“There are no Ashkar in Favár,” said Mayesh, without inflection. “We are forbidden from Malgasi, save to pass through on the Roads.”
Kel frowned. Had he known that? He could tell from the expressions of the other Council members that they had not. Shrugging it off, Raspail said, “What about Kutani? If it is only a matter of gold, none has more than they do. And their Princess—”
“Anjelica,” Kel said. He could still see her, or the portrait of her—the pale gold of her eyes, the cloud of her dark hair. “Anjelica Iruvai.”
“Anjelica, yes,” said Raspail, with a snap of his fingers. “Meant to be beautiful. Biddable, too.”
“Are there a lot of trees in Kutani?” Falconet wondered aloud. “Mangroves, I suppose—” He broke off, his eyes widening.
Conor stiffened. The room fell silent. Beside Kel, Mayesh Bensimon was rising slowly to his feet. The nobles followed him. One by one: Esteve, Uzec, Roverge, Montfaucon, Alleyne . . . all but the still-sleeping Gremont. As tradition dictated, they stood and bowed, for King Markus had come into the Dial Chamber, and was regarding them with a curious gaze.
The King. Where Kel often thought Mayesh had not changed in the past twelve years, the King certainly had. He was still a big man, with the arms and chest of a stevedore unloading cargo on the docks, but his face had sagged. Great dark bags hung under his eyes, and his fair hair was streaked with white. His large hands, gloved as always in black, hung empty at his sides.
Beside him stood Master Fausten, his constant companion. He had been the King’s tutor in Favár, years ago, when Markus had fostered at the Malgasi Court. When the King had moved himself into the Star Tower, he had summoned Fausten to join him in his studies.
Fausten was a small man, with gnarled limbs like an old tree, the result of a childhood illness. He had the dark hair and pale skin common in Malgasi, though most of his hair was gone now, and his bald pate gleamed with the effort of navigating the uneven terrain of Marivent.
Like the King, he was an astronomer, though Kel had always wondered how one could study the stars when one could barely see the masterful fretwork of the sky itself, glittering in silver and gold. He liked to insist that the sun itself was a star, but Kel put that down to his copious consumption of Malgasi brandewine—an evil-tasting mixture of arrack and whiskey.
“Conor, my dear son,” said the King. “And my Council.” His gaze trailed over the nobles, slightly unfocused, as if he were not entirely sure he recognized each one of them. “I was at my studies when I thought—what was it I thought, Fausten?”
“You spoke of destiny, my King,” said Fausten. He was sweating, clearly uncomfortable in the heavy velvet robes he insisted on wearing. They were midnight blue, and on them the constellations of the sky had been picked out in beads of silver: the Swan, the Crown, and Aigon’s Sword among them. “And of fate.”
The King nodded. “Such meetings as this are foolishness,” he said, indicating the whole of the Dial Chamber with a sweep of one gloved hand. “The stars should be consulted when matters of import lie before us, for that is how the Gods speak to us. Squabbling among ourselves nets us nothing, for we see only a fraction of the path laid out.”
“We do not all have your skill, Highness,” said Mayesh, “in interpreting the will of the stars.”
Conor had gone very still. His face was white, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair. Kel laid a hand on his shoulder; it was rigid as steel under his touch.
“Indeed,” said Montfaucon. “I do not find them very talkative, myself.”
The King turned his unfocused gaze on Montfaucon. “Then you are lucky,” he said. “For when I gaze upon the stars, I see the ruination of Castellane. Marivent, our White Lady, tumbled in the dirt. The Ruta Magna running with blood.”
There was a soft murmur of mild shock, as if Lady Alleyne had whipped off her bodice, but no one seemed particularly alarmed.
The King turned to Mayesh. “All must be done to avert this fate. The stars . . .”
Between his teeth, Conor hissed, “Fausten.”
The little man turned anxiously to the King. “My liege,” he said. “We cannot stay. The lunar eclipse tonight, do you recall? When the moon’s light is quenched, much will be revealed. We must prepare the telescopes, that any messages of import are not lost.”
The King seemed to hesitate. Fausten dropped his voice, murmuring in Malgasi. After a few moments, the King nodded and strode from the room. Fausten, picking up his heavy robes, scurried after him like a sheepdog after a wayward member of his flock.
“There you have it,” Conor said, into the ensuing silence. “I will be consulting the stars as regards my future marriage, so there is no further need for discussion on the subject.”
“My lord,” said Kel. He rarely addressed Conor in this way, but the moment called for it. He had withdrawn his hand from Conor’s shoulder, knowing it was a familiarity the Council would look askance at, even from the Prince’s cousin. “King Markus was clearly joking. A bit of humor to lighten the mood. Would you not all agree?”
The assembled nobles murmured in assent, recognizing the escape Kel was providing, and relieved enough not to mind, for the moment, the source of it.
“Of course,” Conor said. “A joke. My father was being purposefully absurd.”
“Have a care,” Mayesh said in a low voice, but Conor was spinning the tea glass rapidly in his hand, staring at it as if it held the answers his father sought in the stars.
“There are no other matters to discuss, then?” Conor asked, not looking up. The nobles exchanged glances, but not a one spoke. “Before this meeting is adjourned?”
“Well,” said Lady Alleyne. “There is the matter of the Solstice Ball—”
Conor rose abruptly to his feet, green glass sparking in his hand. Kel knew what he was going to do, but had no way to stop it; he flinched as Conor threw the glass as hard as he could. It sailed past Gremont, striking the wall behind him and smashing there, spraying crystalline fragments.
Antonetta gave a little scream before covering her mouth. Gremont sat up, blinking. “What? Is the meeting over?”
Without another word, Conor stalked out of the room. Frowning, Lady Alleyne said, “That child must learn to curb his temper.”
“That child,” said Kel, “is your Prince, and will one day be your King.”
Lady Alleyne rolled her eyes. Coldly, Roverge said, “The dog barks on behalf of its master. Bark somewhere else, little dog.”
Kel did not answer. The Charter Families were already rising, ready for departure. And it was hardly his place to argue with Roverge, or any of them. He had said too much already; he could see that in Mayesh’s eyes.
He followed Conor out of the room, pausing only to bare his teeth at Roverge as he went. Antonetta watched him anxiously as he went; worried, no doubt, about Conor. Kel could not help but recall what she had said the night before: We can all be made to do things. It simply requires finding the right way to push.
Lin was in the physick garden, kneeling in the dirt beside a foxglove plant. She loved it here—the air was fresh and green with the scent of growing, and the sun illuminated the winding paths through the beds of herbs and flowers. Though maintained by the Women’s House, the contents of the garden were shared with all the Sault. Here grew the medicinal herbs that had been used by Ashkari physicians for generations. Larkspur, asphodel, and foxglove rubbed shoulders with monkshood and laburnum. Jars in the Physicians’ House held that which could not be grown in the Sault: birch and willowbark, ginseng and lotus root.