Page 49 of The Ragpicker King
I fear you cannot fold all conflicting things within yourself. Being a Sword Catcher, and also this.
He had never failed so badly at his sworn task. He said, “The allergy can take time to come into effect. I may be quite sick when we get to the Palace.” He made a noise he hoped indicated oncoming stomach trouble.
She smiled slightly. “You forget your own magic,” she said. “Those who know who you really are can see you as you really are. There is no purpose in lying to me, Sword Catcher.”
In the hall, Lin and the Prince rejoined Jolivet, who clearly knew their mission; he led them down the curved stairs, through a narrow door, and down a second set of stairs, this one lit by lanterns. There were no windows, and the stairs opened out at the bottom into a long, stone-lined tunnel. Lamps blazed bright lines along the walls. They were underground, Lin guessed. She recalled Kel having said that the Hill was honeycombed with passages beneath Marivent.
If Jolivet was bothered by the chilly silence of his companions, he certainly did not show it. His boots clicked on the stone floor as they went, and the Prince’s embroidered frock coat swirled around him in the faint breeze that blew through the tunnel. The lamps along the walls caught the gold embroidery at his wrists and made it shine.
Like manacles, Lin thought. But he was not a prisoner.Shewas. To break a royal order was treason. It meant the Trick, and the Trick meant death.
The Prince must know I will never trust him again after this,Lin thought. But then he already believed she did not trust him—did not evenlikehim. She had refused to say she would help him, so he had chosen to compel her to give him that help. He was a Prince; what else had she expected? The anger she felt was bitter as a poisonous herb; she was furious not just at Conor, but at herself.
As they moved down the tunnel, Lin noted multiple doors set into archways along the wall. When they reached the correct one, Jolivet unlocked it with a large key that seemed to appear in his hand as if by magic.
They were once again at the foot of a staircase, this one spiraling upward. As they ascended, they passed several casement windows, and Lin began to realize they were inside one of Marivent’s towers. The staircase ended finally at a metal door, hammered with a pattern of stars and constellations. Light spilled from around the door’s edges, providing the strange illusion that it was floating in space.
Jolivet knocked in an odd sequence—three, then two, then three again. The door was opened by a Castelguard, who stepped out of the room to let them in. Prince Conor went first, gesturing for Lin to follow. The moment she was inside, Jolivet shut the door behind them.
Lin found herself in a brightly lit chamber. It was wide and circular, the roof above rising into shadow at the tower’s point. Small, diamond-paned windows were set high up; the furniture was Valdish chestnut, gleaming a warm brown in the light of many candles.
A gold-and-silver orrery, displaying the position of the planets, rested on a desk; the walls were lined with books regarding astronomy, the positions and histories of the stars. A cabinet held a sextant and telescopes of varying sizes—some made of ivory or studded with gems. Finely drawn wheel charts and maps, showing theposition of the stars and the paths of the planets, hung upon the walls. Everywhere were papers, covered in notes made in a close, dark, scribbled hand. Something gleamed among the papers, and for a moment Lin thought they were gems, scattered on the surface of the desk, but a closer look told her they were shards of broken glass.Odd.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Conor cross the room to a high-backed wooden chair by the window. Lin had taken it to be empty, but she realized as she followed Prince Conor with her eyes that they were not alone in the room. The chair was occupied. It was only that the man sitting in it was so still, she had not reacted to his presence. He did not seem to be moving at all—not even a twitch of muscle, or a breath. Despite the number of candles in the room, he was in shadow.
The Prince had stopped before the chair. Lin could not read his expression as he looked down at the man sitting before him. His face was still as a mask.
“Father.” The Prince’s voice was even and low. “I have brought a physician to see you.”
Lin was too surprised to move. Her patient washis father? The King?
And why was the King so still, so silent?
“She is the granddaughter of Bensimon,” added Conor. “You know, the one he speaks of often.”
Still no response. The Prince beckoned for Lin to come closer. She found herself moving reluctantly to join him, facing the King in his great carved chair.
King Markus Aurelian.She knew what he looked like, of course, and not only because his face was on the half-crown coin. When she was younger, the King had still made public appearances. She recalled seeing him in Valerian Square—a tall blond figure, broad-shouldered, resembling his Northern mother. A bear of a man, her father had said.
He was a big man still. Yet somehow his skin seemed too tighton his bones. His hair was bone white, long, reaching past the blades of his shoulders. His veins seemed too close to the surface of his skin; she could see the spidery map of them, stark at his temples. Though he sat slumped, as if half paralyzed, his shoulders hunched, his black-gloved hands clasped the arms of his chair with a force Lin could feel in the pit of her stomach. It was as if he were gripping on for dear life, but who could hold such a grip very long? Yet he had been doing it since they had entered the room; she was sure of it.
Strangest of all was the look on his face. Not quite expressionless, not at all; his eyes were wide and seemed to stare fixedly past them, as if he saw something horrible in the distance. Lin almost wanted to turn around and look behind her.
“Don’t bother,” said the Prince bitterly. “He is staring at nothing. He is always staring at nothing.” He waved his hand in front of his father’s face, his mouth twisting. “Now you know,” he said. “The King of Castellane, my father, has become a waxen, drooling doll. Vacant as an empty heart. All his great strength gone to ruin.”
Yet this is the man who had you whipped till you bled,Lin thought. But she knew better than to say it; her own experience with her grandfather had taught her you could easily hate and love someone at the same time. Especially someone who was supposed to love you.
“Who else knows?” she said instead. “About your father’s condition?”
“It is known that my father is unwell. That is what Kel would tell you, if you asked. Few know more than that. Bensimon and Jolivet. A few of the guards. My mother, the Queen.”
The King stirred suddenly, a restless gesture. Lin looked quickly at Conor, but he did not seem surprised. He bent over his father, reaching as if to take his hand—
The King’s arm came up with incredible speed, his gloved fingers curled into a fist. He swung at the Prince as if he meant to break his son’s jaw, but Conor—clearly practiced at this—caught his father’s wrist and held it tightly.
“Father,” he said. “It’s me. It’s your son.”
The King’s blank eyes slewed in Prince Conor’s direction. Lin could see red, angry-looking skin at the edge of his gloves, where they met his wrists. Years ago, she recalled, his hands had been burned horribly during an official ceremony; he had worn the gloves ever since.
