CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
K el paced the length of the room he shared with Conor, wearing a track (he was sure) into the center of the expensive Hindish carpet on the floor.
It was dark; the sun had gone down. Some time earlier, Kel had seen smoke in the sky and heard the ringing of the city alarms that signaled a fire that needed to be put out (a not uncommon occurrence, but it did nothing for Kel’s already jangled nerves).
Though Marivent was alive with torchlight, Kel could see that the North Tower was dark. Lin would have made her way back to the Sault for her test. The Dial Chamber was invisible from the windows, but every once in a while, servants would hurry by along the paths outside, carrying wine and food in the direction of the meeting. It was entirely possible it could take the whole night.
Kel prayed silently, to no God in particular, that it would end soon—mainly because his nerves were being slowly shredded. Over and over he pictured his confession to Conor. Should I begin with: Well, there is a King in the City and a King on the Hill and they communicate. They have Castellane in common, you see. Or: On the night of the Shining Gallery massacre, Jolivet approached me.
Thinking of Jolivet brought him up short. Jolivet had insisted that Kel keep his activities secret; if Kel revealed the truth to Conor, would Jolivet admit to his part in it? Would he deny all, and let Kel take the blame? Or would revealing the truth to Conor cause the Legate to take drastic steps that could put them all in danger?
Reaching the room’s northern end, he spun around and began to pace back the other way. He thought of Antonetta and felt a surge of sharp pain go through him. He wanted her with him desperately, despite his anger, wanted her voice and her advice. He changed course, heading to his wardrobe and throwing the heavy door open. He riffled through the clothes, looking for the plain brown cloak he wore when he wanted to go unremarked outside Marivent. It wasn’t as if he did not know where to find her—
He hesitated, his hand still outstretched. He might know where she was, he reminded himself, but he could not trust her. The thought had a bitter taste; to love someone you could not trust felt like standing unprotected in the freezing cold. He thought of Lin, saying, I do not want to love him. It frightens me more than anything has ever frightened me.
He lowered his hand, frowning. It was ridiculous to think of leaving the Palace, in any event; he had promised Conor he would wait here. There was something odd about his wardrobe, though. His brown cloak was missing, and the shelves were also a mess, as if he or Conor had riffled through them in a hurry, looking for something—
Shh. A whisper of sound. Kel turned to see that something white had been pushed beneath the door of the room. He darted swiftly to fling the door open and peer out into the corridor, but he saw no one there.
The paper fluttered at his feet like a bird’s wing. He bent to pick it up and saw a message that made his blood go cold.
Anjelica Iruvai is fleeing the Palace tonight. Go quickly and convince her to remain. Should she leave, I do not need to tell you how dire the consequences to Castellane will be. — Andreyen
The door to the Castel Pichon was locked.
Kel paced back and forth before the blank face of the Little Palace, the feeling of ice in his veins. He had never seen the castle deserted, not since Anjelica had been in residence. Usually two of her brothers would be outside, often playing cards or even relaxing in the grass. Now the Pichon was lightless, the doors sealed, the place utterly silent.
He thought about shouting Anjelica’s name, but that would only bring the Castelguards. Who would summon Lilibet, Jolivet, Mayesh—all of Marivent would be roused. Andreyen’s note had begged Kel to convince Anjelica not to leave, not to bring the weight of the Aurelians and the Charter Families down upon her.
It was then that Kel noticed the window about ten feet from the ground, facing out toward the needle of the Trick. If memory served, it was most likely one of the windows in Anjelica’s suite of rooms. Swearing under his breath, Kel summoned up his lessons with Jerrod, flexed his fingers, and leaped to catch hold of the wall.
Fortunately, the Castel Pichon was not made of smooth stone. Its bricks were uneven, offering easy footholds and handholds. Kel scrambled up to the window in a matter of moments and flung himself inside.
He landed awkwardly on the wooden floor, rolled, and came up on his feet. He was in Anjelica’s bedroom, which was lit only by moonlight. The bed itself loomed on his right. The colorful tapestries that hung on the walls were drained of color by the dim white light.
“Anjelica?” Kel called softly. There was an air of disuse to the room, a quality that felt empty and abandoned. Surely she could not be already gone? What could have driven her so suddenly from Marivent? None of this was making sense.
It was then that he saw movement in the shadows, at the far end of the room, where double doors opened into a small study. Curtains, he thought, blowing in the wind from open windows. Windows that faced the disused garden at the back of the Palace—
Kel slid his dagger silently from his wrist brace, a flick of silver in the gloom. He took a step forward, only to freeze in place as a shadow emerged from the blacker shadows of the study. For a moment he saw only the outline of a woman in darkness and thought of Elsabet Belmany. Then a lamp in her hand flared to life and he saw her.
Anjelica.
“Oh, Kel,” she said sadly.
She was dressed for travel. A linen cloak, fastened in the front, soft leather boots, a dark tunic. The curls of her hair had been gathered into a knot at the back of her head. She carried nothing save the lamp in one hand, and in the other, a short, straight-bladed knife, not unlike Kel’s dagger.
“I wish you hadn’t come,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do.”
One look at her face told him that she meant it. She was not leaving because she was angry, not stalking away in a temper or even a state of hurt or distress. She was calm and decided.
Before he could ask why, a sound came from outside the window. A man’s voice drifted up through the night air, cautious, a little worried. “Anjelica?”
She turned her head. “A moment, Laurent. It’s Kel.”
Kel heard the privateer swear. Something about his voice was oddly familiar—possibly he had heard him speak at the Solstice Ball? “Kel’s up there?” he called. “Well, tell him to get the gray hell out of Marivent, too. There’s enough room on Sedai.”
“Laurent Aden.” Kel kept the knife steady. “You’re running away with Laurent Aden.”
Her dark gaze was steady. “It’s nothing to do with you, Kel. The less you know, the better.”
“It does have to do with me. Because it has to do with Conor. You’ve lied to us since the beginning, Anjelica.”
She glanced away. So she wouldn’t try to deny it. Memories were running through his mind, everything tinted differently now, as if he had seen events unfolding before only through distorted glass, and now it had become clear.
“It was a lie that Laurent was in love with you and you spurned him,” Kel said. “You loved him. You have always loved him. I saw you at the ball—I saw the way he looked at you. I told myself it was nothing, but I was being a fool, wasn’t I? He was meant to come get you the moment you landed in Castellane—that’s why you were so unsettled when I got you from the harbor. You kept looking around for Aden. Isn’t that right?” Kel recalled her tension when he had fetched her from the Kutani ship, the way she had scanned the harbor over and over. Looking for Laurent, but not in the way he’d thought. She’d been hoping to see him, not afraid.
He took a step forward. Anjelica moved only a very little, the knife in her hand flashing, but it was enough to stop him. He could see by the way she held the blade that she knew how to use it.
“You are clever,” she said. “Laurent was meant to take me directly from the ship when it docked in the harbor. When he didn’t come, I thought he might have been killed.”
“I have to applaud you,” he said, wondering how long he could keep her here, keep her talking. “You showed none of your distress.”
She tossed her head. “I am a Princess. I have the same practice in not showing what I feel as Conor does. And in a way, I was honest with Conor that day. When I told him I did not require him to playact at love, and that I would not do it myself, I said only what I meant.”
“Because you were in love with Aden.”
“And Conor, too, is in love with another,” said Anjelica. “You must know that.” She looked at him speculatively. “We do not have much time, Királar . But I thought you should know. I had been told many things about Conor—that he was a monster, selfish, cruel. He is not. He has a gentle heart that even years of politics have not destroyed. And if you asked me, I would say it was because of you. You have kept him human all this time. Perhaps that is not a Sword Catcher’s duty under the Law, but it ought to be.”
Kel ignored this. He could not touch it, not now. “That story about the blackmail. All of that was a lie. You used me to get in touch with Laurent through the Ragpicker King.”
Anjelica only looked at him, blade in hand, unapologetic.
“Why did you not run away with Aden the night of the ball?” Kel demanded. “Why wait until now?”
She set her chin. “That was what Laurent wanted. And it was what I wanted, too, but I told him I could not abandon Conor. I knew what the cost to Castellane would be.”
“And then—the folly changed your mind?” Kel recalled what she had said that day.
“I had just told Laurent that I could not go away with him,” she said quietly. “That I would not abandon Conor, because he had shown me honor and respect. I was angry—angry enough to let Sedai destroy that stupid folly.”
“And that’s why you’re leaving?”
“Of course not,” she said indignantly. “I was still going to stay— I was angry, but I understood. I knew Conor was in love with someone he could not have; how could I not recognize the same situation I found myself in?” She shook her head. “Oh, Kel. You have no idea how bad things have gotten, do you? Representatives of Malgasi came to tell Laurent they would help him spirit me away. That they would marry Elsabet Belmany to Conor in my place, sparing him scandal. But when I refused the offer, they were not deterred. Aden learned they planned to have me murdered to clear the way for Elsabet.”
Fucking Malgasi. Again. Their greasy handprints on everything bad that happened in Castellane. “You should have come to us. We could have protected you.”
“I’m not sure you can protect yourselves,” she said quietly. “If I run away, I’m a Princess who ran away with her lover. The fault is mine. It is far better for everyone if the nobility in the Dial Chamber sees me fleeing on an elephant. Then there can be no question what I did.”
“Fleeing to the Malgasi for protection? You can’t trust them, Anjelica—”
“Aden isn’t really working with them. They think we’re taking a carriage, fleeing to his ship. But we plan to be beyond their reach by the time they figure out he’s betrayed them.”
“Conor is never going to marry Elsabet Belmany.”
“I know that. But if I am murdered here, even if he is innocent of my death, do you not think Kutani will want revenge? Do you not think a second dead Princess will make everything worse—for him, for you?”
“Let me talk to Aden,” said Kel. “I need to know what the Malgasi have said to him—”
Something crashed against the front doors of the castle. What had been silence exploded in a roar of angry voices; light bloomed outside the front windows. A harsh voice shouted, “ Open! Open in the name of the King! ”
Kel spun to look at Anjelica. She was already at the window to the back garden. Her blade flashed as she slid it into her belt. She glanced over her shoulder at Kel just as the front doors of the castle gave way under the force of the crowd outside. They burst open, and a flood of Castelguards flooded into the room.
Over the noise, Kel could hear Laurent calling for Anjelica, yet she was still hovering, halfway out of the room, her eyes on Kel. He inclined his head toward her, as if to say, It’s all right. Go.
She flung herself from the window. A moment later Kel heard the trumpet of an elephant and the sound of heavy footfalls on dirt.
A familiar voice echoed in his ears. Kel turned, as if in a dream. The Castelguards were a red tide, surging through the room. A blur. But among them two figures stood out clearly. Conor, in his green coat with the burning yellow roses. And beside him, Falconet, all in black and white like a domino. He looked at Kel with a faint grin, like the look he’d worn that day in the Caravel, when Kel had caught the apple he’d thrown.
“Where is she?” Conor said, his voice flat. “The Princess. Where’s she gone?”
Kel shook his head. “She went with Aden. I couldn’t stop her.”
“Oh, you tried to stop her, did you?” Falconet said with a sneer, but Conor was already turning, rapping out instructions to the guards.
“Go after her—you five!” He pointed at a group of Castelguards. “The Princess has been taken. They’re riding that Gods-damned elephant. Stop them at the gates! Go! Go now!”
As the Castelguards raced from the room, Kel saw a commotion at the doorway. Several familiar figures pushed their way into the room—Cazalet, his round face unusually serious. Lady Alleyne, dressed in red silk. And Sardou, sour-faced, ducking his long frame under the low doorway.
“Yes, I tried to stop her, Falconet,” Kel snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”
Falconet didn’t bother to answer him. Instead, he turned to the small group of remaining Castelguards, who were watching him expectantly. Kel felt a hard twist deep in his stomach. Something was very wrong.
“Seize Anjuman, Benaset,” said Joss, and his smirk was wound all through his voice, a sort of ugly triumph. “Hold him.”
Kel waited for Conor to say something. To snap at Joss, to tell Benaset to step away. But Conor said nothing. He was looking at Kel with an expression Kel had never seen on his face before. He struggled to think of anything like it. Maybe when the King had whipped Conor, when the blood had streamed down his back like it would never be stanched. Maybe then.
Kel was conscious of Benaset behind him, catching hold of his arms, twisting his wrist until his knife fell to a clatter on the ground. It should have bothered him more, but all he could think about was Conor.
Falconet said, “So you thought you’d get away? Flee with the Princess before Conor found out you’ve been working behind his back for the Ragpicker King?”
“I still can’t believe it,” said Sardou, approaching the center of the room, where Kel stood, along with the other Charter holders. “Anjuman’s always been loyal to a fault. Like a dog.”
An echo in Kel’s ears of Roverge, long ago. The dog barks on behalf of its master. Bark somewhere else, little dog.
“The Ragpicker—” Kel started hoarsely before turning to Conor. “Jolivet,” he said. “Jolivet can explain.”
Conor’s lips were white. He said, “So you don’t deny it.”
“Joss already told us. There are witnesses to your treason all over Castellane,” Lady Alleyne said, her rouged lips a red slash across her face. “They’ve seen Kel go in and out of the Black Mansion. Ride with the Ragpicker King in his carriage.”
“I’m telling you,” Kel said, “Jolivet—”
Conor put his hands up to cover his eyes. “Stop,” he said, almost breathless. “Just tell me none of it’s true—”
“He can’t say that.” Falconet’s tone darkened. “You must think your cousin a fool, Anjuman. How many times have you crept off to the Black Mansion, dozens? Hundreds? Did you think you were never noticed? The Hill has eyes all over Castellane. You ought to know that as well as anyone.”
And of course he had known it, Kel thought. But he had not been concerned about it. He had always been so unimportant in the eyes of the Charter Families; why would they look at him? And besides, the Hill’s spies reported to Jolivet. Jolivet, whom Kel had assumed would protect him. Where was the Legate?
But Falconet was still talking. “What did the Ragpicker King promise you in return for information about the Aurelians?”
“I think that much is obvious,” said Lady Alleyne coldly. “Gremont’s death. We all know how Kellian feels about my daughter. He tried to scheme his way into my house just last week to see her. She was terrified.”
This is insane, Kel thought, feverishly. He tried to catch Conor’s eye, but Conor wasn’t looking at him. Wouldn’t look at him. He felt breathless, as if he were being squeezed in a vise. He had dismissed them, he thought, looking from Lady Alleyne to Joss, as panicked nobility in over their heads. Being blackmailed by Malgasi. He had not seen the web they were weaving around him.
He thought of what Elsabet Belmany had said to him on that rooftop. I have a use for you.
“I had nothing to do with Gremont’s death,” Kel said as steadily as he could. “And I had no reason to wish ill on Ciprian—”
“No, you did that errand for the Ragpicker King, didn’t you?” said Joss. “You were seen meeting with Ciprian at the Caravel, along with several of the Ragpicker King’s henchmen. And Ciprian wasn’t seen again after that. Not alive, at any rate.”
“Conor,” Kel said. “You know this isn’t true. You know I’m no murderer.”
I’m a Sword Catcher. I protect you. I am no assassin.
Conor said, “Are there any witnesses to suggest Kel is guilty of these deaths?”
“Kristof, at the Caravel,” said Joss, and Kel remembered the blond man who had handed Joss an apple. “And I doubt even Alys Asper would lie to the Vigilants, if she was made to see how serious the situation was—”
“You fucking bastard, Joss—” Kel started at Falconet, but Benaset’s grip bit into his arms. Falconet took a nimble step back, grinning. Kel looked around the room wildly. “Don’t you see,” he said. “This is a trick. He’s lying to you. He’s trying to cover up his own part in all of it—”
“His own part in what?” Cazalet asked.
“The conspiracy,” Kel said, knowing how desperate he sounded. “Gremont, Cabrol—they were working against Castellane. Hand in hand with Malgasi.”
“How absurd,” said Lady Alleyne loudly.
“We knew there was someone else,” Kel said. “Someone close to the throne, someone who was a danger to Conor. So it was you,” he said to Joss. “You’re the traitor. And you—” He looked at Liorada. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to call her a traitor; she was hateful, but she was Antonetta’s mother. “You’re no better.”
“So you’re not denying your association with the Ragpicker King?” said Cazalet, who looked as if he were trying to puzzle through a complex problem of taxes. “Just saying that you didn’t murder anyone?” He turned to Joss. “But none of this is treason, you know. You said he’d committed treason.”
“It is treason to help the Princess of Kutani plan her escape from Marivent,” said Joss coolly. “It is treason to take her to see her lover behind the Prince’s back—and we have a dozen witnesses that will say that’s exactly what Anjuman did.”
Conor turned to Kel. His eyes were wide, dark with shock, a sort of tarnished silver. “Did you bring Anjelica to meet with the Ragpicker King? Did you arrange for her to see Aden?”
Kel couldn’t deny it; he couldn’t look directly at Conor and lie. “You have to understand—”
“Of course he did,” sneered Falconet. “And he was about to run away with them tonight.”
“I wasn’t trying to run away,” Kel said through his teeth. “I came to stop Anjelica—”
“Really?” Falconet said. He went over to the great bed, with its arched headboard, and knelt down. Kel barely had time to wonder what the hell he was doing when he rose to his feet, carrying a leather bag with two straps. It was the kind Gold Road traders often wore on their backs. As Kel stood frozen, Falconet tore the bag open and upended its contents on the floor.
“Then what’s this?”
Conor inhaled sharply. Kel could only stare. Spilled on the ground were his own clothes, the ones that had been missing from his wardrobe: his homespun cloak, garments of Marakandi green, his boots. Conor would know them as well as he knew his own.
Falconet bent down and caught up something from the tangle of Kel’s belongings. When he rose, and Kel saw what dangled from his fingers, his heart stopped. “ This looks valuable,” Falconet gloated. “Aurelian property, no doubt. Planning to sell it on the Gold Roads?”
It was Kel’s amulet. How had Joss gotten it? Not that Kel had ever been terribly careful with it... why would anyone steal it? If they knew what it did, then they knew it would only work for Kel. And if they didn’t, well, it was likely the least valuable piece of jewelry in Kel and Conor’s apartments.
Kel had never imagined something like this. As the amulet dangled between Falconet’s fingers, gleaming softly, Kel felt his heart nearly break for it—for all it represented, for the tie that bound him to Conor, soul-to-soul.
Falconet gazed at Kel, his expression—now that Conor could see his face—one of gentle sorrow. “It’s really too bad,” he said. “I quite liked you, Kel. But then I suppose you tricked me, just as you tricked everyone.”
Kel twisted around to face Conor, who had gone the color of old ashes. “Con. Today on the stairs, I told you I had something I needed to tell you—I was going to tell you.” He spoke as calmly as he could. “It’s true, I was working with the Ragpicker King. Jolivet asked me to. I was trying to uncover who was responsible for the murders in the Shining Gallery—”
Conor said, his lips barely moving, “Joss told me you’d say that. All of it.”
“Because he knows it’s true, ” Kel gasped as Benaset’s grip tightened. “Get Jolivet here, ask him—”
“I’m here.” Kel felt Benaset’s grip on him loosen in surprise; at some point, Jolivet had come into the room, so quietly none of them had noticed. For the first time, he saw a look of anxiety flicker across Joss’s face. It was mirrored on Lady Alleyne’s. Had they not known of Jolivet’s involvement? Was that possible?
“Jolivet,” Kel gasped as the Legate came forward, moving slowly. For the first time, Kel thought he looked old: His face was strained, deep lines at the corners of his mouth. He walked stiffly, as if an old wound hurt him. “Jolivet, tell them. What we know, that you asked me to investigate—”
Conor turned toward the leader of the Castelguard. Kel could not see his expression, but there was a trace of hope in his voice when Conor spoke. So little that he doubted anyone else would have been able to mark it. “Aristide,” he said. “Is what Kel’s saying true? Did you ask him to work with Morettus?”
Jolivet’s gaze came to rest on Kel. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath. Even Joss, who had talked so much until now, was silent. There was something like regret in Jolivet’s expression, and Kel thought: This would be hard for him, too. He would have to explain why he had hidden his plans from Conor. But Conor would understand. Kel knew him better than anyone. He just had to have it explained to him the right way—
“I am afraid to say that Kel is lying,” said Jolivet. “I never gave him any such instructions. It seems he has betrayed us all.”
Something seemed to explode in the back of Kel’s head. Using all his strength, Kel pulled free of Benaset’s grip, and for a moment he saw fear flicker across Joss’s face. As Falconet stumbled back, Kel heard Jolivet rap out an order sharply. There was a crack like lightning piercing Kel’s skull, followed by a searing pain.
Afterward, darkness.