Page 51 of The Ragpicker King
He grinned. It was a hard flash, like a knife in the dark. “You’re angry at me,” he said. “Good.”
Lin looked at him in surprise. “Good?”
“It will keep you sharp,” he said, and brushed past her, on his way to demand that Jolivet find a carriage to remove her from Marivent.
For a moment, Lin was alone in the tower with the King. It was like being alone with a statue, she thought, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. He was so unnervingly silent, without even the rustle of a sleeve as he moved, or the scrape of his boot against the ground.
She slipped the flask into the satchel and was about to go when the King gave a sudden, deep gasp. She whirled, her heart pounding. “Your Highness—?”
Still staring past her, hands gripping the arms of his chair, the King said in a low, toneless voice, harsh as the buzzing of a bee, “Hollazekyer di niellem pu nag.” His gaze flicked toward her. “Hollazekyer di niellem pu nag. Hollazekyer di niellem pu nag. Hollazekyer di niellem pu nag.”
“Your Highness—” she began again, but it was clear he neither saw nor heard her. He was repeating the same sentence over and over now, as if he could not control the words spilling from his lips.
Unable to help herself, Lin fled.
Antonetta
Antonetta had discovered the tunnel when she was fifteen. In her misery and loneliness after she had been abandoned by her friends, she’d taken to wandering the manor at night. Like most houses on the Hill, it had been built upon ancient foundations. In the cellar she discovered—hidden behind a painted panel—a tunnel hewn into stone. When she raised her lantern, she could see that it seemed to stretch on for miles, branching out into smaller corridors like coral growing under the sea.
She’d nearly gotten herself lost in the winding network of underground hallways before she’d learned to bring chalk with her when she went down there. She’d discovered that many of the other corridors led to doors that were now sealed, but the main corridor brought her eventually to an abandoned building in the Maze. She was never sure who had created the tunnels, although she had some guesses: an ancestor who wished to be able to flee the Hill in case of attack, perhaps, or one who’d been engaged in smuggling illegal goods. It was a delightful secret—one she once would have shared with Kel and the others. Now she keeps it to herself, and has used the tunnel often in the years since shediscovered it. Neither her mother nor any of the servants has ever noticed.
In the months since she’s been promised to Artal, she’s taken to anxiously visiting the door to the tunnel, as if to reassure herself she still has a means of escape if needed. The concept of sexual activity with Artal repulses her, and the added insult of First Night—slobbering nobles like Esteve and Uzec and that weaselly Ciprian Cabrol looking on—even more.
She still recalls Artal standing over her, his breath stinking of brandewine as he winked and told her: “Don’t say I haven’t given you a choice. If you’d stop being so stubborn and set up a meeting for me with your friend Prosper Beck, we could make our nuptial night as private as you like.”
Antonetta has told him over and over again that what he is asking for is impossible, but he hasn’t believed her. She has not yet ascertained exactly who is pulling his strings, but she knows someone is. He enjoys dropping hints that he has powerful friends, for one thing. For another, he is too stupid to have come up with such a devious plan on his own. When Artal likes what he sees, he takes it, and that seems as complicated as his plans ever get.
But who could it be who stands behind Artal? What puppeteer directs him? Antonetta, sitting on the edge of an old cistern, gazes moodily at the door that hides the tunnel below. And most important, how had they gotten hold of that name, Prosper Beck? The name of the man who’d first taught her sword-fighting when she was just a teenager?
Her thoughts turn to Kel, to the look on his face when she’d told him about Artal’s First Night plan. Shock mixed with horror and disgust. She would have liked to take it as evidence that he cared, but it was Kel. He might well have felt the same at the fate of a stranger. Empathy is a lovely quality, she thinks, swinging her booted feet in annoyance, but it does make it hard to know what he is thinking.
How well does he even know me?she wonders. He certainlycould not imagine the depths of rage and hatred she was capable of; she did not think anyone could. She has trained herself over all these years to keep those feelings hidden, never to let them show on her face, to always be smiling like a good girl should. She would smile her way through the wedding ceremony with Artal, and afterward, after the horror of First Night was done, she would smile her way through her revenge.
CHAPTER NINE
Kel let out his breath in a soft hiss. The Princess from Kutani had blindsided him, and it was not something that happened often. He felt both deeply annoyed and slightly admiring, as if she had beaten him with a sly move at Castles.
“You have been pretending all is well since we met at the docks,” she said. “But if the Palace sent the Sword Catcher in place of the Prince today, they must have felt a serious danger loomed. If I ask the King or Queen, I suspect I will hear only lies. But you know. Tell me: What sort of danger am I in?”
“I suspect you know,” he said. “Laurent Aden.”
Her cheeks flushed. Anger or embarrassment, Kel couldn’t tell. “I saw no signs of ships in the harbor. Not Aden’s galleon or warships of Castellane.”
So she was worried. She’d been looking. Kel said, “Visible warships would have alarmed the populace on a day when the Palace wishes them happy. But believe me, they were there. The cliffs on either side of the harbor hide warrens of caves and tunnels. Smugglers use them, but so does our navy—when necessary.”
“He might have other ways of getting to me,” she said. “He is arich man. He can afford to travel the Gold Roads in luxury. As long as he is alive, Aden will pursue me.”
“Castellane is a fortress,” said Kel. “There are only two ways in—the harbor and the Narrow Pass. Both will be guarded. And Marivent is impregnable. The pirate is certainly alive, and just as certainly, he cannot reach you.”
The tense line of her shoulders relaxed. “If you are sure he is alive— Well, then. There is something more. I know what will happen when I arrive at Marivent. They will wish to show me every nook and cranny of the Palace, every portrait and statue. But before I agree to remain, I need one thing. I need to speak to Prince Conor. Honestly and without the King or Queen there. Can you arrange that?”
Before I agree to remain.Kel had not realized it was any kind of an open question. He hesitated as they passed beneath the North Gate, their perch atop Sedai barely clearing the arch.
“Yes,” he said finally. “With help from you, I can.”
Many who came to Marivent were intimidated by the size of the place, the walls of sheer white stone, and the towers casting their shadows down over the city and the harbor. Kel remembered how he had felt, so long ago, riding through the North Gate as a child with Jolivet.
Anjelica did not seem at all intimidated, though; only watchful. She seemed to take everything in as they emerged into the grassy space past the gate, where a circle of courtiers, their hands draped with flowering vines, had formed a loose circle. In the center of the circle stood the Queen. Beside her was Mayesh, his medallion gleaming dully like the moon behind clouds. Kel did not see Jolivet.
