Page 113 of The Ragpicker King
Aron took a moment to answer. His gaze swept over her, dry as the desert sands whose color they had absorbed. The trees of the Kathot had burst into almost unreasonable bloom: Lacy clusters of saffron brightened the yellow jacarandas, and heavy green fruit dangled from the fig trees. (She and Mariam had been inveterate fig thieves as children, and had often been chased from the Kathot by one of the elders shaking a stick.) Such a pretty place, she thought, that most of the people of Castellane would never see, just as they would never see the inside of Marivent. But for such different reasons.
“You are an excellent physician,” Aron said, startling her—both his words and the fact that it had taken him so long to say them. “Truly skilled with your patients. I admit I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” His expression was gravely serious, as if he were giving her bad news instead of good. “I would hate to see your skill wasted.”
“Wasted? What do you mean?”
Aron glanced around as if to be sure they were alone. The Shulamat doors were closed for the afternoon hours, and the square was quiet. The heat seemed to press down on it, like the weight of a hand. “It has always been part of my task to observe and to evaluate you, before your test could be given, and I believe I know you now somewhat, Lin Caster. I understand why you claimed to be theGoddess. You are an inveterate healer, and you wish to save your friend Mariam, most likely with knowledge you can only access in the Shulamat.”
Lin stared at him, feeling sick. How many desperate people must he have met? How many different reasons for making the same claim she had?
“It is a shame you are who you are,” he said quietly.
She willed her voice to remain steady. “What does that mean?”
“Your grandfather is Mayesh Bensimon. Should you fail the test—and I don’t think you have much confidence you will pass it—your false claim will be seen by the Sanhedrin as a political gambit, not a simple mistake.”
“But that’s ridiculous. My grandfather didn’t even know—”
“Do you hear me, Lin? You will be exiled.”
It hit like a blow.Exile.“But—I have nothing to do with my grandfather’s work—”
“You go to the Hill quite often,” he said gravely. “You attend the parties of the nobility. You can see how it will look to the Sanhedrin.”
“And to you?” The wind had risen; she pushed her hair impatiently out of her face. “How does it look to you?”
“It looks to me like an easy choice, Lin,” he said. “Withdraw your claim, take the small punishment, and that will be the end of it. I have known those who have been exiled. The pain of it is difficult to imagine. Everyone you ever knew, everything you ever knew, taken from you in an instant. And to no longer be Ashkar. To have the Goddess turn her face from you. It is death in life.”
“I see,” she said numbly. The sun blazing off the gold of the Shulamat’s roof seemed to pierce her eyes like needles. “What is thesmall punishment?”
“You will be forbidden from leaving the Sault, or from practicing medicine, for six months,” said Aron, and it was clear to Lin from the way he said it that he had discussed this with theMaharam, that they had crafted this together. A rebuke to her independence, to her pride in her skill. And more than that—
“Six months is too long,” she said. “I must treat Mariam. She could die by then.”
“Mariam’s name is written in the Book of Life. Both the date of her birth and that of her death. You are the finest physician I have seen, yet surely you know you cannot save every life.”
Lin gasped. “How can you say that? How can you eventhinkit?”
“You will not hear me, then.” He shook his head. He did not look angry, but more as if he had failed her, and that was somehow much worse. “In any case, you must make your decision. I know all I need to know; the test will be soon, Lin. Do not let it be too late.”
Kel’s head was pounding. The bright sunlight and loud clatter of carriages rolling by wasn’t helping, either; he was very definitely hung over. He felt like vomiting into the green canal water of the Temple District, but somehow he did not want to give whatever malign force seemed bent on ruining his life—Fate? the Gods?—the satisfaction.
By the time the ball had finally concluded, the last of the guests staggering out the doors beneath a cloudy, smoke-thickened sky, Kel had been vilely drunk on nettle wine mixed with honeyed gentian liquor. Like drinking poisoned sugar, sweet and deadly. The irony was not lost on him.
He had not said another word to Antonetta that night, as Conor or as himself. Nor had she approached him. She’d seemed to be having a fine time, smiling as she chatted with Sancia Vasey, with Montfaucon and Falconet, with Beatris Cabrol, even with Lady Gremont. Kel had not wanted to look at her, but he had not been able tounseeher. She was so bright in her shimmering dress, a star moving across an otherwise dark sky.
That morning Conor had sat at the foot of Kel’s bed, doing up the buttons on the long cuffs of his jacket. He was preparing to join Anjelica at the Royal Docks for the unveiling of Castellane’s newest warship. “They are naming the ship after Anjelica,” he said. “They never named a ship after me.”
“Well, she is prettier.”
“Debatable,” said Conor. He had finished doing up his buttons and was staring unseeingly at the window. “The people are happy, the nobles are happy—even my mother is happy, when she isn’t brooding about curtains. Why am I not happy?”
“Conor—”
“This is the best I could have hoped for,” Conor said, half to himself. “I was never going to marry for love. And Anjelica. She is beautiful—I knew she would be—but she is clever, too. Resourceful. She sees the truth of things. And she is honest about them.”
Kel thought of Anjelica’s secret meeting with Aden the night before. Honesty, perhaps, was relative. Especially his own.
“And she seems to have patience with me,” Conor had added, “which, I think you might agree, is unusual.”
