Merren looked up from his notebook. “That was quite diplomatic,” he said. “We are all who we are, after all. Ji-An is an assassin, I am a poisoner, and Andreyen dabbles in a bit of everything, as long as it’s illegal.”
“You are more than a poisoner, Merren, you are a scientist,” said the Ragpicker King. “As for you, Lin Caster, I am not asking you to do me a favor with no recompense. I can offer you the use of the laboratory here, since you cannot use the equipment in the Sault—”
“And what about me?” Merren inquired, looking alarmed. “I thought this was my laboratory.”
“You would have to share, Merren. It will be good for your character.”
“No—Sieur Asper, that’s all right.” Regret lay like a stone in Lin’s chest, but she knew even entertaining the offer was foolish. This was not her world, not her people. She did not belong in the Black Mansion, but within the walls of the Sault or at the bedsides of her patients. “I’m afraid I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t,” said the Ragpicker King, as if it were a word he found distasteful. “It is your choice, of course. I feel you could do good work here. Qasmuna was not just a scholar, you know. She was a physician. She wished to return magic to the world that it might be used for healing the sick.”
Oh. Lin said nothing aloud, but she was sure the Ragpicker King could see the change in her expression. A sort of hunger flared in her, for more than just the laboratory now. For the chance, however small—
“I am not saying it will be easy,” said the Ragpicker King. “It took me years even to find these copied pages of Qasmuna’s work. But there is one place I’ve never had access to in my search—the library of the Shulamat. In your Sault.” He spread his hands wide. “You might take a look there.”
Take a look? Lin almost told him: That will be impossible, books on magic are restricted, forbidden, unless they are lessons in gematry. And even those can only be studied in the Shulamat itself, not taken from the building, or outside the walls of the Sault.
Instead, she said, “I suppose I could try.”
The Ragpicker King clapped his hands together. “Excellent,” he said, and in that moment Lin knew: He had never had any doubt that she would agree.
In the end, the Ragpicker King summoned Ji-An to escort Lin from the Black Mansion, assuring her that she would soon enough learn the layout of the place. The labyrinth of corridors were meant to confound any intruder who might find their way inside.
Ji-An gave Lin a sour look before walking her briskly to the front door. “I told you to stay put in the solarium,” she said crossly, as the door swung open. “I hope you are not going to be troublesome.”
“I don’t plan to be.” Lin was already out the door. Outside, the afternoon light was dark gold; birds sang in the boughs of the trees that lined Scarlet Square. She felt as if she had passed into the underworld and returned to a city unchanged.
Halfway down the steps, she turned, looking up at Ji-An, who was standing in the doorway of the mansion, framed by scarlet. “Is he a good man?” Lin asked. “Or a bad one?”
Ji-An frowned. “Who? Andreyen? He does what he says he will do. If he says he will kill you, he will kill you. If he says he will protect you, he will protect you.” She shrugged. “To me that is a good man. Perhaps others might feel differently.”
In Aram, Suleman was profuse with his compliments, telling Adassa he had never seen such a rich land, or such a wise healer and Queen as she was. Even as he spoke his honeyed words, he prevailed upon Adassa to visit him in his own kingdom of Darat, so that she could see all that also might be hers if she agreed to marry him.
She was at first reluctant to go. Her people were anxious at the thought of her leaving, for though Aram was at peace it was surrounded by lands deep in strife. It was Judah Makabi who convinced Adassa, saying, “Be not ignorant of the designs of others, lest you be defeated.”
At his insistence, she wore around her neck a talisman of gematry, meant to protect her against ill intent.
While in Darat, Adassa was shown many wonders that had been accomplished through the use of magic. Great marble castles higher than the tower of Balal, which was the pride of Aram. There were dazzling rivers of fire that burned night and day, illuminating the sky. Phoenixes wandered the grounds of the palace, shedding sparks like fireflies.
Yet often Adassa was aware of the hard gaze of Suleman upon her. Though he told her he watched her with the eyes of love, she was suspicious. At night when she retired to her chambers, she found that a carafe of water had been placed for her beside her bed; when she gave some of the water to one of the palace cats, the creature was rendered instantly unconscious. Realizing that Suleman meant to drug her, Adassa made her excuses the next day and returned to her kingdom. With a heavy heart, she went to Makabi and asked of him that he journey unto Darat and spy on Suleman to determine his plans, and she laid upon him the guise of a raven that he might travel unseen.
—Tales of the Sorcerer-Kings, Laocantus Aurus Iovit III
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kel had been injured before, of course. In his line of work, it would have been strange if he hadn’t. But he had not come so near death before, nor spent so much time abed, drugged with morphea and the peculiar dreams it gave him. The first time he felt strong enough to rise from his bed and traverse the room, he was horrified. His legs felt limp as wet paper. He fell immediately, cracking his knees on the stone floor.
Conor had come quickly to help him up while Delfina, who had arrived to change the bed linens, shrieked and fled the room. She returned—to Kel’s annoyance—with Legate Jolivet and a stone-faced Queen Lilibet. The Queen was infuriated that Kel had been attacked at all: Didn’t the criminals of Castellane know better than to ambush nobility from the Hill? What were things coming to, and to that end, how long would the Sword Catcher be useless to them? Should Conor cancel the next fortnight’s public appearances? When would the Sword Catcher be well again, if ever?
Thanks to the Gods, Jolivet was there. He explained that the Sword Catcher was in excellent physical shape （good news to Kel, who did not feel it） and that there was no reason to imagine he would not make a swift and full recovery. Kel should avoid lying in bed any longer, but take moderate exercise, increasing his effort each day until he felt strong enough for his training to resume as usual. He should also eat a healthful diet of meat and bread, not too many greens, and no alcohol.
Kel, who was on his feet by this point and able to limp to the tepidarium and back, expected Conor to fight this decree—especially the ban on drinking. But Conor only nodded thoughtfully and said he was sure Jolivet knew best: something Kel was fairly sure Conor had never said before in his life. Even Jolivet seemed startled.
But perhaps he should not be too astonished, Kel thought later, as he dressed slowly, hands shaking while he attempted to do up his buttons. Conor had been distracted since Kel had told him of Prosper Beck’s demands. Busy wheedling the Treasury for the money? Borrowing it from Falconet? Or more likely, borrowing a little here and a little there to avoid facing down Cazalet? Whatever his plan, he was absent from the Castel Mitat for long stretches during the days, and Kel—for the first time in years—was thrown upon his own company.