Page 38 of The Ragpicker King
And then, beside her, Kel saw Antonetta. She was standing with Artal Gremont as, in groups of twos and threes, noble families came up to offer them congratulations.
Kel thought of it all—the First Night, the poison, the cage of gold imprisoning Antonetta—and felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. It propelled him out of the room and onto a long balcony that ran the length of the ballroom. He gulped in lungfuls of fresh air before leaning on the parapet; his head was throbbing as if he’d drunk too much wine. The balcony was raised off the ground only a little bit. From here, he had a view of the jagged mountains that rose between Castellane and Sarthe, and the dark fissure of the Narrow Pass that was the only way between them.
“Kellian?”
Conor’s voice. Kel knew it without having to turn around; it was the voice he knew best in the world besides his own.
Conor joined him at the stone railing. “I had wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Tired of the show?”
“It was more than a little unbearable,” Kel said. “The years do not seem to have improved Artal Gremont.”
“No,” Conor agreed. He set his hands on the railing. His rings glittered in the moonlight. His profile was fine and sharp, his posture all coiled tension. Something was bothering him. The dance with Lin? Kel considered asking him about it, but something in Conor’s expression forbade it. “Do you know of the Exilarch?”
Interesting.“Yes. The Prince of the Ashkar people. He is always a Prince, never a King, is my understanding, for he cannot supplant their Goddess.”
“Indeed. I have seen etchings of the Exilarchs, I recall, inhistory books. Old men with great medallions. Rather like Mayesh.” Conor looked up at the stars. “A strange evening,” he said. “Marriage on the Hill is a bloodsport, is it not?”
“For you no less than anyone,” said Kel.
Conor laughed without humor. “But I am marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. Have you not heard? None should have cause to pity me. And gold will flow into the coffers of Castellane, and there will be peace and all will be well—”
Kel could not stand the bitterness in Conor’s voice. “And you will still wake up every night screaming,” he said.
“Perhaps,” Conor said. “But after my marriage, you will not be there to hear it.”
Before Kel could reply, he heard footsteps behind them—a deliberately heavy tread. Boots on stone. Someone wanted to be sure they knew he was approaching. He turned, expecting Falconet or one of the others, and instead saw Jolivet.
In the harsh moonlight, the Legate’s face looked craggier than ever. His hair had been black when Kel had first come to Marivent; it was almost all gray now. He was not in uniform but was still in Palace colors: a red doublet, black trousers, his lion ring gleaming on his hand. He said, “Have you asked him already about the Princess?”
It took Kel a moment to realize Jolivet was addressing Conor.
Conor frowned. “No. We were speaking of other things.”
Jolivet looked disapproving. He said, “This is important. For your safety, Monseigneur.” He turned to Kel. “The Princess Anjelica arrives in three days—”
“Three days?” Kel was astonished. Why had Conor not mentioned how soon she was arriving?
“Yes. We have kept the time of her arrival quiet, for reasons I am about to explain to you.” Jolivet paused. “Do you know of the privateer Laurent Aden?”
Kel nodded. Everyone knew Aden. He’d been a pirate before he’d gone into private work for the Kutani Court. He’d only madea name for himself in the past five years or so, but his exploits were already legendary in the city. Less so on the Hill, where privateers who were not in the employ of Castellane, and the toll they took on profits, were generally loathed. Still, Kel could recall being a boy at the Orfelinat, where he had dreamed of being a pirate with his friend Cas, thieving from the rich to give to himself. “He’s meant to be a sort of clever trickster, isn’t he? There’s a story about how he disguised himself as the captain of a merchant vessel so convincingly that he was able to off-load all the goods before the first mate caught on. And by then it was too late. Aden had escaped.”
“If even half the exploits credited to him are true,” drawled Conor, “then he may be the wiliest privateer since the days of the Empire.”
“Indeed,” Kel said, “but what does that have to do with the arrival of the Princess?”
“You do recall my fiancée is meant to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” Conor noted, an edge of amusement to his voice. “Well, it appears pirates are not immune to her charms.”
“This is beginning to sound like a Story-Spinner tale,” said Kel. “Has he kidnapped her and taken her away on his galleon?”
“No,” said Jolivet, “but he would like to. It appears he fell in love with her at some point, and since then she has been his obsession. Information came to us from Kutani that he was hoping to intercept her ship as it enters the harbor here in Castellane and take her away with him.”
“Really,” Kel said a little dubiously. “Why try to seize her as she lands in Castellane? Why not attack in his natural habitat, at sea?”
“Her craft will be guarded by Kutani warships on its journey,” said Jolivet. “But of course, by tradition, warships are forbidden from entering our harbor. It may be that Aden judges that she will be least protected as she approaches the Royal Docks.”
“But we can arrange for that not to be so,” said Kel. “We can station soldiers—”
“And we will,” said Jolivet. “We will also have ships at sea,guarding the harbor entrance. And yet, if Aden slips by somehow, there may still be violence. Nothing we cannot subdue, but...”
