Page 137 of The Ragpicker King
“Really?” Falconet said. He went over to the great bed, with its arched headboard, and knelt down. Kel barely had time to wonder what the hell he was doing when he rose to his feet, carrying a leather bag with two straps. It was the kind Gold Road traders often wore on their backs. As Kel stood frozen, Falconet tore the bag open and upended its contents on the floor.
“Then what’s this?”
Conor inhaled sharply. Kel could only stare. Spilled on the ground were his own clothes, the ones that had been missing from his wardrobe: his homespun cloak, garments of Marakandi green, his boots. Conor would know them as well as he knew his own.
Falconet bent down and caught up something from the tangleof Kel’s belongings. When he rose, and Kel saw what dangled from his fingers, his heart stopped. “Thislooks valuable,” Falconet gloated. “Aurelian property, no doubt. Planning to sell it on the Gold Roads?”
It was Kel’s amulet. How had Joss gotten it? Not that Kel had ever been terribly careful with it... why would anyone steal it? If they knew what it did, then they knew it would only work for Kel. And if they didn’t, well, it was likely the least valuable piece of jewelry in Kel and Conor’s apartments.
Kel had never imagined something like this. As the amulet dangled between Falconet’s fingers, gleaming softly, Kel felt his heart nearly break for it—for all it represented, for the tie that bound him to Conor, soul-to-soul.
Falconet gazed at Kel, his expression—now that Conor could see his face—one of gentle sorrow. “It’s really too bad,” he said. “I quite liked you, Kel. But then I suppose you tricked me, just as you tricked everyone.”
Kel twisted around to face Conor, who had gone the color of old ashes. “Con. Today on the stairs, I told you I had something I needed to tell you—I wasgoingto tell you.” He spoke as calmly as he could. “It’s true, I was working with the Ragpicker King. Jolivet asked me to. I was trying to uncover who was responsible for the murders in the Shining Gallery—”
Conor said, his lips barely moving, “Joss told me you’d say that. All of it.”
“Because heknows it’s true,” Kel gasped as Benaset’s grip tightened. “Get Jolivet here, ask him—”
“I’m here.” Kel felt Benaset’s grip on him loosen in surprise; at some point, Jolivet had come into the room, so quietly none of them had noticed. For the first time, he saw a look of anxiety flicker across Joss’s face. It was mirrored on Lady Alleyne’s. Had they not known of Jolivet’s involvement? Was that possible?
“Jolivet,” Kel gasped as the Legate came forward, moving slowly. For the first time, Kel thought he looked old: His face wasstrained, deep lines at the corners of his mouth. He walked stiffly, as if an old wound hurt him. “Jolivet, tell them. What we know, that you asked me to investigate—”
Conor turned toward the leader of the Castelguard. Kel could not see his expression, but there was a trace of hope in his voice when Conor spoke. So little that he doubted anyone else would have been able to mark it. “Aristide,” he said. “Is what Kel’s saying true? Did you ask him to work with Morettus?”
Jolivet’s gaze came to rest on Kel. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath. Even Joss, who had talked so much until now, was silent. There was something like regret in Jolivet’s expression, and Kel thought:This would be hard for him, too.He would have to explain why he had hidden his plans from Conor. But Conor would understand. Kel knew him better than anyone. He just had to have it explained to him the right way—
“I am afraid to say that Kel is lying,” said Jolivet. “I never gave him any such instructions. It seems he has betrayed us all.”
Something seemed to explode in the back of Kel’s head. Using all his strength, Kel pulled free of Benaset’s grip, and for a moment he saw fear flicker across Joss’s face. As Falconet stumbled back, Kel heard Jolivet rap out an order sharply. There was a crack like lightning piercing Kel’s skull, followed by a searing pain.
Afterward, darkness.
Aron
To Aron Benjudah, leader of the Ashkar people, from Conor Aurelian, Prince of Castellane.
This letter is to inform you that the royal family of Castellane is aware of the damage done to the walls of the Sault by the recent fire. Know that we will be posting Vigilants at the gap in the wall to protect you from any incursions, until the rebuilding of the wall is complete. I also wish to apologize to you for not acting upon this sooner, but I was informed by my advisers only that there had been a fire in the Maze, and not of the damage to the Sault.
I understand that there were no casualties, for which I am greatly relieved. Let me reassure you that the Ashkar are among the most valuable citizens of our city, and should trouble arise in the future, feel free to apply to me personally as one Prince to another.
C.A.
Aron sets the letter down and frowns. From every description he’s heard of Conor Aurelian, this is not the sort ofmessage—generous, thoughtful—that he would have expected the Prince of Castellane to send to anyone, much less an Ashkar.
Aron is aware that both Lin and Mayesh spend a good deal of time on the Hill. Is it possible that knowing some Ashkar individually has broken down prejudices the Prince might otherwise be carrying? It is certainly part of the point of having an Ashkar Counselor to the throne, to be sure, but...
“Exilarch, can I speak with you?”
Aron looks up. He’s been sitting on a stone bench near the Kathot; he can see, in the distance, Mez Gorin and some of the other men laboring on the broken wall. Beyond them, the red coats of the Vigilants, forming a temporary wall between the Sault and the Maze. Strange as the whole business is, Aron is grateful for their presence. The walls that surround the Sault might have been built to protect the city from the Ashkar, but they also protect the Ashkar from the chaos and danger of the city.
He recalls himself to the present moment. Standing before him is someone he knows well by sight but has never spoken to directly: Mariam Duhary. He cannot help but stare a little. She is no longer even recognizable as the frail, sallow young woman he’d first met, when he’d thought:This one has the hand of Death on her.Though she is still thin, the color is bright in her face, her eyes are clear, and her hair tumbles thickly around her shoulders as if every strand is alive with health and vigor.
He nods at her. “Of course you can speak with me.”
“Good.” She takes a determined step forward. A goldmagalglitters at her throat. “I wish to speak with you of Lin Caster. I think you know what I am going to say.”
Aron swears silently. Lin. The last thing he wants to talk about. The reason he barely slept the past night, or the one before. His greatest challenge and greatest revelation, which seems set to become his greatest regret. “I understand, Mariam,” he says as gently as he can, “why you want to talk to me, and I even agree with youthat Lin’s exile is unfair, but it is the decision of your Maharam. I cannot interfere.”
