Page 84 of The Ragpicker King
Liorada was not alone. To Kel’s shock, at her side was a large man dressed in black, a gleaming pendant, like a gaudy lamp, glowing around his neck. Kel heard Jerrod’s breath hiss out in surprise.
“Gremont,” he whispered.
“This is absolutelyridiculous,” Lady Alleyne was fuming. She was swathed in a deep-red velvet cloak, its hem black with dirt and seawater. Her pale hair was dressed high with ruby pins, and the look in her eyes could have melted glass. “Forcing us into a meeting here, in this ridiculous place...” She glared down at her shoes, black with mud.
“She must have her reasons,” said Gremont, in his gruff voice.
The sound of Gremont’s voice made Kel’s stomach twist into knots. He heard Merren, beside him, exhale, the breath hissing between his teeth. Kel couldn’t blame him; his own hands itched with his desire to strangle Gremont.
“Reasons,” Lady Alleyne echoed derisively. “She wants to shame me, that’s all this is.”
The two nobles had reached the temple, and Gremont stepped forward to help her up the cracked steps. Though spiny branches were sticking uncomfortably into Kel’s back, he had to admit they had a good view of the temple floor, spread before them like a lighted stage.
Lady Alleyne looked around the ruins of the chapel, her head held high, her lip curled.
“Where are you?” she demanded, her voice pitched to carry. “You commanded me to meet you here. Here I am. Show yourself!”
A shadow swept down from the broken top of the chapel’s single wall. Kel thought of a cat leaping, quiet and graceful. And familiar. Even before the shadow landed in the center of the marble floor, silent as if the soles of its shoes were padded, Kel knew exactly who this was.
The Dark Assassin. Who straightened swiftly, like a puppetsnapped upright. The black fabric that covered them head-to-toe shone faintly under the moon’s light—a slippery-dark sheen, like the gleam of black powder. Faceless, motionless, the assassin faced Liorada Alleyne, who—for all her posturing to Gremont—took an involuntary, frightened step back.
“Well, fuck,” muttered Jerrod. Kel couldn’t tell if he was alarmed or impressed. Or perhaps a bit envious.
“That’s the assassin,” Kel muttered. “The one who killed Raimon. And the Sarthian Princess.”
Gremont hadn’t changed expression. He watched with his thick arms crossed over his chest as Lady Alleyne drew her dignity back around herself like her velvet cloak. “Good,” she said. “You’re here. What do you want?”
The assassin’s voice was the same gravelly hiss Kel remembered. “I may have called this meeting, Alleyne, but it was you who forced my hand. The message you sent me—”
“I stand by it.” Lady Alleyne’s voice rose an octave. “This has gone too far. We agreed on a prank, a joke on the Sarthians, not the disaster that was the Shining Gallery. You used that against us, and now you wish us to do even worse.”
Us.Kel’s whole body tightened. Who wasus?
“This alliance may have begun in a less-than-ideal manner, Liorada,” Gremont said, doing his best to sound soothing. “And I am sure Her Highness here regrets that.” He shot a glance at the figure in black—Her Highness.Female, then, and royalty. “But think of all you are being offered.”
“Offered?” Lady Alleyne’s lips twitched. “You have never offered anything to those of us who helped you enact the nightmare in the Shining Gallery—however much we would not have done so if we knew the extent of your plans. We are Charter holders, and you treat us as common criminals.” She sniffed. “My own House—though my daughter knows nothing of this—the Gremonts, the Cabrols, the others, all of us have helped you. All we have receivedin return is your threats to blackmail us by revealing our connections to what you have done.”
The Cabrols. The Gremonts. The Alleynes.Kel’s head whirled. And there were others, but who?
The dark figure raised her hands to her temples, as if Lady Alleyne were giving her a headache. With a swift movement, she drew away the dark fabric that covered her from her scalp to her neck. Ink-black hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and a pale, intent face was revealed.
It was not a beautiful face, but it was an arresting one. High-arched cheekbones, winged eyebrows, a thin but well-shaped mouth. Hooded eyes, dark as crow feathers. It was a face Kel knew from portraits, though none of them had captured the intensity burning in her dark eyes.
Elsabet Belmany, Crown Princess of Malgasi. The long-ago words of the Malgasi Ambassador echoed in Kel’s head.Perhaps, Prince Conor, instead of ourMilekElsabet journeying to Castellane, you could come to us? Elsabet could be your guide to the city.
He could not imagine the woman standing before him as some kind of placid tour guide. She seemed as if she would be far more at ease burning down towers and bridges than pointing them out as interesting bits of architecture in Favár.
Elsabet chuckled—a low, rich sound. “There is no blackmail in politics, Liorada. Only bargaining. And Artal is right to point out what is being offered to you. Too long have the Aurelians controlled the Charter Families with an eye to their own benefit. We propose a far more equitable division of power.”
“Once you have taken the Aurelians out of the game,” Liorada said. “That is your proposition?”
“One of your fellow Shining Gallery conspirators there on the Hill is very close to the Prince himself,” said Elsabet, her voice just touched by the guttural Malgasi accent. Kel felt himself tense. He knew the others were looking over at him; he could sense Merren’sworried gaze. He stayed motionless. “He knows much about the Aurelians. I assure you, theirs is a line that is rotting. They have ceased to be good stewards of this city. The King is mad, the son a wastrel. The Queen is foreign; she should return to her own lands.”
“But you intend for the boy to rule,” said Artal.
“The people of Castellane will be more willing to accept the new state of things with a familiar face on the throne,” said Elsabet. She had raised a hand to her neck, an unconscious gesture; it drew Kel’s eye to something that rested in the hollow of her throat. Something that seemed to shine—a necklace, a pendant? “We will soon enough be rid of the mad old man, and the handsome Prince will hold the Lion Scepter. But the real power will be wielded by you, the families. Look what we did for the Cabrols, Liorada. They were ground down, humiliated, and we raised them up in fire. We can do the same for you.”
“Those of us loyal to you,” said Liorada. “That is what you mean.”
