Page 72 of The Ragpicker King
Now Conor did grin. “Malgasi sent a gift in honor of my nuptials,” he said. “One of their most celebrated artists has rendered several portraits of me.”
“You didn’t give them to the Caravel,” said Kel. “Did you?”
“The Queen didn’t want them in the Palace.” Conor shrugged. In this case, Kel was on her side. The portraits of Conor were alarmingly like him, and showed him engaged in a variety of upsetting pursuits. Some illustrated him standing over the bodies of murdered Princesses with a satisfied look, while others featured him in compromising positions with an elephant that was clearly Sedai.
“Kellian.” A light tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Alys Asper behind him. As always, she was a neat and elegant presence, her dark hair wound into an intricate braid atop her head. “Silla is upstairs, in the Ochre Room. She was hoping for a few moments with you.”
Kel hesitated.
“No hourglass,” said Alys. “I believe she only wants to talk.”
It was odd, Kel thought as he made his excuses to Conor—now involved in a game of Castles with Montfaucon—and headed up the stairs. He had not visited Silla for amorous purposes for a long time now, and given their last conversation, he had thought they were both at peace with it. Perhaps she had something else she wanted to discuss with him, though he couldn’t imagine what.
The Ochre Room was on the second floor, the door painted yellow to distinguish it from the other rooms along the corridor.
The door was unlocked, and Kel walked into the room, expecting to see Silla posed artfully on the gold-draped bed, her hair falling loose the way she knew he liked it. He was already preparing himself to tell hernot tonight,and probablynot ever again,when he was brought up short.
It was not Silla sitting there, hair loose, her expression a mix of determination and panic.
It was Antonetta Alleyne.
Automatically, Kel turned and closed the door behind him, sliding the bolt home. Then he turned around again. And stared at her.
Antonetta.Ana.She sat on the four-poster bed, wearing a silk dress the color of cream. Her skin looked pink beside it, or perhaps it was just that she had the sort of skin that flushed easily. Her cheeks were a dark pink as she met his gaze almost defiantly.
“Don’t blame Alys,” she said. “I told her my visit was a surprise for you. That you wouldn’t mind if we played a little joke.”
“I see,” Kel said. He had his doubts as to whether Alys would have believed that this was a lighthearted amusement; more likely, she’d put Antonetta’s desire for anonymity down to her position on the Hill. And surely that was part of it. “Antonetta, if you wanted to talk to me, you could have just summoned me to your house.”
“And have your visit reported to my mother?” Antonetta asked. “Certainly not. Besides, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
She rose to her feet. Light spilled over them both from a gold-shaded carcel lamp. The silk of her dress clung to her hips and followed the lines of her long legs down to the toes of her slippers. It was clear she was wearing no petticoats, nothing under the silk, so fine it seemed to melt against her skin. Kel could see the curves of her hips, her rounded thighs; heat flickered low in his belly, and he told himself not to be a fool.
Antonetta raised her chin. Her hair was loose, tumbling in curls around her face. Her cheeks looked flushed. “In a few weeks, I will be married to Artal Gremont,” she said. “He insists on theceremony of First Night, and he will make it as unpleasant for me as possible. He will take enjoyment from that.”
Kel forced his hands not to curl into fists. “You know what I think. Refuse to marry him, Ana.”
“I cannot do that. And if that is all you have to say, then this will be a short conversation.”
“But he—”
“Is disgusting,” Antonetta said. “I know that. But I can endure it. I can endure much.” Unconsciously, her hand went to her throat, to toy with the locket there. “I only want your help.”
Kel knew he should leave. This was torture—for him at least, if not for them both. But he could not stop looking at her, could not stop wanting to be in the same room with her. To be closer than that. “Help you how?”
The flush on her cheeks darkened. “I don’t want Artal to be my first. I want it to be you.”
Kel caught his breath. He had fantasized—somewhat to his own shame—scenarios in which Antonetta said something like this, but he would never have imagined she really would. Yet as he stared at her, wordless, he knew that she meant it. He knew from the blush that spread across her face, from the way her teeth sank into her lower lip. Knew from the determination in her eyes.
There was a roaring in his ears, his blood beating hard in his veins. He wanted to go to her so badly it was blinding; he had never felt this, not even in those early days with Silla when he had known nothing else.
“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t be your penance for marrying someone you can’t stand.”
Her hand fell from the locket. “But if you just knewwhy—”
“Then tell me,” he said. “Tell me why. If there’s a reason, give me the reason, Ana, because I need it. More than I ever thought I could.”
