Page 96 of The Ragpicker King
Jolivet looked as if he were feeling hard done by. “Just get in,” he said. “There’s little time.”
Odd, Lin thought, for Jolivet to speak so freely in front of Aron, a stranger—yet when she turned to speak to Aron, he was gone. He had melted away into the crowd like a ghost; search as she might, she could not see him.
But was he watching her? Lin could not shake the feeling of a gaze resting heavy on her; she turned to look toward the Temple and saw that beside the kneeling Princess, Conor stood straight-backed, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He was not looking at the Hierophant: He was staring directly at Lin, and even at a distance she could feel the bladed sharpness of his gaze.
The hot sun beat down on the Hill as Kel made his way to Antonetta’s home on foot. He supposed he could have borrowed Asti,but this was something he felt he had to do alone somehow, absent even the trappings of Palace support.
As he neared the Alleyne mansion, his thoughts strayed to Valerian Square. Conor would be there now, receiving the Hierophant’s blessing. He, too, would be alone. Of course he would be surrounded by Castelguards, by Mayesh, by the Charter Families (save Alleyne, as Liorada had begged off, citing illness)—but as far as Kel was concerned, if Conor was appearing in public without him, he was alone.
He could feel it, the physicality of Conor unprotected, as if it were a wound as yet unbandaged.
He tried to distract himself with other thoughts. It was not as if he had a paucity of worries. In the days that had followed the events on Tyndaris, Kel had waited anxiously for the news of Gremont’s death to break among the nobility of the Hill.
It hadn’t.
Rumors were beginning to circulate about his absence. Perhaps Artal was on a three-day bender in the Maze (Falconet’s suggestion), or perhaps he had grown bored with what was on offer in Castellane and gone to explore the infamous brothels of Valderan. Perhaps he had been taken hostage by a group of lowlifes to whom he owed money. Some believed he had ingested so much poppy-juice, either on purpose or by mischance, that he had forgotten who he was and begun a new life.
None of them seemed to think he was dead, which felt strange to Kel, who had watched the life bleed out of him. Who had held the false, bloody amulet in his hand, and later given it to Andreyen for safekeeping. He had waited for guilt to come, waited to regret the way he had treated Gremont in the last seconds of the man’s life, but it never came. He only wished he, not Jerrod, had been the one to deliver the killing blow.
Of course, Lady Alleyne and Antonetta knew the truth of the situation, but it was to neither of their advantages to mention that. Kel could not imagine the strain Antonetta must be under, keepingsuch a secret. He had hoped she would seek him out at the Castel Mitat, but she had not; he had sent her a note but heard nothing back. Part of him knew there was every chance that Lady Alleyne had intercepted the message and thrown it away, but the rest of him kept recalling the last interaction he’d had with Antonetta at the docks, the disappointment on her face when he had refused to tell her the truth. It was like a song in his head, playing over and over, wearing a groove into his brain.
He had no clear idea what he wanted to say to her now, but there had to be some way to mend her disappointment, to reassure her that he was the same Kel he always was, someone she could trust—
He brought himself up short. He’d arrived.
He recalled the last time he’d been at House Alleyne, for the engagement party.An engagement that will now never be a marriage, thank the Gods.There had been a line of torch-bearing servants lining the path to the front door. Now there was only a single guard in livery dozing off at the gate, who recognized Kel and put two fingers to the brim of his hat, indicating that Kel could continue on to the front door.
Kel could not help but feel that something oppressive hung about the house like cobwebs. It was utterly silent; there was no noise from within. Despite the heat, the windows were shuttered, and when he raised his hand and knocked, he imagined the sound echoing through empty rooms within. A sharp fear seized him. What if they had gone? Packed up the house and fled at Lady Alleyne’s insistence, hoping to escape the consequences of her bargain with the Malgasi—
But the door swung open. To Kel’s surprise, it was Lady Alleyne herself, not Magali, who stood on the threshold. He could not help but start at her appearance. He had never seen her anything but impeccably turned out—she had worn rubies to Tyndaris—but she wore only a black dressing-gown now, with silk slippers on her feet. Her long hair fell down her back, blond streaked with silver he hadnever noticed before. Without her usual paint and color, her features seemed strained and gray, her face lined.
She looked at him with something close to loathing. “You,” she said. “You’ve a lot of nerve, showing your face here.”
Kel stared. He knew that Lady Alleyne was not overly fond of him, but she was never overtly rude. Usually she ignored him or was coolly polite.
He tried to look past her into the house, but she moved to block him. He dragged his gaze back to Lady Alleyne, to her blazing eyes. “I have come to see Demoselle Alleyne,” he said without emotion. “I have a message from Prince Conor.”
“Then give the message to me.”
Kel shook his head. “The Prince requires that I give it to the Demoselle herself.”
“You are a liar.” Lady Alleyne spoke dispassionately.
Kel narrowed his eyes. “I understand you are unwell, Lady Alleyne. For that reason, I will not bring news of your outburst to the Prince. But I act on his orders—”
“Do you?” murmured Lady Alleyne. She put out a hand to brace herself against the doorframe. “I have never trusted you, Kel Anjuman. You think you hide your disrespect, your resentment? You have never had a sense of your place. The Prince, in his blind kindness, has given you ideas far above your station.” Her gaze flicked over him. “Ever since I told you to stay away from my daughter—”
“Ididstay away from your daughter,” Kel said; it was all he could do to keep his white-hot rage out of his voice. “I stayed away from her for years. You destroyed an innocent friendship between two children. You let her believe I despised her. You have never cared about her happiness at all—”
Lady Alleyne had gone a grayish color. “Antonetta isallI care about,” she hissed. “For the past nights I have not slept, not since”—he almost imagined she was about to saysince that night on Tyndaris,but instead she finished with—“since the night Antonetta left our home.”
Kel’s ears seemed to be ringing. “Antonetta isn’t here?”
Foolish,he thought numbly,foolish to call her Antonetta and not Demoselle,but Lady Alleyne did not seem even to have noticed. She was fumbling in the pocket of her robe, from which she produced a crumpled bit of vellum and handed it to Kel without a word.
Mama,he read, in Antonetta’s familiar scrawl,Gremont does nothing but humiliate me in public. It is insupportable. If he inquires, I will be at the house of a friend for some time. I do not wish visitors.
Lady Alleyne’s look was hot with fury. “Swear to it,” she said. “Swear she is not hiding herself away in the rooms of the Castel Mitat.”
