Page 150 of The Ragpicker King
Conor swung Kel around to face him. Behind Conor were the lights of Marivent and the Hill, the glow of windows, the shimmer that came from the white walls of stone—all the places where Kel had grown up, and where he would never have a place again.
He could see a group of Castelguards coming from the Palace, heading for the Trick; they were too far away for Kel to make out their faces, but they would arrive soon enough.
Kel’s back was to the sea, to the drop below. He could hear the crash of the water. Feeling oddly calm, he looked at Conor. He wished he could memorize his face, but how much did it matter now? “I had not thought we would end like this,” he said. “That you would kill me as your father killed Fausten.”
Conor gave a sort of gasping laugh. “You know me well, too well,” he said. “I, too, was thinking of Fausten tonight.”
“I do not know how Fausten may have felt,” Kel said, “but I would rather that you ended my life than that you let anyone else do it. My life was always yours anyway.”
Conor closed his eyes, just for a moment. When they fluttered open again, they were wide, piercing—haunted. Conor took hold of the lapels of Kel’s tattered jacket, fingers whitening with the tautness of his grip.
He said, “You are my unbreakable armor. And you will not die.”
He pulled Kel closer for a moment; Kel felt Conor’s lips brush his forehead and something cold settle around his neck. Conor let go of his shirt—Kel could see the Castelguards, not far behind him now, staring with wide eyes—and Conor’s hands struck Kel’s chest, flat-palmed, a hard shove. Kel stumbled, felt the ground under him crumble and give way as he fell, toppling headlong from the cliff edge toward the sea below.
For a long and breathless eternity that lasted less than three seconds, he fell. The stars were under his feet, the sea a sheet of rumpled glass below.
Kel struck the glassy surface as if striking the surface of a mirror. The sea shattered soundlessly around him, sending up shards of jade laced with white foam. He saw the stars wheel away overhead and then he was sinking into a numbing cold.
Icy black liquid seemed to swallow him. For a moment, it was allhe wanted. He sank as if in a dream, silver bubbles tracing a path above his head.
Something moved past him. A shape in the water, dark against a greater darkness, slipping past with a sinuous flick.
Crocodile.
Kel choked, kicked upward. He broke the surface with a gasp, spitting bitter water. Looking up, he could see he had already drifted some way past the Trick. The lights of Marivent glowed atop the cliffs, a string of fiery pearls.
His fall had been an implosion, leaving a trail of silver-white foam across the water. A few feet away, he thought he saw something break the surface. The glint of moonlight on scales.
He kicked out as hard as he could, toward the harbor. Thank the Gods Jolivet had insisted he know how to swim. He swam for his life now, his arms pistoning, legs scissoring, cutting an arrow’s path through the water. His eyes stung, the harbor a blur in the distance. He could think of nothing but the gape of distance below him, the depth of the ocean, and the sharp-toothed creatures that swam and swarmed in it.
He thought of Fausten. His blood spreading across the water like scarlet dye. The crocodiles had devoured him in an instant. It was madness that Kel was still alive. Certainly he could not outswim them, but that did not matter. He would not float aimlessly, waiting to be devoured.
Conor,he thought, and waited for the sense of betrayal to hit him in the guts, but there was no space for it. Something hard and slimy struck him in the side. He swung around in furious terror, only to see a rotting log. He kicked at it, pushed off, swam harder. He was finding a rhythm now, the strokes of his arms interrupted only when he turned his head to breathe. Salt water ran stinging down his throat.
He could see the Key now. And music; he could hear music spilling from the taverns. The water had begun to turn gray as thelight from the city fell upon it.Gray hell.Kel’s legs and arms were burning, each stroke forward an agony. The water underneath him rolled, and rolled again. He had reached the wave break.
He let himself go limp, let the next wave catch him and carry him in. It slammed him down on the edge of the beach, shoving him up the rocky, pebbled slope. He rolled over onto his stomach, retching salt.
And then he saw them. They slid up out of the water, two—no, three—green crocodiles, slithering, low to the ground. Kel tried to stand, but it was no use. His legs did not work. They were useless as wet string. He managed to push himself up onto his elbows, gasping, wet hair in his eyes.
In the moon’s red light, they were enormous. Lurching, scaled, massive jaws hanging open, row upon row of jagged, prehistoric teeth. He had heard of such things—of crocodiles slithering up on land, fast, to snatch up a child and drag it back to sea before the mother even had a chance to scream.
He tried to push himself up to his knees. It was too late, regardless; they were on him, rearing over him. They stank of salt and rot and the deep places of the ocean, and their eyes glowed red in the moonlight, blank scarlet marbles without feeling or depth. Kel raised a hand to his face, as if he could ward them off—
And something cold brushed against his wrist. He glanced down and realized to his shock that a gold chain was looped around his throat, and from it dangled a glimmering medallion. He recalled Conor settling something cold around his neck. Conor’s words to him.You are my unbreakable armor. And you will not die.
He knew now what Conor had meant. The medallion was big and bright, gaudily familiar. The last time Kel had seen it, it had been worn by Artal Gremont. The amulet that had so frustrated Merren; the one that kept Gremont safe from any kind of harm. Conor had given him the amulet then thrown him from the cliff—knowing that the fall would not kill him. That the crocodiles could not hurt him.
That he would live.
Kel let his hand fall, slowly. Around him, the crocodiles had gone still. They crouched over him, motionless, jaws agape. They were staring at him—no, not at him. At the amulet. Kel felt pinned beneath the gaze of malicious statues, only statues did not drip water, they did not breathe hot, stinking breath, they did not rear back and turn around, tails whipping. They did not slide back into the ocean like ghosts, one after another, humped dark shapes disappearing into the churn of the waves.
The pebbled beach was utterly still and empty. Somewhere in the distance Kel could hear water running. There was a ringing in his ears, a darkness at the edge of his vision. He slumped motionless onto the ground.
Elsabet
“My lady, is there anything else you need?”
