Page 102 of The Ragpicker King
Merren looked thoughtful. Hopefully at least the new project would be distracting, Lin thought. And that went for both of them. For all she did not want to dwell on Conor or what the kiss between them had meant, it was proving close to impossible. That morning, when she’d set out for the market, she’d found a thick envelope on her doorstep, marked with the royal seal.
An invitation to the Solstice Ball. She’d been standing there staring at it helplessly when Mariam had appeared. Lin had handed over the envelope wordlessly, expecting Mariam to be shocked. Instead Mariam only announced rather gleefully that she’dexpectedLin to receive such an invitation, and had begun a dress the previous week that only needed a few last touches.
“Argh,” Lin had said, or something to that effect. She couldn’t be angry at Mariam for assuming; she’d been right. And she wasn’t even sure she could be angry at Conor. The invitation was a polite gesture, and one she wasn’t even sure was personal. Perhaps it was professional, political? It was formally worded, not signed by him as the letter Mayesh had delivered had been.
Which meant Lin wasn’t sure at all whether she should go. If it was personal, surely she ought to stay home. If it was professional—
“Lin,” Merren said loudly, and she realized, with a start, that he was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Where have you drifted off to?” He pointed at the pile of ingredients on the table. “When do you require the remedy to be finished?”
“Ah.” Lin knew she was blushing. “As soon as possible.”
“Hm.” Merren set the alembic down and reached for the recipe Lin had written out for him in her scrawling physician’s hand. “To make a remedy is not that different from making a poison. But I do have a concern.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, leaving a faint smear of ash. “The formulation contains a heavy dose of sedative. More than I’d be comfortable giving to someone, and I poison people for a living.” He hesitated. “Jerrod...”
Lin cocked an eyebrow.
“Jerrod worked in the Maze. He knew a number of poppy addicts. It’s possible to survive quite high doses of this sort of thing if you’re used to it, but I wouldn’t like to say what it does to your mind. Jerrod might know, but he...”
Has run off, and didn’t seem to want any of us to follow.Merren was looking woebegone. Lin reached across the table to pat his hand.
“Someone else raised a similar concern to me,” she said, remembering Aron, his bronze hair shining in the moonlight, standing at her front door. The same doorstep where that morning she’d found the invitation, the red royal seal gleaming like a drop of fresh scarlet blood on white linen.
“Take out the yellow poppy, then,” she said, deciding several things in a single moment. “Replace it with two grains of morphea.”
Merren sat back. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Thank you, Merren.” She picked up her satchel. “I’ll be back for the remedy...?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, looking at her curiously. “What are you looking cheerful about?”
“If you must know, I’m off to the Solstice Ball tonight,” she said, pausing at the door on her way out. “Don’t worry,” she added, as both his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “I’ll be sure to take down the monarchy while I’m up on the Hill.”
“Don’t get my hopes up for nothing, Lin,” he called after her. “There’s only so much disappointment a man can take.”
The summer solstice had been a celebration in Castellane since the Aurelians had come to power, for their symbol was the sun. It was Lilibet, though, who had added the tradition of the masked ball. They were popular in Marakand, as they allowed nobles to enjoy themselves with a certain amount of plausible deniability regarding their actions.
It was a cool night, with rain threatening, but Lilibet had thrownopen the doors of the old Armory regardless. Armies might alter their plans because of inclement weather, but Lilibet never would.
Inside, the circular ballroom glowed warmly. The floor was a sheet of gold tesserae. Long alcoves were set at even points around the central circle, like rays of the sun. Each alcove featured some new treasure: a life-sized bronze statue of Lotan with his sun-chariot, a fountain that poured fire, not water, a tree painted entirely gold, from whose branches hung golden apples.
The rounded roof overhead was glass. Through it, Kel could see a thick layer of low clouds, illuminated from below by the Palace lamps. The threat of rain had forced Lilibet to abandon the idea of a golden carpet that would lead people across the threshold and into the ballroom. Instead, yellow and white flower petals had been scattered across the grass and over the stone steps. As guests arrived, they tracked the flowers in on their shoes, and the scent of crushed petals rose to mix with the scent of jasmine candles in a heady infusion.
Lilibet herself was rushing to and fro, directing Dom Valon and his staff as they put the last touches on the groaning banquet tables. Everything was in the colors of House Aurelian: pig roasted with lemons, lamb baked with saffron, turmeric rice, iced sherbets of mango and passion fruit, sugared kalamansi juice.
Conor had decided to be on good behavior tonight: He was making the rounds, greeting guests with extravagant compliments, causing Lady Alleyne to announce that she was blushing behind her tiger half-mask. She wore a matching dress of striped-black-and-gold silk.
Despite the cover provided by the mask, all evidence was that Lady Alleyne was nervous. Kel, seated on one of the long divans stationed at intervals along the wall (Lilibet wanted guests on their feet, dancing and mixing) could not help but notice that her laughter was a little too shrill, her flirting a little too brittle. Kel doubted Conor would see it, but Conor didn’t know what he did.
In fact, Kel had not found himself this uncomfortable at a gathering of the nobles on the Hill since he’d been eight years old, and then they had all been strangers. He’d grown up knowing he could trust none of them to do anything but act in their own self-interest, but he had naïvely assumed that self-interest included loyalty to House Aurelian. Now, though, they seemed not just strangers, but a pack of wild animals, circling, waiting for the kill.
It was notallof them, he reminded himself, as Conor departed from Lady Alleyne’s company and crossed the room to greet Esteve who had come, not unexpectedly, dressed as a horse. Conor himself was all in black, down to his onyx rings. His half-mask was, as Anjelica had suggested, the golden mask of a lion, the eyeholes surrounded by glittering chips of topaz.
Kel, too, was in black, though his mask was silver: plain, save for two ram’s horns curling at his temples. He thought of the names mentioned by Elsabet Belmany on Tyndaris: Alleyne, Gremont, Cabrol. So who were the other conspirators? Had there been any families who had been approached by Malgasi, but had stood firm? Old Gremont had regretted his involvement at the last moment, but that was not the same thing.
Cazalet, Kel thought, was far too clever to risk his name and fortune on a wild scheme. And while the younger Gremont had been involved, did that mean Lady Gremont knew anything about it? Her husband had done everything he could to warn Conor before his death...
“If you are wondering if the rumors are true, they seem to be,” said Falconet, sliding onto the brocade sofa beside Kel. He wore the mask of a Shenzan dragon, its snout wickedly curved. With him were Montfaucon and Ciprian Cabrol. “Artal Gremont has absconded into the night, leaving Antonetta bereft of his name and fortune.”
“Lady Alleyne is trying her best to behave as though nothing untoward has happened,” said Montfaucon. He wore a peacockmask and a suit of a gold material that crackled like wax paper. “She’s claiming he’s gone to visit some trading partner or other in Valderan, but I wonder.”
