Page 100 of The Ragpicker King
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I wanted—”
“I stood in front of the Hierophant today,” he said. “I was sealed to Anjelica in front of all my people. And now—” There was agony in his words. “Please. I am not ordering you away from the King. I am begging you, for my sake. Go now.”
It was thepleasethat caught her. Conor Aurelian did not ask, did not request, did not saypleaseorfor my sake.Conor Aurelian did not beg. But he was begging her now.
With shaking hands, she caught up her satchel and fled from the room.
She did not slow down until she had burst from the tower, flinging herself into the carriage waiting there. As it rolled forward across the courtyard, she lifted her arms to wrap them around herself—to stop herself shaking—and it was then that she saw it. The Source-Stone in her brooch, which had been a dead blank eye for so long, was glimmering with a tiny flicker of light deep in its heart.
When Kel came into the rooms he shared with Conor, something struck him as odd. It took him a moment to realize what it was. For the first time in months, the door to the liquor cabinet was flung open, and a row of bottles sat on Conor’s desk, atop the papers.
Kel had spent some hours after leaving the Alleyne house wandering the Hill, kicking his way through thegarrigue,the dry scrubland of tangled lavender, thorny broom, and rosemary that covered the highlands of Castellane. From the higher spots on the Hill, he could see down into the city. There was the dot of the Sault, and to the east of it, Valerian Square turned black with the density of the crowd gathered to see the marriage blessing. He thought of Conoragain, but now thoughts of Conor were tangled with thoughts of Antonetta.Couldhe ask Conor to help him find out where she was? But there had been nothing in her note to indicate she was not leaving willingly, and who could blame her? The Hill rumors were poisonous, and she could not tell the truth of what she knew without indicting her own mother.
“Kel?” Conor’s voice. His eyes adjusting to the dimness in the room, Kel saw Conor for the first time. He was seated in the embrasure of the arched western window, still in his ceremonial clothes, dark-gray velvet chained with brilliant threads of silver. There was a bottle in his hand. “Kel, is that you?”
“I certainly hope so.” Kel crossed the room, glancing at the bottles on the desk as he passed. Dark-red bloodroot liquor from Hanse, pale-yellow ginger wine, pale-lilac elixir made from violets. It seemed Conor had had difficulty choosing.
Kel could sense, more than see, Conor watching him owlishly as he approached and pulled himself up on the windowsill. He swung his legs up sideways so he and Conor could face each other, each at their opposite ends of the arched hollow in the stone. The window glass was cool against the side of his face.
He could not count the number of times they’d sat like this, the dark room on one side of them, the lights of the city a shimmering blur through the glass on the other. Kel could see Conor more clearly now, see his hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a green bottle, see the half-defensive look in his eyes.
Kel said lightly, “It’s been a while since you’ve been at the absynthe, Con. Did the blessing ceremony not go as planned?”
Conor ducked his head. Kel sensed the Prince was vibrating at an unusually tense frequency, like an overtightened viol string. “All was well,” he said. “I was blessed and bound, as was the Princess. It is not the ceremony that preys on my mind.”
Good,Kel thought.At least he’s willing to admit something is preying on his mind.
“The Solstice Ball is troubling you, then? Don’t tell me. Yourcostume isn’t ready, or they’ve sent you the wrong one and you’re going to have to go as a hedgehog instead of a lion.”
“I would make a noble hedgehog,” said Conor gravely. “No, it is not the ball. I have simply been thinking on what I bound myself to today, and of all the bindings I have willingly submitted my will to over the past months. I am bound by treaties, by contracts, by promises both explicit and implicit, and by expectations.”
“The expectations others lay on you or the ones you have of yourself?”
“I think I no longer know the difference.”
“It may not be so bad, you know,” Kel said. “All rulers are bound by such obligations, yet they manage. I do not see why you would be different.”
“I cannot hope fornot so bad,” Conor said gravely. “Hope is a danger, you know. Hope may raise you up for a time, but when it is disappointed, the fall is all the more acute.”
He reached up to press a forefinger against his temple, as he always did when troubled. And at that moment, Kel wanted to tell him everything. About the conspiracy, about Malgasi, about what he had seen on Tyndaris. He would swear him to utter silence. He would tell him no one could be trusted. He would explain that he had done what he had done at Jolivet’s bequest, and because the Ragpicker King was not an enemy.There has always been a King on the Hill and a King in the City—
Something must have shown in his eyes. Tension, anxiety—whatever it was, Conor sat up straight, shaking his head to clear it. “Never mind,” he said with a disarming smile. “I am lamentably no longer used to strong liquor, I think. Take this bottle from me, Kel; there is no point in my being hung over at the Solstice Ball. That’s what the dayafterthe party is for. Now, I could use your advice on my costume...”
Jerrod
Jerrod has only gone a few blocks into the Maze when he becomes aware of the figure flitting across the rooftops overhead. It is clear that the moving shadow is following him: pausing when he pauses, turning as he turns.
For a moment, a cold finger of unease touches the back of his spine. He knows that chilly slide of nerves well; he has grown up with it on the streets of Castellane.
He steps carelessly into the middle of Arsenal Road, passing a series of ramshackle stalls that sell everything from false jewelry to soup (a penny cheaper if you bring your own bowl), then looks up and sideways. The figure is still there, gliding along the tops of warehouses.
He turns a corner abruptly, taking him deeper into the space between the Maze and the Key; he can smell the salt-rot stench of ocean water here, lapping against the shore. The alley is narrow and dirty, lined with stacks of empty, splintered boxes.
It was in an alley like this that Kel had nearly died. It is a moment Jerrod does not enjoy dwelling on. He remembers how angry Prosper Beck had been when he’d returned with the news that they’d caught the wrong fish in their net: not the Prince, but hisSword Catcher. Beck had kicked the wall with a booted foot.Kel was never supposed to be harmed, Jerrod, you ought to have known that.
He looks up now to where a strip of gray-blue sky shows between the roofs above. “Ji-An,” he says, “get down from there. I know it’s you, sneaking around.”
She lands lightly in front of him. She wears a silk jacket and trousers of a violet color so dark, it is nearly black. He remembers catching a glimpse of her on the rooftop that night Kel nearly died, a flick of shadow against a darker sky. “I do have a distinctive manner of sneaking,” she says. “Were you worried I was her? The Malgasi woman?”
