Page 32 of The Ragpicker King
Sancia, positioned near a display of silk violets that matched her dress, glanced over at Conor and the others and winked. Her lids had been painted silver; the wink flashed like a knife blade under candlelight.
“I see you’re already moving on from Raimon, Montfaucon,” Conor noted dryly.
“It’s what he would have wanted for both of us,” Montfaucon said, and departed in a cloud of swirling yellow. After a moment, Falconet followed him, arrowing his way toward a group of young noblemen playing dice in the embrasure of a large window.
Kel turned, meaning to make a wry comment to Conor, but the words died on his lips. Gremont was bearing down on them, grinning broadly. Up close, Kel could see a thick chain hanging around his thicker neck, a gaudy medallion, set with a winking ruby, hanging off it.
“Conor,” he said in a booming voice as Conor looked at him with a dry, nearly invisible dislike. “Monseigneur,that is.” Hechuckled. “My apologies. The last time I saw you, you were ten years old and had just fallen into the fountain in the Queen’s Garden.”
“I expect I was drunk,” Conor said pleasantly. “I was often in those days.”
Gremont, looking nonplussed, chuckled again. “Well. Youth is the time for wildness.”
“Some of us are still young,” said Conor. “Time is a cruel master, is it not, Gremont? And you have stayed away from Castellane for quite some time.”
“My dear city,” said Gremont. “She has welcomed me back handsomely.”
“It must be nice,” said Kel, “to have whatever business has kept you away so long cleared up.”
Gremont waved a hand. “Youthful hijinks, as the Prince said. I never understood what all the fuss was about.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve been asking around about where a man can go to have a good time these days. Is the Pearl still open in the Maze? That was quite an interesting establishment.”
“Oh, no,” said Cabrol. “The Caravel is the place to be nowadays.”
Gremont grinned unpleasantly. “I’m partial to the Caravel. Perhaps we can all make a visit together sometime soon. Before the prison gates of marriage close upon me.” He laughed aloud; Kel fisted a hand at his side. Somehow, he was sure Gremont knew exactly who owned the Caravel and was taking special pleasure in thinking about inflicting himself upon her. “And you, Monseigneur,” Gremont added to Conor. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. Word of the beauty of Anjelica Iruvai has made its way as far as Taprobana and Favár.”
“I do not think I’m very popular in Malgasi at the moment,” said Conor lightly.
“Oh, the Malgasi admire strategy, Monseigneur, and aligning yourself with Kutani was a masterstroke. Besides, the news of the moment is that Elsabet Belmany is considering marriage to Floris of Gelstaadt.”
Conor and Kel exchanged a look. It had not been long ago that the Malgasi Ambassador had demanded furiously that Conor wed Elsabet, the heir to the Malgasi throne.
“How interesting,” Kel said. “Between his great height and her fierce beauty, they are sure to produce a brood of absolutely terrifying children.”
Conor hid a smile. Lady Alleyne’s voice trilled from across the room: “Artal! Artal, could you come here for a moment?”
Gremont looked torn. It was clear he would have preferred to stay near Conor, who gave him a tight smile. “Do go on,” he said. “I must take myself off across the room to inquire of Sieur Marchbolt about his health.”
Gremont looked puzzled. “Isn’t he dead?”
“All the more reason to be solicitous,” said Conor, and walked away.
Gremont, bereft of the presence of royalty, smiled tightly at Kel and Cabrol. “I remember you,” he said. “That foreign cousin of the Prince’s. Anjan or something. And you”—he tipped a nod at Cabrol—“the new holder of the dye Charter, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Correct,” said Ciprian. “I hope you weren’t too attached to the last one.”
Gremont snorted. “Not at all,” he said, “but I hope you’ll excuse me. My future mother-in-law requires my presence.”
“Well,” said Ciprian as Gremont wended his way across the room to rejoin Lady Alleyne, who was snapping her fan in annoyance at his dawdling. “He seems charming. Surely the fair Antonetta cannot be delighted to be saddled with a husband who regards marriage as prison.”
Husband.Kel felt sick, but before he could say anything in return, the inhuman wailing of a dying swan echoed through the room. Everyone turned to look at the stage, from which the noise had emanated.
Kel stared. The curtains were drawn back, and three musicians were standing on the stage. One carried a viola, another a cornet;the third held aliorand was tuning its strings, which had caused the terrible screeching sound. Realizing everyone was staring, the musician nearly dropped the instrument, but that was not why Kel was staring.
He was staring because the three musicians, all dressed in Alleyne livery, were Jerrod, Merren, and Ji-An.
Jerrod
Two days before being forced to pretend to be a musician at Antonetta Alleyne’s engagement party, Jerrod is handing over a half-crown to a criminal informant in the Yu-Shuang Noodle House on Yulan Road.
