Page 116 of The Ragpicker King
“Artal.”
Ciprian nodded. “Artal Gremont was put in charge of everything. We communicated with the Princess through him. I know there are two more families, but not which ones.”
Kel was silent a moment. He’d known it was a possibility Ciprian wouldn’t talk, or simply didn’t know, but he hated it. More delay. More lying to Conor.
“Really,” Ciprian said. He’d pulled his sleeves down over his hands, like a boy, and was worrying at them with his fingers. “I don’t know.”
“All right.” Kel stood up. “Use what contacts you do have. Go to Elsabet Belmany herself if you have to. Charm her. Find out who the other conspirators are, then come back to me with names.”
Cabrol hesitated.
“It’s the only way to keep yourself out of the Trick, Ciprian. It will be a proof of your loyalty to Castellane and the Aurelians.”
Something flickered and faded in Ciprian’s eyes. He shook his head. “It’s a nice offer,” he said. “Believe me, I’m afraid of the Trick.I’m no fool. But the Malgasi—” He broke off. “The Trick, the gallows, they frighten me in a way I can imagine. What the Malgasi can do to me is unimaginable.”
Kel thought of the flame pouring from Elsabet’s hand, fire burning out over the ocean. So Ciprian knew something of the magic the Belmany Princess could do. Artal seemed to have known it, too, though Lady Alleyne had seemed shocked. Still, he would need to be careful here. This was dangerous information to trade. “I know they are powerful, the Malgasi,” he said. “In a way no one else is powerful—”
But Ciprian, still shaking his head, strode toward the door. It was clear Kel had lost him, so he rose and moved out of the other man’s way. Ciprian hesitated a moment on the threshold before unlocking the door and flinging it wide.
Only to find Ji-An and Merren standing on the other side. Merren looked mildly interested in what was happening; Ji-An, holding a dagger in her hand, was smiling.
“This conversation isn’t finished,” she said.
Ciprian narrowed his eyes. “I know you. You work for the Ragpicker King.” He swung his gaze around to stare at Kel. “And you...”
“Get inside,” Kel snapped, and Merren and Ji-An hastened into the library, Ji-An urging Ciprian back into the room at the point of her dagger. Kel wasn’t sure it was entirely necessary—Ciprian looked too confused to want to run—but it added a dash of theatricality.
Merren kicked the library door closed behind him. “We all work for Andreyen, yes.”
“That’s how you knew about the black powder.” Ciprian turned to Kel. “But you’re the Prince’s cousin. You— Well, all right, I don’t know what you do exactly, but you’re clearly loyal to the Aurelians. What are you doing mixed up with the rabble of Castellane?”
Ji-An whistled through her teeth. “Watch yourself.”
“There is a King on the Hill and a King in the City,” said Kel.“And that is not just a saying; it is the truth. Do not imagine monarchs do not acknowledge each other. If you ally yourself with the Malgasi, you make yourself an enemy of both Kings.”
“But if you look out for the King on the Hill, then the King in the City will look out for you,” said Merren.
“What does that mean?”
“Andreyen will protect you,” said Ji-An. “Get those names for Kel, and the Ragpicker King will take you and your family into the Black Mansion. You know how safe it is there. And the Malgasi fear him. They, too, are not fools. They know that should they antagonize the King in the City, the streets of Castellane will never be safe for them, no matter whether they control the Hill.”
There was a long silence that seemed to stretch out like the sea toward the horizon. Kel could not read Ciprian’s face; he could only note that his nervous, plucking hands had stopped their movement. At last, Ciprian said, “All right. All right. I’ll do it. I’ll get the names.” He turned to look at Kel. “But there is something you should understand about the Malgasi. They are not like Sarthe. It is not greed that drives them, or the desire for more territory. It is hatred. Hatred of the Aurelians. Why, I cannot say, but it is pure as white fire. They will not rest until the Aurelian line is burned away to ashes.”
Lin
“What is your name?” Lin asks gently. She is sitting by the bedside of Domna Delores. It is late in the afternoon, and the shadows are beginning to gather like hungry ghosts in the corners of the room. “Your Ashkar name. If you wish to tell it to me.”
The small woman in the bed tries to smile. In the few days since Lin has seen her last, she has gone from being a very ill woman to standing upon the threshold of death. She is refusing food, as the dying often do, and according to the neighbor who had summoned Lin would only take a few sips of water. Her hand in Lin’s felt like a bundle of dried twigs.
“Talia,” she whispers. “My name was Talia.”
Lin nods. “Talia,” she says. “Do you want me to pray for you?”
Because the Maharam cannot pray over you while you die, because you have no family to do it, not even an Ashkar friend. That is the cruelty of exile.
It is not specifically forbidden for the Ashkar to pray over non-Ashkar people, but Lin doesn’t usually do it. Other religions have their own prayers, and there is often a priest or a family member bythe bedside to say those words. This, however, is different. Talia is so very alone.
Talia moves restlessly in the bed. “I fear you cannot pray for me. I fear there is no place for me in the world to come. For I am not really Ashkar.”
