Page 109 of The Ragpicker King
The frantic beat of his blood slowed. “Advice is always welcome from someone I trust.”
She tilted her head to the side, letting the rich fall of her hair sweep across her shoulder. “Well, it is an issue of trust, in fact.”
“Oh?”
“You have to be careful, Monseigneur,” Antonetta said. She glanced quickly about the room before returning her gaze to him. “Careful about what you share with Kel.”
Kel felt himself stiffen. “What?”
Antonetta’s blue eyes were full of concern. “I have seen him with members of the Ragpicker King’s coterie,” she said. “He seems to know them quite well.”
“I see.” Kel spun Antonetta in his arms; when she had returned to him, he said, “Kel does many things for me. Sometimes that requires him to meet with unsavory people.” He smiled; a rictus grin, he feared. “I can be unsavory myself, on occasion.”
“Oh, I believe that Kel loves you,” Antonetta said carelessly. “But you will never be equals. You will always have power over him. He may resent that.”
“I don’t question his loyalty,” Kel said in a tone meant to quell future discussion. He wasn’t sure he could bear to hear what else she might say.
“I have heard,” Antonetta said in a conspiratorial whisper, “that the Ragpicker King has ways of manipulating even those with pure motives. Kel seemed to know Morettus’s people well, to trust them. That leaves him open to manipulation. And the Ragpicker King is a master of manipulation. He could turn Kel against you without Kel even knowing it was happening.”
Not since he was a child had Kel felt so close to breaking the pretense of being Conor. He wanted to catch hold of Antonetta and demand why she was saying these things. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to press her up against the wall and kiss her breathless.I am not Conor. I am not Kel Anjuman. I am myself, Kel Saren, and I am nobody’s fool.
“You make him sound like a fool,” he said.
“He is not a fool, but he is sincere, and sincerity can be exploited. Think of what’s already happened. He was stabbed when someone mistook him for you. He tried to pay your debts to Prosper Beck.” She gave a shudder: real or false, Kel was too fevered to tell. “When I think of him lying in that alley...”
He tried to pay your debts to Prosper Beck.Kel felt a sudden, awful pressure behind his eyes as myriad disparate pieces came together.It felt as if the ground were falling out from under him, but he knew he could not show it. Years of training saved him. As if faintly bored, he said, “Enough, Antonetta. I have heard you, and believe me, I will take what you have said into account. But, my dear”—and he looked directly into her diamond-pupiled eyes—“you must not repeat these concerns to anyone else. Under my royal order, I require it. Do you understand?”
It seemed to Kel that she looked surprised beneath the fox mask, but she gathered herself quickly. “I shall be the very picture of discretion.” She glanced away, her brow furrowing. “Look, there Kel is now. Where has he been, I wonder? He’s soaking wet.”
Almost blindly, Kel followed her gaze. She was right. Conor, drenched to the bone and wearing Kel’s mask, had just slipped silently into the room.
He was keeping to the wall, his head down. Had Kel not known to look for him, he would not have seen him.
Conor moved along the wall, out of view of most of the dancers, and disappeared into one of the corridors opening off the central rotunda. A quick glance assured Kel that no one else had noted his presence.
“I had better go after him.” Kel bowed stiffly to Antonetta before turning away to follow Conor. His head was pounding; he felt lightheaded and a little sick. Had he ever really known Antonetta? He had always thought that she had one face she showed to the world and another she showed to him, but what if neither was the true face? What if there was some other, secret truth he had never guessed at, too dazzled by the thought that he, and he alone, knew the truth of her to imagine that he had been as blind as all the rest?
It was not a pleasant thought, and he carried the bitterness of it as he ducked into the corridor after Conor. It featured a splashing fall of gold-tinted water, contained in a handmade grotto at the end of the hall. Someone had clearly been picnicking here earlier; there was a tray of half-eaten food and a bottle of wine balanced precariously at the fountain’s edge.
For a moment, Kel thought Conor had disappeared—vanished into thin air as the Sorcerer-Kings had once been rumored to do.
Then he looked down.
Conor was sitting on the floor. The hem of his cloak, the leather of his boots, were dark with mud. His hair and shirt were wet from rain. As Kel stared, Conor reached up, silently, and undid the ties of his mask. It fell into his lap.
He looked at Kel.
“Con,” Kel said, dropping to his knees; he could not bear to be above Conor, gazing down. Any resentment, any anger, had fled. He had never seen Conor look like this before. His pupils were vast and black, rimmed with a thin ring of silver. His face looked as if the bones were protruding too sharply through his skin. There was blood on his lip. He must have bitten it, though it seemed profoundly unlike him. “Conor,” Kel breathed. “What happened?”
Conor closed his eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I,” he said, “am a fucking idiot.”
“Look at me.” Kel took Conor’s face in his hands. Felt the sharpness of bone against his palm, the familiar slant of Conor’s cheekbones, the coldness of his rain-damp skin. “Everyone’s an idiot,” Kel said. “Some people pretend better than others.”
Conor didn’t smile, but he turned his face into Kel’s hand. It was something.
“Tell me what’s wrong. I won’t ever blame you, you know that. Just tell me.”
Conor opened his eyes.Tell me,Kel thought.Tell me. I will fix it for you. Like I fixed it with Prosper Beck. Like I’m trying to fix it now. Tell me, just tell me, so I can understand you again.
