Page 42 of The Ragpicker King
Conor sighs. “Charlon. He wouldn’t stop talking about you. I began to realize that as we had all grown up together, Kel and Joss and I had come to think of you as a friend and equal, but Charlon thought of you as property. There was no way to keep him away from you without enraging him—a rage he would have taken out on you. There was no way to watch him constantly. That was what I thought.”
“I could have looked out for myself.”
“I know that now. But I didn’t then. I am sorry, Antonetta. Itshould have been Charlon I sent away. I didn’t know how—but that is no excuse.”
I am sorry, Antonetta.She stares at him. These are words she never imagined him saying, never imagined hecouldsay. It feels as if everything around her is changing. She has been so angry at him for so long, and done so many things because of that anger. She does not regret those things yet, but she fears that she will. “You made that decision for me then,” she says. “You do not need to make any decisions for me now. I will manage Gremont.”
He nods slightly. There is enough light now that she can see the color of his eyes: gray, like storm clouds. Like Kel’s. “What is your plan? For you have always been someone with a plan, Antonetta.”
She looks down at the shredded grass in her hand. “Something you may not know,” she says slowly, “is that part of the marriage contract is an agreement that, after a year of marriage, my mother will pass the silk Charter to me. My reward for doing all she wishes.”
“Is the silk Charter really worth all that to you?”
A question only a Prince would ask.“My independence is worth all that.”
“But you’d still be married to Gremont—”
“You’ve met the man.” Antonetta digs the toe of her satin slipper into the damp ground. “He’s the sort who has somanyenemies. On the Hill and in the city. Who’s to say what might happen? And by Law, if something did befall him, well... Both Charters would come to me, wouldn’t they?”
Conor raises his dark eyebrows. “Not precisely. No one person can control two Charters. You would need to will one to someone else.”
Antonetta smiles. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”
“And I would have to approve the transfer of power,” Conor adds. There is a gleam in his eyes as he looks at her, a sort of restrained amusement. “Of course.”
Still smiling, Antonetta says, “I truly don’t think that would present much of a problem, Monseigneur.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Despite her late night, Lin rose early the next morning, put on a plain gray dress, and pinned her silver brooch to her shoulder.
The Exilarch was here, in the Sault. She had been able to put the fact out of her mind at the party, but she had woken up with the knowledge pressing down on her, an oppressive weight on her chest.The Exilarch is here. I have not much time to help Mariam.
Since most of her books of lore and magic were at the Black Mansion, she set off across the city. Usually, she loved mornings in Castellane. The heat of the day had not yet set in, and the breeze was fresh and cool. Colorful birds chirped from the wrought-iron balconies of houses whose bright paint had been dimmed to pastel by salty air. The Broken Market had melted away into the shadows, and the stores lining the Ruta Magna displayed the riches of their wares: heavy silks, translucent porcelains, gorgeous brocades, sculptures made from jade and ivory in the shapes of foreign Gods. Though perhaps all Gods were foreign to the Ashkar.
But this morning, when she arrived at the Black Mansion, she found it in an uproar. She had gone first to the laboratory to retrieve her books, but it was empty; upon hearing shouting, she madeher way to the Great Room, where she discovered the Ragpicker King sitting calmly in a chair, his blackthorn cane across his lap, while Merren—to Lin’s surprise—made angry noises and clutched madly at his tousled blond hair.
Kel was also there, which Lin had not expected. He was leaning against a wall, as was Ji-An, who looked bored as usual. Jerrod stood hesitantly in the middle of the room, as if he wished desperately to approach Merren, but did not dare.
“He should havedied,” Merren shouted. “I can’t understand why he didn’t die! It was enough aconite to kill a horse!”
Lin glanced around the room, puzzled, but everyone else seemed to know what he was talking about. “Who should have died?”
“Gremont,” said Jerrod, as Merren aimed a kick at a nearby chair. “We tried to poison him at last night’s party.”
Lin looked accusingly at Kel, thinking of their walk together before the party. “You didn’t tell me that was the plan.”
“I didn’t know until I got there,” he responded, sounding aggrieved.
“YousaidI ought to kill him,” Merren objected. “Last night.”
“Andyousaid you’d already poisoned him anyway,” Kel pointed out. “Also, it was the heat of the moment.”
“Murdering a Charter holder is serious business,” said Andreyen. “As we have discussed before.”
“Murderinganyoneis serious business,” said Lin. “I don’t understand—I know he’s awful, but what’s he done to Merren?”
There was a moment of awful silence. The anger drained out of Merren’s face. He sat down heavily in an armchair. He looked very young suddenly; Lin could imagine him as a boy with a cap of fair curls, his small hands stained with alchemical solvents, his voice rising with excitement as he described some new experiment.
