“Mariam, how could you possibly—”
“Walk with me to the gates tomorrow morning,” Mariam said. “There will be a carriage waiting. You’ll see then.” As she pulled her shawl around her shoulders, she was beaming. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Looking out over the ocean, Kel could see the heat shimmer atop the water like a transparent veil. It would be boiling hot down in the city. Here on the Hill it was cooler, though the flowers hung limply on their vines and the peacocks lay panting in the grass.
It was the second week of his recovery, and Kel had spent the morning exploring the gardens, climbing up and down various sets of steps. He was reminded of his boyhood, when every nook and cranny of Marivent had seemed a place to have a potential adventure with Conor. They had been bandits in the courtyards, and Sorcerer-Kings in the towers; they had dueled at the top of the Star Tower, from which one could see the sun rise over the Narrow Pass.
He was leaving the Star Tower, his tunic wet with sweat, his chest aching, when he found Queen Lilibet waiting for him in the Queen’s Garden. Today she wore a pale celadon green—a color that made Kel think of a single drop of green poison dissolving in milk. Bracelets of green sapphire circled her wrists, and a silver band around her forehead held a single emerald between her eyes.
“Sword Catcher,” she said, as he crossed the grass. So she was not going to pretend she had not been awaiting his departure from the tower. She must know, as he did, that Conor was attending a meeting at the Alleyne estate, and thought it was an excellent time to corner Kel alone. “A word with you.”
As if he had a choice. Kel came closer to the Queen, inclining his head.
“Mayesh has told me,” she said, without preamble, “that you were attacked in an unsavory part of the city, after visiting a courtesan.”
“Yes,” Kel said, keeping his tone courteous. “That is true.”
“I am not a fool,” said the Queen. “I am under no illusion as to the sort of amusements my son prefers. But you are meant to accompany him when he pursues those amusements. Not to pursue them yourself.”
“The Prince had sent me away that evening—”
“It does not matter what he says,” Lilibet said sharply. “You cannot be careless with yourself, Kel Saren. You are Palace property. It is not your purpose to die when you are not defending my son.” She turned her head to look toward the Castel Mitat. Her hair was matte black, darker than Conor’s, the result of a skillful application of dye. “He cannot survive without you.”
Kel felt a jolt of surprise. “But he will have to,” he said, “if I die for him.”
“Then at least he will know your last thought was of him.”
Kel did not see how that mattered much. “When he becomes King—”
“Then he will take the Lion Ring and throw it into the sea,” said Lilibet. “After that, Aigon will protect him. When a God takes over for you, Kel Saren, then you can lay down your duty. Do you understand?”
Kel was not sure he did. “I will be more careful,” he said. “My first thought is always of Conor. Your Highness.”
The Queen gave him a hard look before she walked away—one that, Kel sensed, indicated that she suspected there was something he was not telling her. Which was true enough.
It had been an odd conversation. Kel felt uneasy as he walked slowly back toward the Castel Mitat. What had Lilibet meant, that Conor could not survive without him? She did not know the danger Conor was in from Prosper Beck. Was there some other danger she dreaded, something of which Kel was unaware?
His musings were cut short by Delfina, hurrying toward him across the Palace lawns. She was bright red under her mobcap, having apparently searched for him all over the grounds. Jolivet was waiting in the Prince’s rooms, she said; he wanted to see Kel immediately. Also, she added in an accusatory fashion, the heat had aggravated her skin condition, and she was going to see Gasquet.
“He’ll put leeches on you,” Kel warned as she hurried off, but she ignored him. He struck out for the Castel Mitat on his own, passing two of the King’s old hunting hounds, asleep and snoring in the grass. “You’ve the right idea,” he told them. “Continue as you are.”
He couldn’t help but wonder what it was Jolivet wanted to talk to him about. Usually if Jolivet sought him out it was about sword practice, but Kel was hardly in shape for that. Perhaps Jolivet or his squadron had learned something about the attack in the alley, in which case Kel could only hope the Legate had not discovered too much.
When he reached the rooms he shared with Conor, he braced himself to find Jolivet waiting for him, his long face glowering beneath his Arrow Squadron helmet. But there was no Jolivet there when he opened the door.
Instead, sitting on a plum-colored silk divan, was Antonetta Alleyne.
Beside her was a slim girl in a loose yellow gown, over which she wore a short capelet of saffron velvet. The hood of the capelet was drawn up, hiding her face. One of Antonetta’s maids, Kel assumed.
Antonetta herself wore a robin’s-egg-blue gown with puffed sleeves, the puffs secured with white ribbons. Blue powder had been combed through her curls, turning her hair a color darker than her eyes. When she saw him come in, she looked up and for a moment a look of unguarded relief crossed her face.
It was gone a moment later, leaving Kel to wonder if he’d really seen it at all.
“Oh, good,” she said, clapping her hands together as if she were at the theater. “You’re here. Do come in, and close the door behind you.”
“How did you persuade Delfina to tell me Jolivet was here?” Kel said, closing the door but not locking it. “Perhaps she is more trusting than I thought.”
“No. Just susceptible to bribery. Most people are.”
Antonetta smiled, and Kel could not help but think about what had passed before his eyes as he lay dying in that alley off the Key. His vision of Antonetta, in tears. But here she was, smiling that artificial smile that drove him out of his mind. He said tightly, “But why bother bribing Delfina? I assume you’re here to see Conor. He’s out—”
“I’m not looking for him,” Antonetta said. “In fact, he’s meeting with my mother, so I knew he wouldn’t be here.” She winked at Kel. “I brought someone to see you.” She shook her companion, who had been utterly silent since Kel had arrived, by the shoulder. “Go on, now!”
Kel thought he heard a weary sigh. The young woman beside Antonetta raised her hands and pushed back her yellow hood. Familiar dark-red hair spilled down her back as she looked wryly at Kel.
Lin Caster.
She looked younger than he recalled. He remembered careful hands, a stern, sweet voice, strangely calming in its evenness. For the first time he noted Lin had a curious face, inquisitive green eyes and decided eyebrows. He supposed she’d always looked this way, and his fever had made him think of her as older, more authoritative. Well, the fever and the fact that she’d thrown Conor out of the room.
“Antonetta,” Kel said. “What is this?”
Lin looked up. “I apologize for surprising you,” she said, in that rich voice that seemed at odds with her delicate stature. “But you were my patient and I wished to see if you’d healed. Demoselle Alleyne kindly brought me into the Palace—”