Page 94 of The Ragpicker King
“No,” said Mayesh. “You didn’t.”
“But I was very young then,” said Aron, “and inclined to believe in things like loyalty and honesty.”
“I didn’t lie to you,” Mayesh said calmly. If he was upset, Lin couldn’t tell it; there was something about him that made herbelieve he had expected this conversation. Perhaps not for it to happen here and now, of course.
She glanced up and saw that the Hierophant was still chanting, and that Anjelica and Conor both had their heads bent, and their eyes closed.
“You let me believe a lie,” said Aron. “Is that better? I believed that when Asher was exiled, he was sent across the seas. Somewhere very far. I did not know he was here in Castellane, starving and alone. I did not know I could have helped him before it was too late.”
“You could not have helped him.” Mayesh’s tone was flat as a desert road. “Had you tried, you would have found yourself exiled as well. And we needed you. You are a Prince of the Ashkar. Your responsibility is not to one single person, but to your people.”
Lin could see Aron flush even under his tan. “Is it your own responsibility to your people you are thinking of when you suggest your granddaughter should follow in your footsteps as Counselor? Is it really that no one else is suited for the task, or do you simply wish to keep the power in the hands of your family?”
He looked at Lin then, and she could not tell if the anger blazing in his eyes was for her, or for Mayesh, or for opportunities lost long ago.
“Lin is not going to be the next Counselor,” said Mariam, to Lin’s surprise. She looked nearly as angry as Aron; her small hands were in fists at her sides. “She is the Goddess.”
“Ah,” said Aron, his eyes narrowing. “A true believer. Well, we will learn the truth of things soon enough.”
And with a last glare at Mayesh, he turned on his heel and walked away, pushing through the knot of Castelguards.
Before Lin could think to stop herself, she darted after him, plunging into the crowd.
Elsabet
“It was a message,” Elsabet says. “Intended for me.”
She is weary, but she will not show her exhaustion. It is early morning; later today the Hierophant of this city will bless the Prince’s accursed marriage—for all the good it will do. Elsabet sits in the priest’s chair, back straight, her eyes fixed on the fire burning in the gold brazier. It is always chilly in the old temple, so Janos keeps it lit.
Seven had been pacing back and forth across the cracked tile floor. He stops now and turns to look at her. “Who would be using Artal’s death to send a message?” he demands, an edge to his voice. “I thought no one knew that we—that he was working with you.”
She smiles into the fire. Little flames lick up around the brazier like bright tongues. Elsabet has always loved fire. It is in her blood to love it, and in her family’s blood. “You’re worried about your own skin.” She doesn’t mind; it is one of the things she appreciates about him. He has a relentless self-interest that makes him easy to predict.
He ducks his dark head. “A little,” he says. “I like it when my skin is not whipped from my body and displayed outside the Trick to teach the other Charter holders a lesson.”
“Calm yourself,” she says. “The Palace remains unaware of our activities. The message was from Prosper Beck.”
A frown. “Beck? Doesn’t he own a string of gambling houses in the Maze?”
“Not everyone important in this city is a law-abiding citizen, Seven. I had thought that if we could win Beck to our cause, he could challenge the Ragpicker King for dominance of the city’s underworld.”
“The Ragpicker King—?”
“He has too much power. They call him the King in the City. I do not wish there to be a king in Castellane I do not control. But Beck has been... recalcitrant.”
Seven grunts. “So you wanted to recruit Beck to replace the Ragpicker King, and he refused?”
“He showed me disrespect. I put his messenger in his place. Now, it seems, Beck holds a grudge.”
It had not occurred to Elsabet that Beck would mind the death of some low-level functionary all that much; she would hardly have taken it personally if someone had murdered Janos or Bagomer, but it did not seem like a good idea to say that to Seven. “The man who cut Artal’s throat was Beck’s man. I recognized him. I had the chance to kill him once, and missed it. I will not do so again.”
“I don’t like this,” Seven says. “I don’t like the complications.”
No one cares what you like,Elsabet thinks. In Malgasi, her mother would have had a minor noble imprisoned for telling the Queen what policies he did or didn’t like. The Aurelians had truly let things get out of control in Castellane, all these foolish little Charter members thinking of themselves as the kings of small fiefdoms. She was looking forward to showing them how a real monarch ruled.
And not just a real monarch, but one who reigned as the Sorcerer-Kings of old had reigned. Once she wrested her power away from the Aurelians, she would be able to rule as her ancestors had, with a radiance of power that compelled loyalty. She doesnot like to think of the unrest of the Malgasi people now, of their treachery, their lack of dedication to the throne.It will all go back to the way it was,she tells herself.As soon as the Belmany dynasty snatches back its power, Malgasi will be great again.
“Beck was only aware of Artal,” she says tightly. “I brought him to a meeting. That’s all. No need to fret yourself into an early grave.”
