Page 121 of The Ragpicker King
“I cannot marry you,” he whispered.
Her voice caught on her reply. “I know.”
“But I can offer you— Lin, look at me.Lookat me.”
Half unwilling, she craned her head back. His gray eyes burned with a clear light. He looked almost fanatical, as if he were praying for salvation—or damnation, perhaps. “I am a Prince,” he said. “I can give you gold. Jewels. A fleet of ships. But you want none of those things. What I cannot do is marry you—not withoutsmashing the alliances that are keeping Castellane whole. Not without losing the throne, and who then would take it? If there was someone I trusted, I would give it up willingly, but there is no one—”
“Conor.” She was half appalled. “You should never give up those things. I would never ask it.”
“I want to give them up.” His voice was ragged. “But I cannot. I cannot offer you what the lowest peasant in the street could offer you.Myself.Becausemyselfdoes not belong to me. It belongs to Castellane.”
“I know. I expected nothing else.” She started to turn her face away, felt him go rigid against her.
“I cannot offer you what I would wish to, Lin. But I can offer you— I can settle some money on you. A house, a grand one, in the Silver Streets. A carriage, servants. Whatever you needed.”
“And I would be your mistress?”
“It would be discreet,” he said. “But we could see each other. I would spend nights with you. Not every night, not at the beginning, but some. I would see you as much as I could.”
Lin could not speak. She thought of Silla—The dream of every courtesan is to become a mistress. One gets a house in the Silver Streets, a carriage, and a bit of money to save. Independence. It’s a decent living if the man’s kind.
Lin took a step back. “Conor. No.”
She saw the hurt bloom across his face and wondered if she would ever be this close to him again. Close enough to see his flickering expressions, pain followed by stubbornness, the quick flash of anger that mirrored hurt. Close enough to see the way the dark curls of his hair lay against his temples, begging for a hand to brush them back. Close enough to examine the exact curve of his mouth. “Why not?” he said.
“You know what I am,” she said. “I am Ashkar. My people are here. What you offer me—a life outside these walls, but one penned up in a house, waiting on your visits—means exile for me.”
The tops of his cheeks flushed; it was clear he had not thought of that aspect of his offer. “And it is not worth it to you.”
“Conor.” Her heart ached as she looked at him. Part of her saw only that he hurt, saw the pain in his eyes, the way his hands gripped themselves into fists so that his nails could dig into his palms. How well, how oddly, she knew him. “If I became your mistress,” she said, “how long would it take you to tire of me? Once you had enough of my body, once I was no longer something you wanted but could not have, what would you do then? And what would happen to me?”
He whitened. “I had you already,” he said harshly. “I doubt you have forgotten. And I want you still. That has never happened to me before.” He plunged his hands into his hair, as if he would tear it out in handfuls. “You are a healer,” he said with a bitter laugh. “If you could cut this fascination out of me, like a cancer, oh, I would let you. For it hastorturedme, Lin. I have neglected every duty, every requirement, just to steal another moment with you. I feared that if anyone ever saw me with you, they would see it on my face, that I was an addict, that I would barter my birthright just to touch you—”
“Stop.” The word came out more harshly than she had intended. “Please. Ican’t.”
He sucked in a breath. “You are sure of your answer,” he said. “You are determined to say no.”
He was so close. So close she had to force back the memory: the taste of his mouth on hers, wine and rain. His hands a key that unlocked a Lin inside her she had never imagined: a girl who burned like fire burned, whose heart was thunder, wind, and storm, whose body was capable of feelings as sharp and fine as a blade’s edge. She knew she was losing that Lin forever as she spoke, even as she knew she had no choice about it.
“Would you give up your marriage?” she whispered. “Cancel the alliance with Kutani? Make me Queen instead?”
He had been bending over her; now he jerked upright. “You know I can’t. Lin.You know.”
“It is your life you will not give up, just as I cannot give up my own. I will not be your mistress,” she said. “I do not want some part of you, of your time and self.” She raised her face to his, wondering if the hot spark of desire and memory she saw in his eyes was only a reflection of her own. “I do not want a lover. I want something more than that, and you cannot give it to me.”
She saw a shudder go through him, like a spasm of pain. “There is one more thing,” he said, almost as if he hated himself for saying it. “There could be a child.”
“No.” Lin thought of the early hours of this morning, alone in the kitchens of the Women’s House, stirring the mug of oily tea. She had made it so often for other women; never once had she expected to require it herself. The flavor of it had been strong, tasting of mint and bitter pennyroyal. “I made sure no pregnancy could take hold.”
It was as if something vital went out of him then, like blood running from a cut. “As easily as that?”
She recalled holding the cup of tea in both hands, hesitating; recalled how for a brief moment, the thought of a child with the most beautiful eyes in the world, silver as storm clouds, had flashed across her vision.
But that was not her child to have. One day it would be Anjelica’s. That was the way things worked.
“As easily as that,” she said.
There was an awful sort of silence.
