Page 30 of The Ragpicker King
Lin did her best to remain expressionless. She said, “It is written in theBook of Makabithat when the Goddess first returns, she may not even know herself.”
“So it is,” said Aron dryly. “It is good to see you know your holy books, Lin Caster.” He glanced past her, his eyes narrowing. “Leave us, Kandel.”
Oren glanced beseechingly at the Maharam, who shot him a quelling look. “Do as the Exilarch says.”
As Oren walked away, slump-shouldered, Aron Benjudah stepped down from the dais, quashing Lin’s hopes that he would be short. He wasn’t. He was at least a head taller than she was. His amber gaze ran over her, taking in her silk-slippered feet, the richness of her satin dress. His look was absent both the hunger and the fury that had been in Oren’s eyes. It was cool, calculating, adding her up and assessing. “Is there,” he said, regarding Lin steadily, “some sort of festivity in the Sault tonight? One I am not aware of?”
Lin raised her chin. There was no point in lying. “A festivity, yes. But not in the Sault. On the Hill.”
“On the Hill? Where the nobles of your city live?”
“You do know,” said the Maharam, “that her grandfather is Mayesh Bensimon? The Counselor to the King?”
“I know Mayesh well,” said the Exilarch, to Lin’s surprise.
“He hopes she will follow in his political footsteps,” said the Maharam. “He likes her to accompany him to the Hill now and then. Acquaint her with those close to the throne.” His tone was dry.
“Interesting,” said Aron. “Mayesh always had something of an unorthodox perspective. Unless he’s changed. It’s been seventeen years since I saw him last.”
“He has not,” Lin said shortly, “changed.” Though her mind was racing—how had her grandfather known the Exilarch seventeen years past?
“He is at the Palace now,” grunted the Maharam. “I am sure he will wish to see you, Aron.”
“All in time,” Aron said. “I have other concerns in the Sault.”
“Many matters of justice await your judgment,” said the Maharam. It was customary for the visiting Sanhedrin—and for the Exilarch, their leader—to take up cases brought before them for the application of Law. Often these were disputes of property or custom: anything the council of elders felt was beyond them to decide.
“Indeed,” said the Exilarch, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He approached Lin consideringly, as if she were a horse for sale in Fleshmarket Square. “Maharam,” he said, without taking his eyes from Lin. “You know I must.”
“Yes,” said the Maharam, his thick brows drawn together. The Exilarch’s attention was still on Lin, who fought the urge to knot her hands at her sides.
She would not show that she was anxious, she told herself as he came closer. She would not let him intimidate her. She had experience of princes. They were just men, like any other men.
“Lin Caster,” Aron said. “I am your Exilarch, yourgadol hador.Look up at me.”
She raised her face unwillingly. He was only a few inches away from her. This close, she could see that his eyes were the color of desert sands, as if they had been dyed by the arid landscapes he had passed through on his travels.
The room was utterly silent. She could hear her own breath as their gazes connected. She did not think she had ever been looked at so closely. Aron seemed to be taking her apart with his eyes, as if he could crack open the shell of her with the force of his will andexamine every component of her being for the truth or lies contained within.
Lin’s heart seemed to beat with a sort of sickly dread that whispered to her:He is who he says he is. The Exilarch, the descendant of Judah the Lion. He is seeking in me some sign that I am who I say I am: the Goddess Returned, the one who is destined to reunite with him. Surely there is meant to be some spark of the divine, some flame that is lit when the Exilarch looks upon the Goddess for the first time. Surely he expects to feel something.
It seemed quite clear to her he felt nothing.
He stepped away, breaking the contact of their eyes. Lin wanted only to drop her gaze, but she forced herself to stare straight ahead, her heart hammering in her chest.
Aron’s voice was flat. “Well, you are not the first who has claimed the stature of Goddess Returned since the Sundering. You are not even the first this year. I have learned to temper my expectations. So have the Sanhedrin, which is why they chose, in the end, not to accompany me here. If you pass the first of the tests, I will summon them.”
Otherwise, it would be a waste of their time. He did not say it, but it was clearly what he was thinking. Lin felt a flare of annoyance before telling herself she was being ridiculous. He was right to be cautious. She knew that better than anyone.
“The first test?” she echoed. “How many will there be?”
“Let us concern ourselves with the first now,” said the Maharam. “If it does not go well, after all, there will not be another. You will be notified when it is to take place.”
Lin swept a small curtsy. It was a bit of Castellani decorum, not Ashkar custom, but it hardly seemed to matter. “I would appreciate some advance notice,” she said, “as I must concern myself foremost with the care of my patients.”
“Foremost?” The Exilarch raised his eyebrows. “Above your duty to your people?”
Lin set her jaw. “These are lives, Exilarch,” she said. “And as theGoddess herself said, we who are Ashkar hold life above all other things. Above even duty.”
