Page 74 of The Ragpicker King
She went white, as if Kel had slapped her.
Before he could say more, a series of knocks rattled the door on its hinges. “Kel Anjuman.” It was Hadja’s voice. “The Prince is looking for you.”
He looked at Antonetta. She was already straightening her dress. “You’d better go,” she said. “It’s Conor. It might be important.”
“It probably isn’t,” Kel said. The ache of desire was leaving him at least, replaced by a very different ache. “Antonetta—I am sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”
She stood up and took a linen wrap from the ornate yellow-gold bedstand. She thrust her arms into it, flinging the fabric around herself, covering her body. “I asked for pleasure, and you gave me that,” she said. “I have never felt that sort of thing before. I probably never will again.”
“Antonetta—”
“Just go,” she said, turning away to gather the rest of her things. Her tone was clipped, final. Her mother’s voice, ordering him to stay away.
Kel went. He seized up his jacket on his way out of the room and was shoving his arms into the sleeves as he started downstairs. Not that he wanted to go downstairs; hewantedto go back to Antonetta and beg her—but for what? What could she give him? What could he giveher,really? Not even his real name.
Halfway down the steps, he heard voices. Recognizing one, he froze, pressing himself back against the wall. A wave of nausea rolled over him.Gremont.The back of Kel’s neck prickled. Artal had been very clear he intended to take full advantage of the brothels of the Temple District, whether he was engaged or not, but that didn’t mean he’d look kindly on Antonetta being here. He’d be furious. Perhaps dangerously so.
“It’s a problem,” Gremont was saying. Kel crouched down, peering through the banister railings. He could see Gremont, all unwieldy shoulders in a gaudy doublet, standing on the next landing down with his arms crossed. Across from him was Falconet, looking harried. The amulet around Gremont’s neck looked even uglier in the bright stairway light. Kel couldn’t help but stare at it—it seemed such a small thing to be protecting Gremont from the wrath of so many people. Including himself.
“It is a problem that will take care of itself, Artal,” Joss said. “Honestly. I don’t see what the fuss is about.”
Gremont sneered. “Always angling for an advantage, aren’t you, Joss? The great problem solver, Joss Falconet.” He spat, narrowly missing Falconet’s boot. “Never mind. I’ll handle it myself.”
“Really,” said Joss. “What about Liorada?”
Kel pressed closer to the banister. Why were they discussing Antonetta’s mother?
But before Gremont could reply, a courtesan with a thick pile of dark hair and bright spots of rouge on her cheeks—Audeta, Kel thought—appeared on the landing. She was pouting.
“Artal,” she said, “I’ve been waiting for you for simplyagesin the Persimmon Room. I’m going to start the hourglass whether you come or not.”
Good,Kel thought.Get him out of here, Audeta.
Gremont’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Kel worried he was going to snap at Audeta, or worse, but a moment later he shrugged and grinned. “See you later, Falconet,” he said, and followed Audeta down the steps.
As soon as he was gone, Kel sprang to his feet and hurried downstairs. He passed Joss on the landing. The other man was looking thoughtful, almost inward, gazing into empty air. Kel almost slid past him without a greeting, but Joss started and seemed to wake as if from a dream.
He glanced at Kel, his expression no longer distant, but wry and amused as it always was. “Conor was looking for you,” he said. “Nothing important—he was hoping you’d join his Castles game with Montfaucon.” He grinned. “Hadja said you were with Silla,” he added. “I thought you’d tired of her.”
Kel muttered something noncommittal; he was glad Hadja was lying to protect Antonetta, but he felt weary of petty deceptions. He felt weary of everything but Antonetta; he still wanted her, wanted to return to her. Having kissed her, touched her, how could he be able to return to a life in which he could do none of those things?
From this vantage, he could see down into the great room, could see Conor sprawled on a couch, poking listlessly at a Castles board; could see the blond boy Joss had been leaning against now laughing with Ciprian Cabrol. All was as usual in the Caravel, he thought; only he had been changed.
The Broken Market was in full swing by the time Lin returned to the Sault. She had been out late, tending to a woman in the Warrenwho was slowly going blind. There was little medicine could do for her: The woman was a seamstress, and decades of sewing by inadequate candlelight had damaged her eyesight beyond repair. All Lin could do was beg her to stop sewing at night, which she knew was useless advice. Domna Bondion had three children and could barely feed them with the meager earnings from her sewing work as it was. She would continue to struggle until she was entirely blind.
The inability to help had left Lin in a state of frustration that did not subside when she reached home. Mez was guarding the gate and told her that the Exilarch was in the Shulamat gardens, “answering questions.”Offering judgment, more like,Lin thought crossly.
“Yes, and?” she snapped, leaving poor Mez to remind her that she’d asked him to let her know when the Exilarch presented himself to the public again. She apologized before rushing off to the Shulamat, determined to intercept Aron.
It was a warm evening, and the air in the gardens was redolent of flowers. To her surprise, she found the Exilarch perched on a bench, cross-legged, dressed casually in blue linen. He was surrounded by children: Scrubbed clean by their parents until they virtually shone, their familiar faces were upturned to Aron, their eyes wide and serious.
Some had been her patients; she had watched all of them grow up. She recognized Sania Dorin, Rahel’s smallest sister, whose ears had been so thoroughly washed that they were still pink. “I don’t see why girls can’t be Shomrim,” she was saying earnestly. “We’re better at climbing,andwe pay attention to things.”
Aron, who had looked up briefly when Lin came into the garden, smiled. “I do not think it is officially forbidden,” he said, “or at least, I see no reason why it should be. I shall speak to the Maharam.”
A boy’s hand shot up. Lin knew him, too: little Kaleb Gorin, Mez’s cousin. “Why do the Rhadanites only go over the land and not over the sea?” he asked. “Are they afraid of being drowned?”
Aron looked up at Lin then. His bronze eyes gleamed as he said, “When the Goddess returns, it is said she will return in Dannemore. For this reason, the Ashkar never want to be too far away.”
