Page 28 of The Ragpicker King
Silla nods. “I used to see him all the time. He was one of my more regular clients. Then he stopped coming around—but so did the Prince, and I thought perhaps he simply goes where Conor goes.”
It is odd to hear someone call Conor by his first name socasually, but the thought does not linger long in Lin’s mind: She is stunned to hear that he’s been forgoing the Caravel. Perhaps everything Kel has said about him is true. Perhaps he has changed.
“The last time I saw Kel, he made it clear to me our interactions were finished,” Silla adds. “It is a shame. I had hoped, perhaps...”
Lin looks away, wanting to hide her expression from Silla. “I can imagine it is hard to have hopes when the object of your affection is one of those on the Hill.”
“Oh, affection.” Silla waves the concept away with her uninjured hand. “I’m fond enough of him, but I never imagined marriage or anything like that. But I had thought he might want a mistress—an official one. The dream of every courtesan is to become a mistress. One gets a house in the Silver Streets, a carriage, and a bit of money to save. Independence. It’s a decent living if the man’s kind.”
“And Kel is kind,” Lin agrees, picking up her satchel. “But you will find another kind patron. I am sure of it.”
Silla only smiles at her faintly; Lin knows her words probably carry little comfort. They are worlds apart, she and Silla, but as a doctor and a courtesan they share the same knowledge: that kindness is rare as gold in Castellane, and real goodness rarer than Sunderglass itself.
CHAPTER FIVE
It’s black,” Lin said.
Mariam shook her head. “It’s dark blue.”
Lin glared at the gown hanging from the rail on Mariam’s wall. “It’sblack.Which is not a color Ashkar are allowed to wear outside the Sault, Mari.”
“It’s marine blue,” Mariam insisted stubbornly. “It’s supposed to be the color of the sea.”
“Hmph.” Lin brushed her hand down the material of the dress. The silk was smooth and heavy in her hand; she could feel the weight of its richness, its luxury. Tiny jet beads cascaded across the front, a scatter of stars. The neckline was modest enough, but the back seemed dangerously low. “You made this in two days?”
“I adjusted it to your measurements in two days,” Mariam corrected. “It took me two weeks to make it. It was meant to be for Demoselle Mirela Gasquet, but her mother decided it was too revealing.”
Lin eyed the back again. “If it’s too revealing for a daughter of the nobility, it’s certainly going to be too revealing forme.”
Mariam rolled her eyes. “It’s the fashion. At least try it on.”
There was no arguing with Mariam when she was in this sort of mood. Lin stripped down to her smallclothes and shimmied into the heavy dress, standing patiently while Mariam did up the hooks along the side.
“Lovely,” Mariam said when she was done. “Oh, Lin. It’s so pretty.”
Lin looked in the mirror. She had to admit Mariam was a dressmaking genius. The dark satin was as close-fitting as a glove. The beads that shimmered and drew the light seemed to illuminate the most sensual parts of her: flare of hips, curve of waist, rise of breasts. When she turned, she nearly gasped: The back of the dress was cut almost to her waist, showing a moon-pale expanse of skin.
“I feel practically naked,” Lin said, awestruck.
“Which is why you will be carrying this shawl,” said Mariam, producing a soft black shawl woven with a pattern of silver flowers. Somehow it did seem to match the dress. Lin took it and threw it about her shoulders, causing Mariam to sigh.
“Really, the dress is better without the shawl,” she said, “but if you feel youneedto wear it...”
“I need to wear it,” Lin said firmly. “Oh—and shoes.”
“Demoselle Mirela had me make a matching pair ofpasifles.They’re over here, I think,” Mariam said, waving off Lin’s offer of help as she rummaged around a pile of fabric remnants. She sighed again as she straightened up, two silk slippers in her hands. “I do wish I could go with you. See everyone admire you in your dress.”
As she handed over the slippers (which were very clearly black, like the dress), Lin felt a wave of guilt wash over her. To her, attending this party was an obligation, one she was dreading. (Again, the little voice in her mind reminded her that the Prince would be there, that she would see him, that he would probably have forgotten her.) But for Mari, it would be a treat, a chance to see the glittering beauty of the Hill.
And the treachery, Lin thought, remembering the little Princessfrom Sarthe. The cruelty. Mariam was kindness personified—easy sport for the wolves of the Charter Houses.
“You’re too good for the people on the Hill, Mari,” Lin said.
Mari looked as if she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. She twisted a bit of her skirt between her fingers and said, “It hardly matters. I mean, Icouldn’tgo—and besides, there’s something else I’d like to do tonight.”
Lin finished wiggling her feet into the slippers. “What’s that?”
“The books that you’ve been reading,” Mariam said. “The ones about”—she lowered her voice—“magic... I want to read them, too.”
