Page 68 of The Ragpicker King
But Lady Alleyne had called for her daughter to join her. Antonetta hurried off in a swirl of blond curls and green satin. Anjelicaturned startled eyes to Kel. “Were they betrothed?” she whispered. “She and the Prince?”
“No. Never,” Kel said, too sharply. “Her mother spent her childhood filling her head with talk of Conor, that is all.”
Anjelica shot him a long, considering look. “I see. So she is free to marry now?”
“No. She is engaged to Gremont. The unpleasant one.”
“How unfortunate for her,” she murmured. “Is she someone I can trust?”
Kel looked after Antonetta, who was chatting with Joss Falconet, seemingly admiring his fox-fur cloak. “Are you looking for someone you can trust?”
“If the nobles here are anything like the ones in Kutani,” she said, “it is important to know who you can rely on.”
Kel looked out over the lamplit garden, brilliant with light and shadow. “Well,” he said, “if there are nobles in Kutani you can rely on, then they aren’t much like the nobles here.”
Anjelica looked at him curiously. “You paint a dark picture.”
“Think of it this way,” Kel said. “You will be Queen one day, so they will wish to please you, because to be close to the throne is to be close to power. And that, at least, you can rely on.”
The library at Marivent was, as Lin had imagined, magnificent, but it did not dwarf the beauty of the Shulamat. And this pleased her more than she had thought it would.
She had nearly gone to Mariam to find a dress suitable to wear to Marivent, but at the last moment had stopped herself. She was not invited to the Palace as a member of the nobility; she was there to do work, and would be there in secret, to boot. She put on a plain blue dress, worn to gray at the cuffs and hem, braided her hair, stuffed her satchel with books, and walked out the gates of the Sault to the royal carriage waiting in the street.
They had arrived at the Palace not through the North Gate, butthrough a side entrance she had not known existed. Dusk laid its deep-blue shade over Marivent as she hurried across the grounds after Manish, the Castelguard who had retrieved her from the city. Fireflies, tiny needle pricks of flame against shadow, darted among the shrubberies lining the white stone paths. In the distance, she could see the cliffs, falling away to the aching vastness of the sea. The horizon’s line between sea and sky was already softening; soon it would disappear altogether.
The library turned out to be located in the Castel Saberut, a rectangular pile of dark-gray stone with an endearingly round tower rising from its north side. As they approached, Lin could hear, in the distance, the sound of festivities—music and the loud chatter of voices. Through the thick trees, she could see the glow of golden lanterns hung high in the branches like translucent apples.
Manish left her at the doors to the castle, after telling her the library would be easy enough to find: It occupied the entire second floor. Lin hurried up a set of dimly lit stairs and through an archway to find herself in a vast, high-ceilinged room flooded with the light from a dozen carcel lamps. Light and books—somanybooks they dazzled, just as the riches of the Shulamat did. But in the Shulamat, the books were lined up neatly behind screens of golden mesh. Here, they were everywhere—piled on long tables, on the seats of chairs, and in stacks on the floor, some reaching higher than her head. The mess did not bother her. It provided a sense of abundance, like the sight of a table groaning under a mass of platters.So. Many. Books.
“The volumes are arranged by country.” Conor’s voice, the soft drawl as familiar as the sound of the ocean receding after a wave. Lin turned and saw him standing in the arch of a doorway that led, she suspected, to the round tower she’d seen from outside. “It is not theeasiestway to find books. I believe it was my great-grandfather’s design. He was rather eccentric.”
He came into the room, and Lin realized he was not wearing a crown or circlet. He was as plainly dressed as she had ever seen him,all in dark red, the color of blood and Castellane. Black lace fringed his jacket at the wrists. He wore only a single ring, set with a pearlescent moonstone the size of a child’s marble.
“I don’t see how you find anything at all here,” Lin said.
“Look down,” said the Prince, and when she did, she saw that the mosaic floor—which she had thought a pattern of swirling tesserae, conveying no particular image—was, in fact, a map of Dannemore. Shelves of books had been placed atop the outlines of different countries. Valderan, Hanse, Marakand, Hind, Shenzhou—she crossed the floor and then back again, unable to prevent a smile. She had crossed all of Dannemore now, she thought, just like Josit. She wished she could tell him; he would laugh.
She reached the part of the map that had been Aram but was now uninhabited desert. There was no shelf here, no books. Aram existed only in history. That sobered her. She looked up and found Conor watching her; she could not have defined the expression on his face. There was a strange softness to the line of his mouth, but perhaps he was looking through her, at something else entirely.
He said, “Should I ask where you are supposed to be tonight, Goddess?”
“At home,” Lin said. “Studying, or with my friend Mariam, perhaps. But there is no one keeping track of my movements that closely.”
“I like the sound of that. Not to have anyone keeping track of your movements.” The yellow light of the carcel lamps reflected off his mirror-gray eyes. “Come. I’ve gathered some books for us to look at already.”
She followed him through the arched doorway into a circular room—they must indeed be inside the tower, for the roof sharpened to a conical point—whose walls were lined with books. It was much less cluttered here, though. Lin suspected it had been imagined as a reading room. Plush armchairs were placed here and there with views of the casement windows. More carcel lamps illuminated the space, creating a restful sense of warmth. In the center of theroom was a round table stacked with books—and not just books. There was a bottle of wine and one of water, and plates of savory and sweet pastries: marzipan cut into the shapes of castles and stars, sugar-dustedgibassié,fried millet with rosemary and pepper, white-icedrousquille,and sliced figs and cheese.
For a moment, Lin was touched; the food was a thoughtful gesture. Then she told herself that she was being ridiculous: It was not as if he had laid out this feast himself. It had been a matter of a few words to a servant, no more effort or thought than that.
She turned to look at him. While she had been in a reverie about food, he had gone to stand before the open window. The blue of dusk had given way to darkness, though she could see lights moving outside and hear the blur of distant voices.
“There,” he said. “That is where I am supposed to be tonight.”
He was leaning on the sill of the window. There was a dormant tension in his posture, as if he were a hawk about to take flight. She could not see his face, only the curls of his dark hair. She moved a little closer until she could see that he was looking down on a garden, hung with paper lanterns that illuminated a riot of color: jessamy yellow, cinnamon red, saffron orange. Tables spilled food and flowers; there was a reflecting pool, blue as the moon above, seeming to glow from within. Dark figures, rendered anonymous by distance, moved among the flowering shrubs. The breeze was warm and carried with it the scent of eucalyptus and lavender.
“A welcome banquet for Princess Anjelica,” he said. “Jolivet is taking no chances. If you look, you can see the Castelguards stationed among the trees.”
Lin tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you feel you don’t need to be there?”
