CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A s Kel had promised Merren, Lin was summoned as soon as they reached the Black Mansion. Andreyen had been waiting for them, perched on his tall chair in the Great Room like a watchful bird of prey. He sprang into action the moment they arrived, sending a messenger for Lin, ordering that hot water, brandewine, and linen bandages be brought to Merren’s room, and demanding that Merren, weak from blood loss, go and lie down immediately.
Jerrod would not allow anyone else, even Ji-An, to help Merren to his room, but undertook the venture himself, Merren’s good arm looped around his neck. Andreyen watched them go, his eyes hooded, before snapping, “You two. Are either of you hurt?” at Kel and Ji-An.
They both replied in the negative.
Andreyen looked Kel over. “So the blood on you is Merren’s, then?”
Kel had not realized the state he was in. There were long scratches on his hands and neck—and doubtless his face as well—left behind by the sharp needles of the scrub pine. His clothes were torn and dirty, his boots muddy and stained with seaweed, and Merren’s blood had left crimson patches on his jacket and shirt. The metallic scent of the blood mixed with the smell of brine and seaweed, making his clothes smell like one of Montfaucon’s worse colognes.
As he examined himself, a small hermit crab crawled out of the top of his boot and dropped to the carpet. It seemed to gaze around for a moment before scuttling beneath Andreyen’s brocaded armchair.
Andreyen rolled his eyes. “Go clean up,” he said, “the both of you. You are dripping on the rugs. Then come back and tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, it isn’t our fault,” Kel said to Ji-An as they did their best to tidy up in the small, green-tiled tepidarium. “You send someone to engage in spywork on a drowned island, you ought to expect them to come back wet.”
“He isn’t upset about the wet, or even the crab,” said Ji-An, who had changed out of her wet boots and trousers and into clean linens. Other than some scrub-pine scratches like Kel’s, she had emerged relatively unscathed. “He’s upset about Merren. And you should be glad he snapped at you. It means he likes you.”
“I thought you said he was angry at me.” Kel, too, had changed clothes, in the small room off the tepidarium, into the loose cotton tunic and trousers he usually wore during Crawling lessons with Jerrod. How he was going to explain the change when he returned to the Palace, he was not yet sure.
“You can be angry at someone and still be fond of them.” Ji-An ran a brush through her damp hair. Unplaited, it hung nearly to her waist, ink black and straight as an arrow. “He just thinks you ought to have warned him—”
“About Anjelica. I know.” Kel cut his gaze sideways at Ji-An. She seemed placid enough, though Ji-An was placid the way tigers in cages were placid; there always seemed to be a part of her that was planning what she would do if she were ever entirely free. “Are you sure he’s the one who’s angry? Not you?”
Ji-An’s brushstrokes slowed. “Why would I be angry?”
“Because Anjelica seemed to know a great deal about you.” He thought of the Princess saying in her steady voice, Because of you, a whole family in Geumseong lies dead. “Or was she wrong?”
Ji-An was twisting her hair up into its familiar knot at the back of her head. “Not about love,” she said with surprising calm. “I loved Na Ri. She was the daughter of the House of Nam. And they killed her.” She fastened her hair in place with an amethyst pin and turned to Kel. “I swore I would slay each one of them who had spilled her blood, and I did.”
How many? Kel wanted to ask, but he didn’t. It was not the kind of question he suspected Ji-An would want to answer.
“Is that when Andreyen saved your life?” Kel guessed. “Did he get you out of Geumjoseon?”
Her dark gaze was steady. “You’re not so foolish as you look.” She caught up her jacket, swinging it around her shoulders. “Now, he’ll want to know what happened on Tyndaris.”
“Wait,” said Kel. “How foolish do I look?”
But Ji-An was already on her way back to the Great Room. Kel followed her, a little sorry for what he had asked. He had grown fond of Ji-An, of her prickliness and protectiveness, her acidic humor and the gentleness she kept hidden.
Back in the Great Room, the fire had been built high, the flames leaping eagerly up the chimney. Andreyen sat in his chair, eyes hooded, his staff across his lap. He stroked the fine grain of the wood as Kel explained to him what had happened on the island: what they had seen and learned, how Merren had been injured, Antonetta’s intervention.
When he was done, Andreyen folded his hands in his usual position, crossing them over the raven’s head atop his staff. “So,” he said, his eyes shining with an eerie green cast. “What you are telling me—and let me make sure I have this absolutely correct—is that the Shining Gallery slaughter was masterminded by the Malgasi, who tricked several of the Charter Families into cooperating under the pretense that it was simply a nasty political prank.”
“Not just ‘the Malgasi,’” said Kel. “The heir to the throne. The Princess. Elsabet.”
“Who is also an assassin,” said Andreyen. “And who practices a magic not seen since the time of the Sorcerer-Kings. And in the wake of the Shining Gallery, the Malgasi have found themselves in the position of blackmailing the Charter Families who were involved by threatening to reveal that involvement.” He leaned his chin on his folded hands. “And since they would rather do anything than relinquish power, they will go along with the Malgasi and their plans to tear Castellane apart rather than speak up with the truth and risk the consequences.”
“They believe that when there is a new Castellane, they will rule it, along with the Malgasi,” said Ji-An. “The Aurelians will remain as figureheads.”
“They are fools if they believe that,” said Andreyen. “The Malgasi will discard them like trash after they’ve marched armies into Castellane.”
Anxiety buzzed like a bee in the back of Kel’s head. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “By the time they realize that, it will be too late.”
Andreyen gave a slight nod.
“We know of three families involved with the current conspiracy,” he said. “Liorada Alleyne, but not her daughter. The Cabrols were raised to their current position as Charter holders by the Malgasi, who also enabled their revenge, and now they must serve the Malgasi in return. The elder Gremont was a part of the original scheme that led to the bloodbath in the Gallery. He was killed there to silence him about his involvement. And Artal Gremont was working with Elsabet Belmany, but is now dead. As for any other families working with Malgasi, we do not know their names yet.” He sighed, sat up. “There is one question, now, that we must answer.”
“What do we do next?” said Ji-An.
“No.” The Ragpicker King looked at Kel. “Will Kel share what we’ve learned tonight with Legate Jolivet?”
Kel stiffened. The thought had not occurred to him until this moment. To tell Jolivet seemed impossible, and yet—
“But you must tell him.” It was Lin. She had appeared in the doorway, looking weary; she was dressed in a plain gray dress, her hair in two long braids. Her medical satchel was not with her. She must have left it in Merren’s room.
“How long were you standing there?” Andreyen said, his eyebrows ticking up a notch.
“A little while.” Lin came farther into the room, and Kel caught sight of her expression for the first time. She looked a little sick, which struck him as odd—she’d seen much worse injuries than Merren’s. “I’ve treated Merren for shock and loss of blood. Jerrod is staying with him for the moment, but he’ll be fine. If you want to know what I heard”—she glanced from Kel to Ji-An to Andreyen—“it was enough to know the Aurelians are in danger. The Prince is in danger. You must tell the Legate, Kel. It is his duty to protect them.”
“Conor is my duty,” said Kel. “Jolivet has more wide-ranging concerns.”
“Jolivet is not subtle, Lin,” said Andreyen. “Once he knows, every one of the Charter Families involved will be arrested. They might well end up in the Trick. And they will not stop at the ringleaders. It could mean very bad things for your friend Antonetta.”
The buzz of anxiety was back in Kel’s head, louder than ever. Lin said quickly, “It would be wrong to blame Antonetta for what her mother has done.” She flashed a look at Kel. “But—do you care more about protecting her than protecting Conor?”
“It’s not so simple,” said Ji-An. “The Princess of Malgasi said one of her conspirators was someone on the Hill, someone close to Conor. For all we know, it is Jolivet.”
“But then why would he have asked me to investigate?” Kel scrubbed at his eyes. Madness. This was madness. “All right. I’ll keep it from Jolivet, but not for long. The Cabrols are far less established than the Alleynes or the Gremonts. If we confront Ciprian, he’ll break. We’ll find out from him who the other conspirators are.”
“Soon,” Lin said.
“Soon,” Kel agreed.
Ji-An shot Lin a curious look. “I had not realized,” she said, “that you were so fond of House Aurelian.”
Lin was pale. “It is more than that. The Malgasi wiped out the Ashkar of their country. Killed or drove away all of them. If they come into power here, they’ll do the same.”
“That’s true,” Kel confirmed. “The Princess said as much.”
Andreyen leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps this is why the Ashkar of Castellane need a Goddess to lead them. Perhaps you were born for such a time as this.”
Lin gave him a long, cool look. “There’s a hermit crab under your chair,” she said finally.
The Ragpicker King swore, though Kel missed the exact words. They were drowned out by the sound of raised voices from within the mansion.
“That’s Merren,” Ji-An said. “It sounds like he’s feeling better.”
Kel frowned. “I’ll be right back.”
It was a relief to get out of the Great Room, away from talk of trust and treason, of Jolivet, of danger to Conor. He’d visited Merren’s room before on various occasions: sometimes to borrow a book, sometimes just to chat. The space was overflowing with books and plants, like Merren’s flat in the Student Quarter. It had something of the dark aesthetic of the rest of the mansion, but Merren had done what he could to bring in light and color: hanging bright cloths over the dark tapestries, covering a grim stone urn with a pink blanket. (“I always feel like a snake is about to come out of it,” he’d said when Kel asked him why.)
Now Merren was sitting up in his bed. He was pale, wearing a loose, unbuttoned shirt, his arm wrapped in Lin’s familiar bandages. The rumpled coverlet pooled around his waist. His face was in his hands, his fingers threaded through his blond curls.
On a chair beside his bed was Jerrod. He looked up when Kel came in; Kel could see the silvery wink of his mask. He’d begun to forget that Jerrod wore it; it was simply a part of him, and Kel no longer felt that it hid Jerrod’s expressions. He could read him well enough regardless. Now he could see the look of what seemed almost like despair on Jerrod’s face.
“You knew perfectly well how important it was to me to take revenge on Gremont with my own hands,” Merren said without looking up. His voice was hoarse. “Did you think I was too weak to do it?”
“No. That wasn’t it.”
“And you barely know my sister. How could she have told you he was wearing a false amulet?” Merren raised his face from his hands, saw Kel. The pain in his expression was clear, and startling. Merren so often wore his own mask, like Jerrod’s, but his was not metal: It was geniality, cheerfulness, the ease of his smile.
“I ought to go,” Kel said, beginning to turn around.
“No. You should hear this, too,” Jerrod said. “Alys approached me. I did not approach her. Since Gremont seemed to be enjoying himself going to the Caravel, flaunting his presence in her face, she had decided to turn that against him. While he was sleeping, she had Audeta remove the real amulet and replace it with a replica.”
“And you knew?” Merren whispered. “When we went to Tyndaris, you knew Gremont would be there, that you planned to kill him—”
“No. That was chance. It was an opportunity, and I took it. If it hadn’t been tonight, I would have done it the next time he went to the Caravel. That was what Alys had planned.”
“I still don’t understand why she’d approach you,” Merren said.
“Because she knows I’d do anything—” Jerrod broke off, rising to his feet. “Because she didn’t want you to do it. She didn’t want her brother to live with blood on his hands. And my hands”—he smiled a twisted smile—“are bloody enough already.”
Merren thumped his closed fist against his thigh in frustration. “She’s my sister. Of course she thinks I’m a child. You should know better. I am neither weak nor delicate.”
“I never said you were weak,” Jerrod growled. “But I think taking a life will change you, and I don’t want you to change.”
Merren glared at him. “That’s not your decision to make.”
Behind the mask, Jerrod’s eyes flashed. Embarrassed, Kel said, “Merren, I don’t think—”
But Jerrod had taken two steps across the room and caught hold of the front of Merren’s shirt. He bent and kissed him—a fierce, hot, demanding kiss, his hands rising to cup the nape of Merren’s neck. Merren arched back involuntarily, fingers digging into the mattress on either side of him.
When Jerrod pulled away, Merren looked dazed in a way that seemed to have little to do with his head injury. He lifted a hand to touch his mouth. Kel had wondered if anything like this had happened with them before; now he knew it hadn’t. The air in the room felt charged like the air after a pulse of lightning.
Jerrod’s hood had fallen back. He ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair; it was shaking. “I’m done,” he said. “Done with the lot of you.”
He walked out of the room, pushing past Kel with his head down, like a defeated fighter leaving the Arena.
Merren sat bolt-upright in bed and cried out, reaching for his shoulder. “Go after him,” he said. “Kel—”
“Merren—”
“Just go. ”
Kel plunged into the corridor. Jerrod had only left a few moments before, but he seemed to have vanished. The corridors had twists and turns, and Jerrod was a Crawler. They knew how to disappear. After a quick search, Kel found himself in the Great Room, where Ji-An and Lin, who had been deep in conversation, turned to look at him in surprise. Andreyen, who had not moved from his chair, did not look up. He said, “If you are looking for Jerrod, he’s already gone.”
“He said none of us should follow him,” said Lin. “He said he’d know if we did and—well, the rest of it was rude.”
Kel sighed. “What a mess.”
“He’ll come back,” Ji-An said.
“I don’t think he will,” said Andreyen. “I suppose it is no surprise he wants no part of what comes next for us all.”
“What does come next?” Kel said. It was the thing he had wanted to know most since they’d arrived at the Black Mansion.
“A game of Castles on a new board,” said Andreyen, staring into the fire. “Jerrod was born on the streets of Castellane. Stealing doesn’t bother him, murder doesn’t bother him, violence doesn’t bother him. But we place ourselves now between countries. Countries ready to go to war.” Andreyen gestured with a long-fingered hand, as if at a playing board none of them could see. “It is a thankless task, and dangerous. I would not blame any of you should you choose to refuse it.”
No one spoke or moved. All around the room, the firelight cast strange and dancing shadows. Andreyen looked steadily from one of them to the other; his eyes came, at last, to rest on Kel.
“Very well, then,” he said. “The Solstice Ball is soon, is it not? And Ciprian Cabrol will be there?”
Kel nodded. “It’s in four days.”
“Excellent.” The Ragpicker King leaned forward. “This is what you must do...”
Lin returned troubled from the Black Mansion and crawled exhausted into bed. Still, she could not fall asleep. She kept going over and over the events of the night in her mind. After she had left the Black Mansion, she had been surprised to find that Andreyen had followed her quietly out into the night.
Scarlet Square had been dark and silent, the eastern sky not yet touched with dawn. Andreyen had been a shadow beside her, gazing out at the city. “Is something wrong?” he’d asked. “Just now—you seemed troubled in a way unusual for you.”
Lin had not planned to tell him. She had not planned to tell anyone. She was surprised to find the words tumbling out, as if she had tripped over something and unexpectedly dropped what she was carrying. “In the Sault tonight, before you summoned me,” she said. “I was with the Exilarch, just talking, and I felt something strange.”
Andreyen had frowned. “Because of him?”
“No. I knew somehow that I was sensing a thing outside the Sault. That something terrible was happening. As if a voice had called out a warning, and even as it was calling out to me, I saw fire burning across water.”
“Ah.” The Ragpicker King passed a hand across his forehead. “You felt the magic Elsabet Belmany did on Tyndaris.”
“It wasn’t the first time I’ve had that feeling—often I have it just when I wake up from a dream—but it was more powerful than before. More frightening.”
“I would guess Her Highness has been in Castellane for some time. Making plans. Working with these conspirators of hers. You have a Source-Stone, and we know now that she does as well. It is possible they can somehow sense each other.”
Lin had frozen. “Does that mean she knows about me?”
“I don’t think so,” he’d said, but slowly, as if he could not be sure. “You sensed her when she drew on her stone, which must be suffused with great power to fuel the magic she can do. You have yet to use yours for more than healing magic—and Elsabet Belmany would expect healing magic from the Ashkar. Even if she sensed it, she would not note it as unusual.”
“Should I be—looking for her? Trying to find where she’s hiding out?”
“No,” he’d said sharply. “She doesn’t know about you, and I believe we should keep it that way. The longer Elsabet Belmany remains unaware of Lin Caster, the better.”
Lin turned over in her bed. She could not help but wish that the first time she had sensed another magic-user in the world, it had been anyone but Elsabet Belmany. The Malgasi remained, in her mind, a symbol of horror, of vicious wolf-faced murderers who hung Ashkar children from makeshift gallows and proclaimed it a victory over evil. At least now, she supposed, she could begin to understand how the Malgasi had turned their population against the Ashkar people so quickly and so thoroughly when the Ashkar had lived in Favár for generations of peace. They had used their power. Of that she had no doubt.
When Lin fell asleep at last, she tumbled into awful dreams in which a captor whose face she could not see bound her arms and legs with long strips of cloth in different colors: a scarlet rope tied her ankles, while one wrist was bound with blue and the other with black. She cried out as her limbs were dragged painfully in different directions. “Hush,” said her captor, “do not struggle, and it will go easier for you.”
The voice was Conor’s.
The next morning Lin awoke to discover Chana at her front door, carrying the report that one of the Shomrim had been injured on the wall when a ladder had broken. Lin spent a feverish time nursing him through the worst of his recovery, as what was broken in him knitted itself back together with the help of medicine and amulets.
She finally made it back to her own house two days later, where she realized to her horror that today was the day the Hierophant of the city was meant to bless the wedding of Conor and his new bride, and that she was required to be there to meet the Marivent carriage in Valerian Square. She took herself off to the kitchen to find a tisane for her head, glumly wondering if there was anything in the world she wanted to do less than watch the betrothal of Conor Aurelian and Anjelica Iruvai be blessed by the Hierophant. Mayesh had promised a good view, which seemed worse than a bad one. Hopefully the carriage would arrive for her not too late after noon.
She dressed and went to the Etse Kebeth, where she found Mariam on her toes in front of the small mirror, winding silver ribbons into her hair. The moment she saw Lin, her face fell.
“You’re not wearing that, are you?” she said.
Lin glanced down at her perfectly serviceable gray linen dress. It had a hole near the hem where she’d spilled a preparation of burdock root, but who was looking at hems?
“It’s an event, the blessing,” Mariam said. “Everyone will be dressed up. And aren’t you going to the Palace afterward?”
“Just to see a patient,” Lin protested as Mariam—who was wearing a blue dress in sprigged muslin, with fashionable gathers at the wrists and hem—went to her wardrobe and began to look through it, humming.
“Well, the patient will be stunned by how glamorous you look, and meanwhile you will not embarrass our people by turning up in Valerian Square looking like a rag-and-bone seller.” Mariam drew a dress of dove-gray satin from the wardrobe and held it out to Lin. “Wear this,” she said. “It will make your eyes look more green.”
“As though anyone will notice,” Lin muttered, but she went to change anyway. In truth, she had to admit to herself she was glad her grandfather had told her to bring Mariam to the square. Mariam’s delight in the pageantry of the event was simple and uncomplicated in a world where nothing felt simple or uncomplicated anymore.
“You know,” Mariam called as Lin struggled into the slippery gray fabric, “whatever Princess Anjelica is wearing, everyone will be wanting something similar immediately. Did you see her on the back of that magnificent elephant?”
Lin had to admit she hadn’t—though not, of course, why.
“She’s absolutely stunning. If she chooses to, she’ll be setting the fashions for the next decade or so. In fact, it will likely happen whether she chooses it or not.”
Lin made a noncommittal noise and rejoined Mariam in the bedroom. She let Mariam tie her thick hair back with a blue silk cord, then hurried the both of them out of the Etse Kebeth, pausing only to hug Chana, who was boiling leaves in the kitchen.
With her satchel slung over her shoulder, Lin made her way up the Ruta Magna arm in arm with Mariam. It was a bright day, the sun high in a cloudless sky. Valerian Square was packed with people, as Lin had expected, but she was surprised to find that a serious mood prevailed. There was none of the festive spirit of the Independence Festival, no food and drink sellers mingling through the crowd, nor any music or impromptu dancing. There seemed a general public feeling that this was a solemn occasion, as if even the children—scrub-faced and neatly dressed, holding their parents’ hands—felt they were there to witness an important moment in the history of the city.
A wooden dais, almost a stage, had been erected in front of the Temple. It was draped with cloth-of-gold, and upon it stood an arched canopy of the shimmering velvet Mariam called luminància, held aloft by two pillars of marble wrapped with flowers. A crowd of Castelguards was gathered near the Temple steps—Lin recognized Benaset among them—and Lin squinted, trying to see if Mayesh was among the Palace throng.
“Well, I think it will be good for Castellane to have this new Princess,” Mariam said, and Lin realized with a guilty start that she had been paying little attention to her friend’s chatter.
“Really?” Lin leaned against one of the square’s gold lions. “Why?”
“Marriages, babies, those are happy things. They lift people’s spirits.” Mariam stuck her tongue out at Lin. “I’d think a physician would know that.”
“Free beer also raises people’s spirits,” Lin noted. “They ought to be giving that out, if they want everyone in a good mood.”
Mariam laughed. “You have no sense of pageantry.” She looked thoughtfully at the Temple. “You know, before the Sundering, a king or queen who was to marry might ride to the Temple on the back of a dragon, or accompanied by a phoenix. Can you imagine such a fire?”
Lin thought of the charred earth of her dream. “Such glory brings with it great dangers.”
“Gracious,” said Mariam. “You are in a bad mood, aren’t you? You hate pageantry, princesses, and phoenixes. Is it just the letter P ?”
“Mariam—”
“You are glad the Prince is getting married, aren’t you?” Mariam asked archly.
“Of course,” Lin said through her teeth. “Oh, look, there’s Mayesh. He’s waving to us.”
Indeed, her grandfather had appeared at the foot of the Temple steps and was gesturing to Lin. She pushed her way through the crowd, pulling Mariam with her, until they reached the perimeter of the Castelguards encircling the Temple. Lin nodded at Benaset, who stepped aside to let her and Mariam through with a sour look.
The Windtower Clock began to strike noon as Lin and Mariam joined Mayesh. Lin glanced around but saw no royal carriage that might be searching for her. She could hear Mariam chattering excitedly to her grandfather, who was nodding along with a faint look of amusement. He had always liked Mariam.
Before Lin could greet Mayesh herself, the high marble doors ground open, dragged along their grooves by acolytes in white Temple robes. The great doorway to the Temple loomed before them, black as a tomb.
The Hierophant emerged from the shadows first. He wore the green-gray of Aigon’s clerics, and a long cloak, woven with a pattern of waves, cascading down his back. His head was bare, his hair thick and gray. In one hand he held a silver staff, topped with an orb of Sunderglass. Smoke seemed to move inside the orb, puffs of white and gray appearing and disappearing within the vitreous circle.
He began to walk down the marble steps, head high, unsmiling. The crowd was nearly silent. After him came members of the Charter Families, each carrying a banner representing the sigil of their House. First was Ciprian Cabrol, carrying the madder flower banner of the dye Charter. Then Gasquet and Montfaucon, Esteve and Uzec, Falconet and Cazalet. The Gremont banner, with its coronet of tea leaves, was carried by an elderly woman in black with steel-gray hair and an even steelier expression. Lady Gremont, Lin guessed. As for the Alleynes, a servant in livery held the silk banner. Lin wondered what Lady Alleyne’s excuse was for not attending.
After the Charter Families came Queen Lilibet, all in green as was her habit, her hair dressed high with emeralds. It was strange to see her at such an event alone, without the King, even for someone who knew, as Lin did, why he was absent.
All save the Hierophant stationed themselves up and down the stairs, leaving the center clear to form a sort of aisle. The square fell silent, a breathless hush, the only sound the footfalls of the Hierophant as he ascended the dais and turned to face the Temple.
Lin felt a hand on her shoulder. Mayesh. It was a calming touch, as if he were worried for her—but why would he be worried? She turned to him with a puzzled expression just as they came out of the doors together.
Conor and his bride-to-be. Not hand in hand, but their shoulders nearly brushing. Whispers rose, scattering the silence. So beautiful.
Lin did not know what she had imagined of Anjelica Iruvai, or what it might mean to be rumored the most beautiful woman in the world. She had pictured the sort of curves that seemed the standard of desirability, the kind possessed by Antonetta. Red lips and cheeks, wide eyes. She was almost ashamed at the paucity of her imagination now. She had not pictured Anjelica’s poise and lightness, the way every part of her seemed to come together by design, like one of Mariam’s exquisite dresses.
She and Conor were both dressed formally, he in a dark-gray velvet doublet and trousers, embroidered with silver silk, she in a deep-violet gown with a train that fanned out behind her on the steps.
Mariam gasped softly. “Tyndaris purple.”
During the time of the Empire, the deep-purple dye had been extracted from the shells of sea creatures that had thrived on Tyndaris before the island drowned beneath the waves. They were extinct now, and the only cloth of that color was the property of House Aurelian. When a new member of the royal family was born, a bolt was cut for them, to be used throughout their life. When Lilibet had married Markus, she had been given her own bolt; now, it seemed, Anjelica had, too.
Beside Anjelica, the Prince walked with his head held high. A tooled-leather belt circled his lean hips, a ceremonial sword gleaming in a scabbard at his side. His black curls tumbled over the gold circlet binding his forehead. His expression was set, shadowed. He seemed braced, as if for an ordeal.
As they reached the foot of the steps, the crowd’s murmurs rose: how beautiful Anjelica was, how good this would be for the city, what handsome children they would have.
Anjelica’s beauty had won them over, Lin thought with a pang, without a word or gesture needed. Beauty had that power. Even in the Story-Spinner tales in which Conor was a murderer or a tyrant or a coldhearted lonely king, he was a handsome murderer or tyrant. Beauty imbued every action with a sort of glamour and made it easy to forgive.
Conor reached out a hand to help Anjelica onto the dais beside him. The two of them faced the Hierophant. They were so close that Lin could not help but wonder if Conor could see her, too, standing beside Mayesh. But if he did, he gave no sign.
“Oh, Lin,” Mariam breathed. “This is so exciting. ”
There was a sudden stir among the Castelguards as the Hierophant began to chant the blessings of Aigon. Mayesh’s hand dropped from Lin’s shoulder; she glanced over and saw Aron Benjudah, the Exilarch, in conversation with one of the Castelguards. To her surprise, the Castelguard, who seemed to be listening close, stepped aside to let Aron into the protected area.
She stared at Aron as he came closer. Here was neither the Rhadanite trader, dirty from the road, nor the solemnly robed Exilarch meting out justice in the Kathot. Aron wore a high-necked black jacket figured with silver, and at his waist was buckled a sword whose hilt was made of black metal and carved in the shape of a raven whose outspread wings made the cross guard. In its center was set a scarlet stone, red as the setting sun. Lin knew it immediately—any Ashkar would. It was the weapon that the Goddess had given to Judah Makabi after the fall of Aram. All Exilarchs from that day forth would be descended from Makabi, and would carry the name Benjudah and the Evening Sword, the gift of the Goddess.
The Evening Sword. Lin had never thought to see it. It was a legend, like phoenixes or dragons. She could not help but look at it as Aron came to stand in front of Mayesh. The sword had been a part of Ashkar history for as long as there had been Ashkar. A history that stretched not just into the past but also forward into the future. A tale she had inserted herself into without thought for the consequences.
Mayesh inclined his head, as if he’d expected to meet the Exilarch here. “Aron,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”
“I thought to congratulate the Counselor to the throne,” said Aron with only a glance at Lin. Mariam, who was staring at him wide-eyed, he ignored completely. “This clever alliance between Kutani and Castellane, how much of it was your doing?”
“Some of it,” said Mayesh. “As you know, an adviser only has the influence he has earned.”
“And you have worked hard to earn the trust of these people, these malbushim, ” said Aron. “I recall, I think, you advising me some years ago. I do not believe I took your advice.”
Mariam glanced at Lin as if to silently say: What’s going on? Lin just shook her head slightly. She could not have described the look on Aron’s face. Not angry exactly, but something colder and harder than that.
“No,” said Mayesh. “You didn’t.”
“But I was very young then,” said Aron, “and inclined to believe in things like loyalty and honesty.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Mayesh said calmly. If he was upset, Lin couldn’t tell it; there was something about him that made her believe he had expected this conversation. Perhaps not for it to happen here and now, of course.
She glanced up and saw that the Hierophant was still chanting, and that Anjelica and Conor both had their heads bent, and their eyes closed.
“You let me believe a lie,” said Aron. “Is that better? I believed that when Asher was exiled, he was sent across the seas. Somewhere very far. I did not know he was here in Castellane, starving and alone. I did not know I could have helped him before it was too late.”
“You could not have helped him.” Mayesh’s tone was flat as a desert road. “Had you tried, you would have found yourself exiled as well. And we needed you. You are a Prince of the Ashkar. Your responsibility is not to one single person, but to your people.”
Lin could see Aron flush even under his tan. “Is it your own responsibility to your people you are thinking of when you suggest your granddaughter should follow in your footsteps as Counselor? Is it really that no one else is suited for the task, or do you simply wish to keep the power in the hands of your family?”
He looked at Lin then, and she could not tell if the anger blazing in his eyes was for her, or for Mayesh, or for opportunities lost long ago.
“Lin is not going to be the next Counselor,” said Mariam, to Lin’s surprise. She looked nearly as angry as Aron; her small hands were in fists at her sides. “She is the Goddess.”
“Ah,” said Aron, his eyes narrowing. “A true believer. Well, we will learn the truth of things soon enough.”
And with a last glare at Mayesh, he turned on his heel and walked away, pushing through the knot of Castelguards.
Before Lin could think to stop herself, she darted after him, plunging into the crowd.