. He hoped she could not see the shape of the dagger under his fitted sleeve. The last thing he wanted was for her to be too curious about where he was going. “Going over the Solstice Ball invitations. I believe there is an issue of careful wording.”
Lilibet’s painted eyebrows rose. “They didn’t tell me— Well. Never mind.” Her dark gaze sharpened. “I had a mind to ask you. What do you think of the Princess?”
“Of Anjelica?” Kel was taken aback. “It is not my place to have an opinion, my lady.”
Lilibet sniffed. “And yet you have spent more time with her than my son has, I’d warrant. He sent you to take his place at her banquet. Why? Does he find her too stubborn?” She kicked irritably at a border of roses, drooping in the heat. “I question how fine a Queen she can ever be. A Queen must be able to compromise, and the girl refuses to come to terms on anything.”
“She spoke of you only in glowing terms, my lady,” Kel lied.
“Then her words do not match her actions. We have only just had a disagreement on the topic of her elephant. I asked when it would be returning to Kutani. Elephants are very expensive to keep, you know.”
Kel made a noncommittal noise.
“She said the elephant would not be returning, but would remain here indefinitely. That Marivent was now its home. When I objected, she told me in no uncertain terms that any decision about the creature would be up to Conor, not to me, and that Conor approved of the elephant.”
“That’s true,” Kel said. “He does approve of the elephant. He may be more excited about the elephant than he is about the Princess.”
Lilibet made an exasperated noise. If Kel had not been anxious to get away, he would have found the whole business funny. It was rare that anyone got under Lilibet’s skin like this. “Is my son bothered that his bride is so excessively pigheaded?”
“I believe Conor considers this union to be for the good of Castellane,” said Kel gravely, “which is, of course, his overwhelming concern.”
“Of course,” Lilibet said, but there was a note of sarcasm in her tone. “I understand my son is determined to marry for the good of Castellane, as I myself was determined to make an advantageous marriage for my country. Such dreams I had then.” She glanced over at the North Tower, her eyes narrowed. “But dreams are flimsy things. One cannot build on them.” She turned back to Kel. “You said Conor was with Mayesh? Where are they meeting?”
“In the Armory. The Solstice Ball is only a short time away—”
But Lilibet was already flouncing off, her skirts swirling determinedly. Kel shook his head and turned his steps toward the West Gate.
Twilight was falling—the kind of twilight in which the heat of the day seemed trapped under the oncoming shadow of night. The grass of the Palace lawns was dry and crisp under Kel’s boots as he made his way to the place he’d agreed to meet Anjelica and Kurame.
The West Gate of the Palace was a postern gate, rarely used, meant to be hidden in the castle’s fortifications. Anjelica’s gray carriage was already there, inside the walls, when Kel arrived. Only one guard seemed to be on duty: Benaset, who was leaning against the castle wall and greeted Kel with interest. “Her Highness of Kutani is waiting for you,” he said, jerking his chin toward the carriage. “Said something about wanting to see the city at night—the Broken Market and such. Is the Prince meant to be joining you?”
Kel smiled easily at Benaset. To be able to smile past his nerves was one of the first things he’d learned in the Palace; now he bent the talent toward reassuring Benaset that there was nothing interesting going on here. “Conor has obligations, alas,” he said. “Her Highness needed a guide, and he asked me to step in for him.” He pitched his voice low, confidential. “He’s been too busy lately—he’s worried she’ll be bored.”
Benaset grinned. “Woman like that probably gets bored easily,” he said, and pushed the gate open. Kel hurried over to the carriage, where Kurame was perched in the driver’s seat. The fading sun winked off a pair of jeweled spectacles as he greeted Kel with a nod.
The carriage door swung open; Kel stepped inside, sitting down across from Anjelica. A moment later, the carriage started to move, bumping over several large potholes as they rolled through the gate and outside onto the Hill.
“You had no trouble getting away, then?” Anjelica said. She was dressed as plainly as Kel had ever seen her, in severe black, her hair braided close to her head. She wore no jewelry save a silver band on her right hand, set with a scarlet stone. “And you know where we’re going? The meeting is on Castle Street—”
She’s nervous, Kel thought. Oddly, the thought eased some of his own tension. Anjelica always seemed so poised, it had not occurred to him she could be nervous. It meant that she was more desperate than she had let on, and Kel understood being desperate—far more than she could guess.
Kel glanced out the window. They were making their way down the Hill, and the city was spread out before them, its edges softened by twilight. Heat seemed to rise from it, a shimmer in the air.
“I know Castle Street,” he said. “And yes, I had no trouble getting away. I have done things without the permission of the Palace before, you know.”
“I expect you have.” She twisted the ring on her hand. “But I did nearly blackmail you into this.”
“I question your use of the word nearly, ” Kel said, but he smiled a little, to take the sting from it. “That’s a pretty ring.”
She stopped twisting it, looking a little surprised. “It was a gift from Conor. I told him that he need not give me gifts, but he clearly does what he likes. He has given me a fine pair of gloves, though gloves are something I have never needed or worn before. Also a golden headdress for Sedai, and jeweled spectacles for Kurame, as well as for Kito and Isam, although they don’t wear spectacles.”
“This is the first time someone has complained to me about Conor doing too many kind and thoughtful things for them.”
They had reached the city and were wending their way through the narrow streets below the Hill. “You say that,” Anjelica said slowly, “but I find Conor is not at all the way he was painted. I was told he was a wastrel, that he lived his life for pleasure, for drinking and gambling, for bedding anyone who caught his fancy. That he was irresponsible and up to his ears in debt. Instead I find him almost grimly responsible. He is almost always in the library or closeted with his advisers or his father. And when I catch a glimpse of him, when he thinks no one is looking, he seems so... sad. ”
Kel, too, had seen that sadness, for all that Conor explained it away as weariness or frustration. How strange that Anjelica saw it, too—though he took a moment to thank the Gods that she did not seem to suspect anything unusual about the King.
Kel said, “He has changed since the Shining Gallery. And there are reasons for it.”
“I did not realize how responsible he holds himself for the death of the little Princess.”
They had turned off the Ruta Magna, down Castle Street, so named for the view of Marivent from its winding path. Castle Street resembled a byway in the Maze—narrow and ancient, with plaster-fronted buildings leaning tipsily together. It was not a wealthy area, but those who lived there clearly cared for their homes and shops. It was spotless and neat, with colorful signs hung above lively public houses and restaurants.
Kel opened the carriage door, and he and Anjelica climbed out into the street. This was the neighborhood where immigrants from Kutani had settled, and like Yulan Road, it carried the scents and color of a land far away. Mixed with the smell of the nearby harbor was the tangy scent of spices: warm cumin and cardamom, hot pepper and roasting cinnamon.
The address she had given Kel turned out to be a plaster-fronted teahouse painted a cheerful shade of turquoise. The sign hanging above it proclaimed it Naali Canaali, which Kel was fairly certain meant “The Golden Light.”
Kurame waited with the carriage while Kel and Anjelica approached; Anjelica had covered her head with a white shawl that partially hid her distinctive face. Inside the teahouse, a young woman in the traditional black-and-white geya of Spice Town greeted Anjelica and Kel, then led them through a room scented with patoun where Kutani sailors, missing home, crowded around tables loaded with pots of tea and plates of buttery, flaky flatbread. Most seemed happy to be there, save for a pale man with a viciously scarred face, who sat alone, glaring at his tea as if it had insulted him.
Anjelica kept her head down, but no one really took note of either her or Kel. Kel wished he had told her: Half of disguise was expectation. No one here expected to see the Princess, no one was looking for her here, and so no one would see her.
The young woman led them outside, into a small walled garden with a flame tree growing in its center. It was empty except for a circular stone table at which a tea service for three people had already been laid; clearly Kel had not been expected—in more ways than one, for the two people at the table were the Ragpicker King and Ji-An.
Kel stood frozen in place. He was vaguely aware that the young woman who had brought them to the garden had returned to the teahouse; he was even more aware that Ji-An was staring at him, her eyes wide. Andreyen, of course, was expressionless, his long pale hands folded atop his cane as usual. His eerie green gaze swept over Kel with studied indifference.
Through the rushing in his ears, Kel saw Anjelica step forward, drawing off her shawl. Her long braids fell down around her shoulders as she said, “Greetings, namimi keyami. I am Anjelica Iruvai. With me is my guard, Kel Anjuman of Marakand.”
Ji-An looked as if she desperately wanted to say something, but Andreyen was stepping on her foot. Smoothly, he replied, “Welcome, Ayakemi. And Kel Anjuman. The Prince’s cousin. I have heard of you.” He gestured to two empty seats at the table. “Come. Join us.”
As Kel and Anjelica took their seats, the young woman in the black-and-white geya returned, carrying a tray with a samovar. Kel was grateful for the small ritual of the tea service, as it gave him a chance to catch his breath.
Anjelica clearly had no idea he knew the Ragpicker King; otherwise she would never have asked him to accompany her here. The spies of Kutani had not been as thorough as that. And Anjelica had no reason to be loyal to Kel particularly; if she discovered he knew Andreyen, and knew him well, she might see it as a betrayal of Conor. She might even tell Conor—though she would be revealing her own secret if she did.
Still. It was clear Andreyen wished to preserve the fiction that they had never met. Kel could only silently agree that, of all the courses of action open to them at the moment, this seemed the wisest.
Having served the tea in dark-blue glasses, the young woman left them alone again in the courtyard. The last light had washed out of the sky and the stars were beginning to appear overhead. Kel picked up a glass of tea, welcoming the burn of heat against his hand. It was something to concentrate on outside his own agitation.
“I was all astonishment,” said Andreyen, addressing Anjelica, “when I received your message. It is not every day I hear from royalty.”
Kel nearly choked on his tea. It was heavily sugared, and spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom. Glancing over the rim of his glass, he saw Ji-An mouth something at him but couldn’t read her lips. He glared at her: Stop it.
“They say that in Castellane, there is a King on the Hill and a King in the City,” said Anjelica in her musical voice. “Only the very shortsighted would take an interest in merely one.”
Andreyen raised his tea glass to her. “Although,” he said, “one of them will be your father-in-law, whereas I am only an ordinary criminal who has been blessed with extraordinary luck.”
“I hope that luck will help me now. Do you know the pirate Laurent Aden?”
Ji-An shot a surprised look at Kel, who gazed back at her with a bland smile.
“Ah, yes,” said Andreyen. “An up-and-coming young man, building his empire.”
“An empire of piracy and theft,” said Anjelica tightly. “He is a man with no scruples.”
“Scruples can be expensive,” said Ji-An.
Anjelica ignored this. “I have been told that if anyone can reach him, the Ragpicker King can. I need to get a message to him, in hopes that he will meet with me.”
“I cannot imagine,” said Andreyen, “that the Palace would be too complacent to hear that you are communicating with a former lover who is now hiding out in a sea cave along our coast.”
Anjelica flushed. “Not a lover. A suitor. ”
“Regardless.” Andreyen spun his cane thoughtfully. “He is a criminal. For a Princess to communicate with him would be alarming to the Aurelians. What matters to those like the Aurelians is loyalty. For you to plan in secret...” He regarded her kindly. “Forget Aden. Forget whatever hold over you he may have. You will be Queen of Castellane soon enough. He cannot touch you.”
“Aden was never my lover,” said Anjelica, her voice shaking. “But there was a time when I believed myself in love with him. I wrote him letters—the kind of letters that would be disastrous in the wrong hands. It was foolish, and he is threatening now that if I do not return to him, he will have those sent to all the nobles on the Hill. It will be an awful scandal, and the Aurelians will be pressured to end their alliance with my family. But my parents will never permit that—they will not now find a better position for me than Queen of Castellane—and it could result in conflict between our countries, worse than the one you have with Sarthe. For there is no payment that could make it go away.”
The Ragpicker King said nothing. Kel was aware of his quick mind working away, his thoughts hidden behind his bland expression.
“Aden wants to cause trouble,” Kel said. “The kind of trouble that is bad for the Aurelians and for Castellane. And I have always been told that you care what happens to Castellane.”
Andreyen made a thoughtful noise. “Imagine I assisted you with this, Princess. What would your plan be? Shall you beg for your letters back? Men like Aden are not known for their mercy.”
“There will be no begging. I intend to offer him money—a fair exchange of gold for what he has.”
“And after you have paid him, do you think you will still be able to afford my fee? Because it will not be low.”
Kel shot a glare at Andreyen, who ignored it. Could the man really not understand the importance here? The political danger to the Aurelians?
“I had hoped,” said Anjelica, “to pay you with information. Information about Prosper Beck.”
Kel jerked in surprise and almost spilled his tea. He was aware that both Ji-An and the Ragpicker King were staring at him with a question in their eyes: Did you know this was what she was going to say?
“Prosper Beck?” Kel said harshly. “How would you know anything about Prosper Beck?”
Anjelica looked at him in surprise. “You’ve heard of Prosper Beck?”
“Everyone’s heard of Prosper Beck,” said Ji-An; it wasn’t true, but perhaps Anjelica would not know that. “And everyone knows he’s gone.”
“Prosper Beck is not gone,” Anjelica said calmly. “Prosper Beck has returned to Castellane. There are rumors he is preparing for a fight. Perhaps with you.”
Andreyen’s green eyes had darkened. “If you are telling lies right now to get your way, Princess, let me make one thing understood. That is not a safe path to tread. Not with me.”
He did not raise his voice or change his expression, yet there was something in the way he spoke that reminded Kel that Andreyen was more than the man who was kind to Ji-An and Merren and enjoyed his roof garden. Here was a man who had killed people and done it without a thought.
“There is no lie,” said Anjelica. She had placed her hands in her lap; Kel could see they were clasped together tightly. “There is a warehouse, on Arsenal Road in the Maze. One with a blacked-out door. It claims it is for tea storage, but you will find it filled with trunks of hoarded weapons.”
“How do you know all this?” said Kel. “Kutani spywork?”
“My country’s spywork is excellent,” Anjelica conceded. “But I say no more than this until after you”—she glanced at Andreyen—“have made contact with Aden for me.”
Andreyen’s eyes were chips of green ice. Ji-An rose to her feet. She had not touched her spiced tea. “I’ll go to the Key now. Check the warehouse.”
“That seems trivial work for such a skilled assassin,” said Anjelica.
“I don’t believe I introduced my associate,” said Andreyen. The words were calm, but he had about him the aura of a waiting cat, its eyes narrowed, its tail swishing.
“You are Kang Ji-An, are you not?” Anjelica said. “Because of you, a whole family in Geumseong lies dead.”
Ji-An and Andreyen exchanged a look. You had better be careful, Anjelica, Kel thought. He knew she was trying to show that she was a force to be reckoned with; that she knew far more than they guessed. But there was such a thing as knowing too much. “A whole family, you say?” said Ji-An, drawing on her gloves. She flexed her fingers. “That does not sound like assassination. That is a slaughter.”
“But you did it for the girl you loved,” said Anjelica. “And it is noble to do such things for love.”
Ji-An stared; her face was very pale. The Ragpicker King rose to his feet. “There is no need for any more discussion,” he said. “If your story about the warehouse proves true, Ayakemi, you can expect to hear from me regarding Aden. Until then, tread carefully. A man who blackmails for money is one thing. A man who blackmails for love is far more dangerous.”
Lin sat cross-legged at the small table in her kitchen, her books and papers spread out before her. She had taken her books back from Mariam that afternoon, and to her amusement, she discovered that she now had Mariam’s notes, which were scribbled in the margins of the ancient tomes in differently colored pencil.
Mariam, it seemed, had chiefly been interested in the great doings of the Sorcerer-Kings, ranging from the impossibly grandiose (one Sorcerer-King had been irritated that a mountain range blocked his view of the sea, so had relocated the entire range to what was now Marakand) to the slightly ridiculous (a Sorcerer-Queen who had magicked up ten thousand cats to be the attendants at her wedding). But Mariam had made other, more useful notes as well. She had found a section in a book that Lin had nearly discarded out of hand that described how Source-Stones were sealed to their owners. The magician and the stone must then travel together to the caves of Sulemon, where, having passed the Halls of Hewn Stone, the gem must be cleansed in the Place of Bitter Water before it being bound unto the Sorcerer whose power it will hold.
Perhaps that was the problem, she thought. Perhaps it was that her stone had not been bound to her. But how to accomplish such a binding? Surely all these places had been lost in the Sundering.
Lin was pulled from her grim thoughts by a knock on the door. Surely Mayesh or Mariam, she thought, but when she threw the front door open, she found Aron Benjudah standing on her doorstep. It was dark outside, the moon half hidden behind clouds. Even in the dimness, though, she could see that he looked weary. He wore his Rhadanite trader clothes of coarse linen, and the shadows were plain below his eyes.
“Exilarch,” Lin said, “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”
“You asked me to do a favor for you, and I have done it.” He drew a piece of paper from his jacket. “Here is the translation you asked for.”
Lin took the paper from him. “Thank you.”
He looked at her with a half smile. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
Lin gritted her teeth. She had hoped that if she did not open the paper immediately, Aron would take the hint and go away, but apparently Exilarchs were not ones to take hints. Slowly, she unfolded the paper. It was, as she’d expected, a list of ingredients, printed in neat and careful handwriting. As she scanned the list, she felt a sense of relief. There was nothing here she’d never heard of, nothing that would be impossible to get.
“It seems to be some sort of remedy,” said Aron, “but not an Ashkar one. I am not a healer, but”—he tapped his finger on the page—“I do know yellow poppy is a sedative. On the Gold Roads, healers give it to the injured in the hope that they will remain unconscious through their treatment, regardless of how painful it may be. But it is a clumsy drug, and easy to give too much. We Askhar have access to better sedatives than this.”
A clumsy drug. He was right, but what could she say, besides assuring him she had no intention of giving this medicine to anyone? But that, of course, was not true. “Might I ask you a question?” she said instead.
“You are a prospective Goddess,” he said dryly. “Ask what you like.”
“Have you heard of something called the Place of Bitter Water?”
The effect of her words shocked her. His eyes went wide, and he took a half step back, almost as if she had pushed him. “Who told you to ask me that?” he asked harshly. “Was it Mayesh?”
“Of course not,” Lin said. “The name appeared in a book I took from the Shulamat. It was in a history of the Sorcerer-Kings. But I thought perhaps”—she looked at him closely—“it was just a story. Not real.”
He seemed to relax minutely. “There is nothing you are not curious about, is there?” he said. “Yes, there was such a place, once. It lay on the border of what was once Aram, deep underground.”
“Was it destroyed in the Sundering?”
He shrugged. “Much was destroyed in those days. Much was lost and much was hidden, but some things stay hidden for good reason.”
“You speak in riddles,” she complained. He was already turning to go, but now he paused on the lowest step of her house and glanced back over his shoulder.
“Then puzzle me out,” he said, and was gone, into the shadows.
“That is not at all what I thought the Ragpicker King would be like,” Anjelica said as the carriage rattled away from Castle Street. She sat across from Kel with her hands folded in her lap like a young girl’s. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. It had been an exciting meeting, Kel supposed, looked at from a certain perspective. He had not found it exciting himself; he had spent most of the time wanting to throw up.
“Prosper Beck,” Kel said sharply. “How do you know so much about Prosper Beck?”
She shook her head. “I am grateful to you for helping me, Sword Catcher. But I cannot tell you.”
“You owe me that,” he snapped. “You should have told me you intended to bribe Andreyen Morettus by dangling Prosper Beck in front of him. Are you mad? To insert yourself into the games played between violent criminals—”
“I did not think you would know who Prosper Beck was.” Anjelica sounded stung. They were wending their way down the Ruta Magna now, returning to the Hill.
“A Sword Catcher must know many things.” Technically true, Kel thought. He hoped he didn’t sound pompous. “And you are playing a game with very dangerous men. Aden among them.”
“I am doing what I have to do.” In the dimness of the carriage, he sensed her looking at him. “But I should have told you more. Warned you. Forgive me. I did wrong.”
Despite himself, Kel softened. An apology from royalty was a rare thing, as he had cause to know. Although he still wondered how she had gathered information about Prosper Beck. Kutani spywork was famous, and perhaps that was all it was, but it bothered him nonetheless—especially as he knew perfectly well that if he asked her, she wouldn’t tell him. Their friendship, such as it was, did not extend that far.
Anjelica glanced out the window. “Is something going on? A festival?”
Kel did not need to look; he could see the light from the naphtha beacons illuminating the inside of the carriage. “It is the Broken Market. Anything can be sold here as long as it is flawed and in need of repair.”
“But why would anyone want such broken things?”
“Some people enjoy the act of repair,” said Kel. “In Zipangu, they mend broken pottery with melted gold, so that the shattered object is more beautiful when put back together. And some, I would guess, merely wish to be assured that nothing is ever ruined beyond recovery.”
“I would prefer it was never broken in the first place,” said Anjelica, after a long pause. She leaned forward. “The Ragpicker King,” she said. “Is that what you thought he would be like? You are the one who grew up in Castellane, hearing stories and legends of Gentleman Death.”
“He is just what I expected,” Kel said lightly. “Save that he did not fly in on magpie wings or dissolve into shadow at the conclusion of our meeting. No”—he added, as they rolled through the Broken Market—“the one who surprised me was you.”
She smiled faintly at that. “I like knowing things. And it does get dull being one of ten daughters in a palace.”
“I see. One must turn to espionage to amuse oneself,” Kel said. He looked at her steadily. “I’ve met him, you know. Prosper Beck.”
A look flashed across her face—real astonishment—just as the carriage came to a stop, lurching slightly as it bumped into a pothole. The door swung open—Kurame, ready to help his sister down from the carriage. His jeweled spectacles gleamed like the carapaces of rainbow beetles, and Kel could not help but be amused, knowing they were a gift from Conor.
They went back into Marivent through the postern gate, all three of them silent. As they passed Benaset, who tipped a polite nod, Kel wondered if he ought to escort Anjelica back to her rooms. It would be the courteous thing to do, but nothing about the night so far had been normal, and she might prefer to be alone with her brother.
In the end, his musings were irrelevant. After they walked through the archway into the garden of the Castel Mitat, Kel saw Conor, sitting alone at the edge of the tiled fountain. Above him was a darkened sundial, a verse from an old song etched onto its face: ALAS , HOW MUCH I THOUGHT I KNEW OF LOVE , AND YET HOW LITTLE I KNOW .
He looked up at their approach and smiled as his eyes met Kel’s. “I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “My best friend and my bride-to-be.”
And Kurame, Kel thought, but when he looked around, Kurame had vanished, slipping into the shadows of the night as the Bloodguard seemed trained to do.
Conor looked woeful. “I was so lonely I considered drowning myself in this fountain, but the water is full of frogs.”
“Kellian wished to show me the famous Broken Market,” said Anjelica, settling herself onto the edge of the fountain beside Conor. “Your city is very lovely at night. We also looked at the Night Garden,” she added. “Your mother has excellent taste in flowers.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Conor, “as she believes you do not enjoy her taste in anything else. Don’t worry; I don’t, either.”
Anjelica laughed. It seemed like a real laugh—unstudied, bright as silver.
“I saw Lilibet earlier, Con,” said Kel. “She seemed annoyed you and Mayesh were discussing the Solstice Ball without her there.”
“Oh, I know.” Conor yawned, stretching his lean body. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been sleeping on his desk again. Kel felt that familiar sharp pain that he knew was love mixed with remorse. For how badly he wanted to protect Conor. For the secrets he was keeping.
He listened with only half an ear bent to the conversation as Conor explained the Solstice Ball to Anjelica—a yearly celebration of the reign of Aurelian. That it was approaching in a short time, and Conor felt Anjelica should have a hand in the festivities.
Kel wondered if he should go, slip away as Kurame had done. Leave Conor alone with Anjelica. They seemed to be getting along well; surely that should be encouraged?
“It’s a masquerade, is it not?” Anjelica said. “Everyone in costume.”
“And every year a theme.” Conor nodded. “Last year, the theme was the stars and planets. The year before that...?”
He turned to Kel, a question in his eyes.
“It was tales of the Gods,” said Kel. “Montfaucon came dressed as Aigon, God of the sea, and ruined all the carpets.”
Conor turned to Anjelica. “My mother will already have chosen the food and decorations. But I think it would be suitable for you to choose the theme for the costumes, my lady.”
Anjelica clapped her hands together in delight. “Beasts,” she said promptly. “Each person to mask themselves as the animal they feel they resemble most.”
“Resemble? I thought masks were supposed to hide who you are,” said Kel.
“On the contrary, one’s choice of disguise reveals a great deal,” Anjelica said. Her expression was unchanged, but Kel thought he could hear the smile in her voice. “Kellian, you could be a chameleon, that creature which disguises itself so well as others. And you, my lord”—she turned to Conor—“you would be a lion, for you are Castellane.”
“And you, Ayakemi ?” said Conor.
“You will have to wait and see.” Smiling, Anjelica got to her feet. To Kel’s surprise, she leaned in and kissed Conor on the cheek. “It is kind of you,” she said, “to think of something for me to do.”
She turned and walked away in the direction of the Castel Pichon. A blue-tinged moon had risen, and her pale-white shawl gleamed under the light. As Kel watched, he saw Kurame emerge from the darkness, a fluid shadow, to join his sister.
“Sit with me,” Conor said, interrupting Kel’s reverie. He had lain down on the broad fountain’s edge and was looking up at the sky. “I find I am in an oddly good mood. Let us drink together and count the stars.”
Kel did as Conor had asked. He leaned back on his hands, braced against the tile, and gazed up at the sky. The moon seemed to be playing a child’s game with the clouds, darting in and out from behind them, never completely seen.
“Is there a reason for this good mood?” Kel asked.
Conor folded his arms behind his head. One day, Kel thought; one day he and Conor would be able to do this again—to lie side by side, looking up at the stars they had known since they were children—without this distance between them, without this space he could not define or name. “I feel as a sailor must,” Conor said, “when he has been out at sea for a long time, and now he can finally see the land.”
Kel looked down at his Prince. Conor’s eyes were unfocused, as if he were not looking at the sky at all, but past it, at something else. “Did you find what you were looking for in the library the other night?” Kel asked.
“You know, I did,” Conor said. “I truly think I did.”
Lin slept restlessly that night, and dreamed strange dreams. While she did not dream about the man who burned everything he touched, she did dream of burned hills and valleys, land scorched clean by charring heat.
She woke later than usual and put on a dress of plain gray cambric, with the intention of visiting the Etse Kebeth. She could not help but feel that she had been neglecting Mariam, who was overdue for another healing session. Between the issue of the King’s medicine and her own worry over her upcoming testing, she fretted that she had not been as diligent in her oversight of Mariam’s condition as she should have been. And was not Mariam’s health the whole point of everything, really?
She laced herself into a white pinafore to keep away the dirt, and left her bedroom, still brushing her hair. She ought to eat something, too, though she could perhaps prevail upon Chana to let her raid the kitchen at the Etse Kebeth—
“Good morning, Linnet.”
She nearly shrieked. Her grandfather was seated at her kitchen table, a thin stream of gray smoke rising from the pipe in his mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him. How had he gotten in? Surely he was too old to have begun a new career as a housebreaker.
“ Zai, ” she said, pointing her hairbrush at him accusingly. “You nearly scared me to death! How did you get in here?”
He did not reply, which hardly surprised her. Out of his Counselor’s robes, in an ordinary tunic and trousers, he looked older, but the eyes that regarded her beneath bushy brows were as bright and perceptive as always.
“I have a message for you,” he said. “From Prince Conor.”
He slid a folded piece of paper across the table. Lin didn’t ask him if he’d read it; of course he had.
“Did the Prince ask you to deliver it to me?” she asked, picking it up. She could not help but recall what the Prince had said to her: Not all messengers can be trusted. Had he trusted the Counselor?
“No,” Mayesh said shortly.
Lin knew she could press him on the point; she also knew it would accomplish nothing if she did. Unfolding the paper, she read the message, written in a ridiculously elegant hand:
The Palace will be nearly empty this Tearsday. Come to Valerian Square at noon. A carriage will bring you from the square to Marivent. You know what is required of you there.
The Prince had signed it with a string of initials. His full royal name, no doubt, whatever it might be. Lin glanced up from the paper to find Mayesh exhaling patoun smoke in a thick cloud. He said, “Three days from now, in the main square, the Hierophant of Aigon will give his blessing to Prince Conor and his betrothed, Anjelica Iruvai of Kutani.”
Ah. Lin had known the ceremony was coming, as everyone in Castellane did. It was part of the long march of festivals, processions, and ritual protocols that preceded a royal marriage. She had not known it was this soon.
She wondered why Prince Conor wanted her in the square. It made sense to bring her to the Palace when it would be nearly emptied out, everyone down in the city. But surely it would be easier to send a carriage directly to the Sault?
“Why is Conor bringing you to the Palace?” Mayesh said quietly. “What does he expect you to do there?”
“So you did read the note,” Lin said accusingly.
“Either way, you have confirmed my suspicions,” he said. “I am not a fool, Lin, and I have eyes everywhere at Marivent. I know Conor had you brought to the library on the night of the banquet. Why? What does he mean about what is required of you?”
Lin hesitated. She could not think of a lie he couldn’t check easily. He knew too much about the Palace, about the royal family. More than they knew themselves.
She took a deep breath. The Prince had told her not to speak of this to anyone. But there was no way around telling her grandfather something: He would dig and dig at it otherwise, like a dog trying to find a bone buried in a garden. “I cannot say,” she told him. “The Prince placed me under a royal order.”
Mayesh stared, his pipe halfway to his mouth. “You’re not serious.”
“I would not lie,” Lin said, “about such a thing.”
“Then this is about his father.” Mayesh stood up abruptly. He paced to the window, staring out at the modest view of the Sault, the cobblestoned street stretching down and away, toward the gates.
“I cannot tell you,” Lin said, feeling wretched. “It is not that I do not want to. I have questions; you may know the answers. But I cannot. ”
“I do not like this.” Mayesh’s pipe was burning away between his fingers; he seemed to have forgotten it was there. “Conor has changed, you know. Since first you met him, when Kel was injured.”
“So I’ve heard,” Lin said dryly. “Mostly from Kel.”
“He isn’t wrong. And yet—how much can a man truly change, when he has only ever been raised to be one kind of person?” Mayesh’s pipe had gone out; he tossed it impatiently onto the table. “In the past, his plans have led to disaster. I do not want him to drag you into disaster with him.”
“There is only so much I can tell you, zai. ” She could not help but wonder. The worry in his voice sounded real. But that didn’t mean his concern was for her, or only her. He might also be concerned for Castellane, for the alliance with Kutani, for the nobles on the Hill and their thoughts about their Prince...
Lin sighed. “I can tell you that Con—that Prince Conor has not asked me to do anything I would not have been willing to do anyway, had he not placed me under an order.”
“Recall what our sages say. Live by the Laws, do not die by them. You must put your own safety first, Lin.” When she did not reply, he let out an irritated breath, and said, “Then why did he place you under an order at all?”
“He believes I don’t like him,” Lin said, and saw her grandfather raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think he knows what to do with such a thing. He’s never been around anyone who didn’t at least have to pretend to like him. He has no idea how to ask someone to help him just for the sake of helping him—not because they want something else from him as well.”
A look close to amusement flickered across Mayesh’s face. “I see you know our Prince better than I thought. Perhaps better than he knows himself.” He picked up the note from the table. “He wants you in Valerian Square during the blessing,” he said. “Very well. Come, and bring Mariam with you. She’ll enjoy the pomp and circumstance of it all. I will make sure for her sake,” he added, refolding the note, “that you have a good view.”