But what was it Jolivet had said? You are both of the Palace and not of it, of the city and not of it. You stand in the place between. Kel had always known he did not belong. Not at the Palace, or among those he had grown up with in the Orfelinat. Not in the city or on the Hill. He had always thought of it as a weakness. How strange that it had taken Legate Jolivet and the Ragpicker King for him to realize it might be his greatest strength.
He was almost drunk with exhaustion by the time he reached the Black Mansion. He had pictured himself climbing the stairs and knocking on the scarlet door, but there was no need for that. The red door was flung wide open, and the Ragpicker King was standing atop his steps, looking out over the city.
He was not entirely alone, of course. Guards in the livery of the Black Mansion flanked the stairs. They moved to stop Kel as he approached, one reaching for his sword, but the Ragpicker King held up a hand.
“Let him through,” he said, and Kel started up the steps toward him, seeing the Ragpicker King’s eyes widen as he drew near and Andreyen took in his bloodstained appearance. “Something has happened, then?” he said. “At Marivent?”
Kel paused on the step below the Ragpicker King. Looking up at him, he realized he had wondered, all the way down the Hill, whether Morettus would already know about the attack before Kel told him. It was clear from the look on his face, though, that he had not. For the first time Kel knew something before the Ragpicker King did—but it gave him no pleasure.
“You tried to warn me,” Kel said. “You told me to talk to Gremont. I should have done it. Now it is too late.”
“He is dead?” said Andreyen.
“There has been much death,” said Kel. “But you knew that. You knew there would be blood.”
Andreyen’s green eyes glittered. The night sky around them was full of clouds, great pillars of black vapor slashed through with orange fire. “I had hoped not,” he said. “But it was only hope.”
Kel took a deep breath of smoky air, tinged with the acid of burning. “Understand this,” he said. “I won’t work for you. I will never work for you.” He paused. “But I will work with you.”
Andreyen looked thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “it is not in my interest to tell you this, but I would rather not have it occur to you later and trouble your mind.”
Kel said wearily, “What?”
“Working with me in secret—for the Palace in secret—you may die doing it. And it will be an inglorious death. No one of your House Aurelian will know you died doing your duty, and when you are buried, it will not be near your Prince.”
“I know that,” Kel said. “But I will die doing what I want.”
Andreyen almost seemed to smile. “Well, then,” he said. “Come in. We have a great deal of work to do.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dannemore is not a real place, but it echoes back to real-life locations we know. The language used in Castellane is Occitan, a romance language spoken long ago in southern France. The language of Sarthe is Venetian, a language related to Italian. Malgasi and Ashkari are invented languages: The Malgasi language was designed by Nicolás M. Campi, and the Ashkar common language was designed by Matthew AbdulHaqq Niemi. （There are a few purely Hebrew words that are used in the High Language of the Ashkar: Sanhedrin, shomrim, malbushim.） Many of the titles of the books Lin peruses in the market are the titles of real, ancient travelogues. People have been wandering and wanting to write about it for a very long time. Many of Lin’s medical books are similarly real.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful and indebted to the help and support of so many people. My husband, Josh; my mother and father; my in-laws: Jon, Melanie, Helen, and Meg. My critique partners, Kelly Link and Holly Black, and my crew that cheers me on: Robin Wasserman, Leigh Bardugo, and Maureen Johnson. My assistants, Emily and Jed and Traci. My super agents, Suzie Townsend and Jo Volpe, and everyone at New Leaf. My editor, Anne Groell, long may she reign. The teams at Del Rey and Pan Macmillan. Heather Baror-Shapiro and Danny Baror. And Russ Galen, who first saw beauty and promise in a sketched-out outline.
With many thanks also to Margaret Ransdell-Green （conlanger/linguist for Kutani）， Francesco Bravin （Venetian translator）， Michael Shafranov （Hebrew translator）， Melissa Yoon （sensitivity reader）， Naomi Cui （sensitivity reader）， Patricia Ruiz （sensitivity reader）， and Clary Goodman （research wizard）。