Page 40 of The Ragpicker King
Her grandfather snorted. “Antonetta Alleyne will manage without you,” he said. “Come.”
Lin went. She cast a single look back over her shoulder as they departed the ballroom, searching for Antonetta; she was standing with her mother and Artal Gremont, looking blank-faced. Lin could not see Conor among the crowd, or Kel. Perhaps they were together.
Outside, the moon had risen. It was high and full, casting abright light over the city, and over the royal carriage that waited for them outside the mansion. As Mayesh hurried her between the ranks of torch-carrying servants, he asked coldly, “If you are here as Antonetta’s physician, where is your satchel?”
Lin said nothing. She wondered if her grandfather would point out that by the standards of the Ashkar, she was also half naked. She wondered if she would step on his foot if he did.
They reached the carriage, and a driver in Aurelian livery held a door open for Lin. She thanked him despite his connection to the Blood Royal. It was nothisfault the heir to the throne was a bastard.
Once inside the carriage, she faced Mayesh as they rattled off down the Hill, her chin set. The harsh moonlight spilling through the windows made his face look more lined than she remembered. “You,” he said, managing to make the word sound like an insult, “have a tendency to look after other people without considering what the consequences will be for yourself. Antonetta cannot protect you from the Laws that govern our curfew. Only I can do that.”
Lin raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat to leave me to the Vigilants?”
He ignored this. “You should have told me you planned to come to the Hill tonight. If there had been an incident, I would have found out when you were already in the Tully.”
Lin said nothing.
“You are not usually so reckless,” he said. “I heard you met with Benjudah this afternoon. Has it made you afraid? Perhaps you are worried about what will happen when you fail the first test.”
Lin laughed. “You’re not even going to do me the kindness of sayingif?”
“It would be unkind to pretend.”
The carriage tilted as the slope grew sharper. Lin braced her hands against the seat cushions to keep herself from tipping forward. “I assume I will become an object of pity. A pathetic, mad girl who believed she could be the Goddess of the Ashkar people.”
“Really?” Mayesh looked at her with a hard gaze. “Do you think that’s all that will happen? Do you think you’ll be able to continue to practice as a physician?”
“I am prepared for that,” Lin said calmly. Inside, her stomach felt as if it had shrunk back against her spine. She had never considered such a thing; she forbade herself from considering it now.
“There are worse punishments. What if they exile you?”
The carriage evened out as the Hill gave way to city streets. Though it was late, the roads were still crowded with pedestrians—many, no doubt, on their way to the Broken Market that ran the length of the Ruta Maestra. Through the window Lin could see the flicker of lamplight and the gleam of the dark-green Fear River. “The Exilarch told me I’m far from the first woman to make this claim. If every other girl had suffered exile as a punishment, surely such news would have reached our ears.”
“Perhaps not all of these girls had grandfathers who knew the Exilarch when he was a child.”
Lin narrowed her eyes. “He mentioned that,” she said. “I did not get the impression he recalled you fondly.”
“I am sure he does not.”
They had reached the Ruta Maestra. The carriage slowed to a crawl; on either side of them were the stalls of the Broken Market, selling items that had once been whole and were now in need of repair. Lin saw a doll with a shattered china face propped against a ripped cushion; its one eye seemed to follow her. Above them, the unbroken moon gazed down on the ruined things humanity made.
She sighed. “What did you do to make him dislike you?”
Mayesh was silent a moment—long enough that Lin wondered if perhaps he would not answer her. Then he said, “Years ago, Aron Benjudah was a friend of the Maharam’s son. Asher.”
Lin stared. Everyone knew the tale of Asher Benezar, who had studied forbidden magic when he was still a boy of fifteen and had been exiled for it. It was not known what had become of him, and the Maharam would not speak his son’s name. It was a story thathad taken on the character of a myth—something from theBook of Makabi,a long-ago happening. It had not occurred to her that Asher might have had friends who were still alive, still young, today.
“In Aron’s view,” said Mayesh, “I did not do enough to prevent the Maharam from exiling his son.”
“But you spoke for Asher,” Lin said, forgetting, in her surprise, to be angry. “You argued with the council. We have all heard the tale. You told the Maharam that exile was too cruel a punishment. It is why—”Why you are no longer friends,she almost said, but she held the words back; they seemed too hurtful.
“Aron was only a boy of eleven at the time,” said her grandfather. “He was badly hurt by the loss of his friend. He fastened on me as someone who could have changed the course of things if only I had tried harder.” He was not only talking about Asher now, Lin thought. “I tried to be there for him as much as I could, under the circumstances, but he was the Exilarch’s son. They never stayed in one place very long, and after Asher was exiled, they left.”
“You think he will judge me differently,” Lin asked, “because he resents you?”
“I like to think not. I only knew him as a boy; I hope he has grown to be a fair-minded man. But I thought you should know the history.”
“I am not going to change my course,zai,” she said, reverting to the old, childish name for “grandfather.” She was weary, and they were nearing the walls of the Sault; she could see the gates and the ever-burning torches. “I am glad you were there for Asher Benezar in his time. I wish you had tried to be there for me and Josit, long ago.”
