Page 144 of The Ragpicker King
Kel could not stand the look on Conor’s face. As if he were breaking from the inside. “Blame me as much as you want,” he said quietly. “I knew what I was risking. But Falconet is not to be trusted.”
“It does not matter whether I trust Falconet,” he said. “I cannot trustyou.And if I were to forgive you, the Charter Families—whether they are conspiring or not—would all move against me. They would see weakness all over me like blood on a wounded animal.” Conor slammed his hand against the Sunderglass bars. The noise echoed through the Trick, a crack like thunder. “If you had onlycome to me,” he said with real anguish, “we would have determined something, come to some understanding, but what you did—treason cannot be wiped away or forgotten. Everyone knows of your guilt; everyone has seen it. I cannot stop what is going to happen. I cannot—” He took a deep breath.
“You cannot save me,” Kel said flatly. “That is what you mean.”
“No,” Conor whispered. “All your decisions have brought us here. You have taken yourself away from me. And I can never forgive you for that.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” Kel said. He held out his hands. He knew Conor could not touch him through the bars, but he had never reached out for Conor and found the gesture unanswered. He could not stop himself. “I am your Sword Catcher,” he said softly, and he saw Conor’s eyes shine in the dimness. “I bleed so that you will not bleed. I die so you can live forever.”
“No one lives forever, Kel,” Conor said evenly, and walked away.
As the carriage drew close to Marivent, Lin remembered Kel telling her that, when he was a child, his first thought on seeing the Palace had been,I can climb those walls.
She smiled a little at the thought of that tough little boy from the Orfelinat. She had been a child then, too, before her parents died. She had stood on the walls of the Sault, looking up toward Marivent. In her mind, it was the palace from every Story-Spinner’s tale. She had felt sorry for other cities, who did not have such a beautiful white castle, such a gorgeous royal family. She had seen Conor only in glimpses then, at public occasions—a beautiful scowling boy with dark curling hair like his mother. She had known he existed in the world, and that she would never know him. He might as well have been imaginary.
Now he was more than real. Now she could not think of him without anxiety rising inside her—fear for him, for his safety. For he was surrounded by serpents, and he could not see it. Would not see it.
She had to change that.
Mayesh had let her take the Palace carriage—the last one he would ever ride in, he had observed—from the Black Mansion to Marivent. The driver seemed to have no objection to transporting her. He might not even know that Mayesh had lost his position as Counselor, Lin thought. On the way up the Hill, she had thought about her grandfather returning to the Sault, breaking the news of his dismissal to the Maharam and the elders. Who would they choose to replace him, she wondered. And what would he do with himself now? Story-Spinner tales were about ordinary lives that became suddenly extraordinary, but little was said about what happened when it went the other way.
They rolled under the North Gate into a Palace that felt peculiarly silent. Usually, Lin was aware of servants and Castelguards hastening to and fro, running through Marivent in a steady stream like blood through the arteries of a body. Now, as she dismounted from the carriage outside the Castel Mitat, she heard no babble of voices or sound of hurrying feet, only the buzz of insects and the chirp of trellised birds. Above her, a shutter banged to and fro in the breeze outside an open window.
The moon was bright, and the Trick loomed in the distance likea black spear piercing the sky.Kel.A shiver went up her spine. She needed to keep her concentration on helping him, on helping Conor. That was what mattered now.
She made her way inside the castle and up the stairs, noting that even this place seemed deserted. No one in the colorful downstairs rooms, no one in the long stone corridor upstairs. No guards outside the Prince’s rooms.
She knocked on the door.
For a long moment, she heard nothing. Then a rustle, the chime of glass, like wine goblets clinking together.
She knocked again.
Conor’s voice, raised just enough to penetrate the thick wood of the door. “Jolivet,” he said. “If it is you, I told you before—quite clearly I thought—tofuck off.”
Lin counted to five, silently, and pushed the door open. She had half expected it to be locked, but it swung wide without a sound. Shocked, she looked around in silence, recalling the apartments when she had first seen them. How beautiful, she had thought, and extravagant, from the rich bed hangings to the marble tables to the cabinet of rare liquors, the bottles gleaming like jewels.
Now those hangings had been ripped down. The bottles had been torn from the liquor cabinet and smashed against the walls and table edges. The room reeked of alcohol, and shattered glass lay in bright heaps on the stone floor. Someone had clearly walked on the broken glass in bare feet; their sharp edges were crusted with dried blood. Tables had been upended, spilling their contents: pens, silver candlesticks, bruised apples.
The lamps were unlit, but moonlight was streaming in through the great arched windows, illuminating the figure that stood in front of them. Conor, with his back to her. She would have known him anywhere—known him at a distance from the way his black hair curled against the nape of his neck, from the way his dark cloak hung from his shoulders. From the way he held the open wine bottle in his hand.
She licked her dry lips.
“Conor,” she said.
He turned around. He did not look surprised to see her, not exactly. Somehow she could not read his expression at all. In contrast with the room, he looked elegant, as if he had dressed for an occasion—black velvet tunic and trousers, a silver clasp at his throat, the shimmer of more silver caught among his curls.
“Your grandfather told me you survived your trial,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not.”
The shadows under his eyes were nearly black, and Lin could see the whiteness of his knuckles where he gripped the wine bottle. And though he spoke flatly and without expression, what she heard underneath his voice snapped the cords that held her in place. She could not stop herself. She rushed across the room and threw her arms around his neck.
She felt him sway a little in surprise. Then his free arm came around her and he pressed her hard against him, his fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, bunching it up in his hand. She pressed her cheek to his chest, velvet soft against her skin; she listened to his heartbeat, fast but steady.
He spoke roughly, into her hair. “I knew the wall of the Sault had come down. I pictured you lying among the rubble.”
“No. Nothing like that.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. He was so young to be all that he was, she thought. He was a grown man, but there was still a boyish softness to the curve of his mouth. “I have been so worried about you.”
His brows drew together. “You, worried about me? Why?”
