Page 39 of The Ragpicker King
“Conor must be protected,” said Kel. “I understand.”
Jolivet nodded. “Castellane needs her Sword Catcher, Kel.”
Conor shook his head restlessly. “It should be me,” he said. “What was it you told me when Luisa arrived? I should not begin an engagement with a lie?”
“In that case,” said Kel, “it was Sarthe telling the lie. Perhaps we have all learned something from that.” He laid a hand on Conor’s arm, the soft feathers of the Prince’s cloak tickling his palm. “I will go. I am your shield, Con.”
The balcony door opened again, and Conor glanced irritably toward it. “Iseveryoneat this party planning to join us here?” he muttered as Sancia Vasey appeared framed in the doorway. She was smiling, her coppery hair tousled.
“There you are, Conor,” she said in a playfully scolding tone. “Didn’t you promise to dance with me tonight?”
Conor’s face changed instantly, as if he had put on a mask for the Solstice Ball. Gone was everything real in his expression—hesitancy, annoyance, weariness. In its place there was only a sort of bland amiability.
“So I did,” he said, “and as they say, a Prince always keeps his promises.”
“Do they really say that?” Sancia giggled as Conor came toward her. “I thought a Princeneverkept his promises.”
Together, Sancia and Conor ducked back into the ballroom, leaving Kel alone on the balcony with Jolivet. He frowned at the Legate. “What was that?”
Jolivet looked at him without expression. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Why did you bother making Conor ask me if I’d escort Anjelica Iruvai? I am a Sword Catcher. You can simply give me orders. It does not matter what Iwantto do.”
“That was not for you. It was for Conor. That should beobvious,” said Jolivet. “And besides, I needed to speak with you—no, not about the Princess.” He waved away Kel’s next question with an impatient gesture. “About Magali Berthe. You wished to question her.” He glanced toward the door, as if to make sure no one was listening there. “She will be at the Arena on Ellsday. It will give you an opportunity to question her away from Lady Alleyne’s watchful eye.”
“Jerrod did say she was always borrowing money to gamble on Arena games,” Kel acknowledged.
“Even more important to question her, then. If she’s in debt and desperate, she would be far more susceptible to outside influence.”
“She won’t want to talk to me about it,” Kel noted.
“How fortunate that you’re an excellent actor,” said Jolivet. “Do your best to charm her. Much depends on it.”
A loud cheer went up from inside. The lines seemed to deepen at the corners of Jolivet’s mouth. “Ah,” he said. “The wedding toast.”
Wait for the wedding toast.
With Merren’s voice echoing in his ears, Kel pushed past Jolivet and dashed into the ballroom. The crowd had pushed together into a tight knot surrounding the banquet tables. Kel shouldered his way among the nobles. He used his elbows liberally, which resulted in angry grunts and mutters. The smell of damp wool and silk, sweat and perfume, was overwhelming. Over the heads of the throng he could see the stage, where Merren stood with Ji-An and Jerrod, their instruments dangling in their hands, forgotten.
At last he was at the front. He could see Conor, with Falconet and Montfaucon, clapping in a desultory fashion. Most of the nobles held empty glasses in their hands; they would be filled just after the toast.
In front of a groaning banquet table, Antonetta stood beside Gremont and her mother. Antonetta’s lovely face was set like a doll’s, her lips curved in a painted smile, her gaze blank. Artal rested one big hand possessively on her back. In his other hand, he held aceremonial wedding goblet, its rim studded with emeralds, as Antonetta’s matching goblet was studded with rubies.
I poisoned the groom’s cup.
Kel did not move as Gremont raised the goblet and spoke in a booming voice. “I hope you’ll all join me in toasting to the alliance between House Gremont and House Alleyne. May it bring health and wealth to all of us, especially wealth.”
An even louder cheer went up. With a sly wink to his captive audience, Gremont tossed back his wine, draining his glass to the dregs.
Lin crossed the room to join her grandfather, who stood glowering, the great circular medallion that hung against his chest resembling a massive, glittering, watching eye.
He smiled when she came close, laying a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Lin was not fooled. He was furious. “What,” he demanded, “are you doing here?”
“Antonetta Alleyne asked me to come,” she said. “In the capacity of her personal physician. The Law allows physicians of the Ashkar to travel abroad at night; you know that.”
“Does it also allow them to wear whatever colors they like?” snapped Mayesh.
“My dress is marine blue,” Lin said coldly. “The color of the sea.”
