“That is not necessary—”
“It is,” Conor drawled. “You are Ashkar, but wearing the clothes of a Castellani. I believe those colors, those fabrics, are forbidden to you. It is unlikely anyone would notice or guess, but still a danger.”
“Conor—” Kel began.
“I may not agree with those Laws,” said Conor, “but they are the Laws.” His gaze flicked over her. “You have certainly taken a great risk for our friend Kel here. A dedicated physician indeed.”
Lin’s face was composed, but her eyes burned with anger. “I have my own clothes in my satchel. If I could use your tepidarium, I can change—”
“Then you will be wandering about the grounds as an Ashkar, which will invite yet more questions. I suggest you change in the carriage. Before you reach the city, of course, or you’ll be giving passersby an unexpected thrill.”
Lin opened her mouth—then closed it again, seeming to realize there was no point in objecting. She followed Conor out into the corridor, pausing only to cast an apologetic look at Kel over her shoulder. He wondered what she was sorry for. Conspiring with Antonetta? Dropping a message from the Ragpicker King into his lap and leaving without an explanation? Still, anyone willing to stand up to Conor had nerve, and he admired that. Shaking his head with a half smile, he took out the note she had given him and scanned the few lines scribbled on the paper in a surprisingly inelegant hand.
I know about the debt and the Crawlers. Come and see me if you wish to protect your Prince.
The Prince was silent as Lin kept pace with him: down the long marble corridor, the curving stairs, out into the bright sunlight. The first night she had come to Marivent it had been dark, nearly moonless, washing the courtyard garden of the Castel Mitat clean of color. Now she saw that it was beautiful: Roses tumbled down trellises that clung to the stone walls like a lover’s hand, golden poppies spilled from the necks of stone pots, spiked purple salvia bordered the curving paths that snaked through the grass. A small fountain plashed beneath a tiled sundial; etched on the dial’s face was a line from an old Castellani love song: AI, LAS TAN CUIDAVA SABER D’AMOR, E TAN PETIT EN SAI. Alas, how much I thought I knew of love, and yet how little I know.
“Now is when you tell me,” said the Prince, “that Bensimon failed to tell you I forbade you from returning to the Palace.”
Lin had been aware of him, of course, even as she had been looking at the garden. He was leaning now against one wall of the Castel, a booted foot up behind him. His hair was a tangle of black curls, his eyes silver in the sunlight. The color of needles and blades.
She said, “He told me.”
The corner of the Prince’s mouth twitched—in anger or amusement, Lin could not tell. “I offer you a way out,” he said, “and you do not take it. Leaving me to wonder: What is wrong with you, precisely?”
“Only that I am a physician,” said Lin. “And as such, I wanted—”
“It does not signify, what you wanted,” he said. “When I command you to do something, it is not an idle request. I would have thought your grandfather would have made you aware of that much, at least.”
“He has. But Kel is my patient. I needed to see if he was healing properly.”
“We are not completely incompetent here at Marivent,” the Prince said. “Somehow we have managed all these years without you, and are not all dead as a result.” He plucked the bloom of a passionflower from a cascading vine and spun it between his fingers. Smiled at her, but not with his eyes. “When I say, do not return to the Palace, that does not mean, unless you feel like it. People have been thrown in the Trick for less.”
Lin could see the Trick from where she stood: a long, narrow spike of black, piercing the sky. A wave of anger rolled through her. There were no trials for those sent to La Trecherie, no Justicia. Only the snap of royal fingers, the whim of a king or queen. Here is a man, she thought, who has never worked for the power he holds. He believes he can demand anything, order anything, for he has never been refused. He is rich and lucky and beautiful, and he thinks the world and everything in it belongs to him.
“Go ahead, then,” she said.
“What?”
“Throw me in the Trick. Call the Castelguards. Put me in a cell.” She held her hands out, wrists crossed, as if ready for the shackles. “Bind me. If that is what you want.”
His glance trailed from her wrists to her face, lingering on her mouth for a moment before he flicked his eyes away. He was flushed, which surprised her. She would not have thought it possible to shock him.
“Stop that,” he said, still not looking at her.
She dropped her hands. “I knew you wouldn’t really do it.”
There were rings in his left ear, she noticed, small gold hoops that glowed darkly against his light-brown skin. “You are mad to stupidly court such danger,” he said. “I wonder that Mayesh chose a mad physician to look after my cousin, granddaughter or no.”
Lin could not stop herself. “He is not your cousin.”
Now he did look at her, his eyes hard. “What did Mayesh tell you?”
“Nothing. I saw his talisman. It might mean nothing to most Castellani, but I am Ashkar. I can read gematry. Kel is the Királar. Your Sword Catcher.”
The Prince did not move. He was very still, but it was a stillness that contained a dangerous energy. It reminded Lin of serpents she had seen caged in the market square, motionless in the moment before striking. “I see,” he said. “You believe you know something that can hurt me. Hurt the Palace. You think that gives you power.” He stood up straight. “What is it you want, then? Money?”
“Money?” Lin could feel herself shaking with rage. “I would not take your ring when you offered it freely. Why would you think I want money now?”
“Mayesh is aware that you know,” he said, half to himself. “He must think the secret safe, with you, then.”
“It is. I have no intention of telling anyone. For Kel’s sake, and for my grandfather’s. Not for yours. The Palace means nothing to me.”
She started for the archway, the one that led out of the courtyard. She heard quick footsteps behind her; a moment later the Prince moved to block her way. She could have gone around him, she thought, but it seemed foolish, as if she thought they were playing a child’s game of catch-the-mouse.
“You hate me,” he said. He sounded almost puzzled. “You do not know me at all, and yet you hate me. Why?”
She looked up. He was tall, so much that she had to crane her head back to look at him. She did not think she had been this close to him before. She could see the individual threads of his dark lashes, smell the leather and sunlight scent of him. “Kel is covered in scars,” she said. “And while his current injuries may not have the Aurelian name upon them, his old ones do. He was given to you as if he were a thing, like an engraved box or a decorative hat—”
“Do you imagine I wear a great number of decorative hats?” inquired the Prince.
“He was only ten,” she said.
“Mayesh seems to have told you a great deal.”