“You are the Prince’s cousin,” rumbled Beck. “Anjuman of Marakand. What message does the Palace have for me?”
“I do not come on behalf of House Aurelian,” said Kel. “Only on behalf of Prince Conor. And he does not know I am here. No one does.”
There, Kel thought. He had laid out a vulnerability, like a card on the table. He was unsupported by the Palace. He was alone.
“Ah,” said Beck. “Are they aware of Conor’s debt? The ten thousand crowns?”
“Only I am aware,” said Kel. “Once the King knows, the situation slips beyond my control. One does not know what he will do. But he has an army at his disposal, not to mention the Arrow Squadron.”
Prosper Beck smiled a little. “You are threatening me, but sideways,” he said. “Amusing. Now let me ask: Why are you doing all this for Conor Aurelian?”
“Because,” Kel said, carefully. “He is my family.” Surely criminals understand family.
“You and the Prince are close, then? You’re in his confidence?”
“Yes.”
“Then it would surprise you to hear that he repaid his debt this morning?” said Beck, eyes glittering. “In full?”
Kel’s breath caught in his throat. He thought of his armor. Remember your visor, the mask you must wear. He kept his expression neutral as he said, “The whole ten thousand crowns?”
Beck looked smug. “So you are surprised.”
“I am surprised,” Kel said, “that, having been paid by Conor”—he refused to say repaid—“you agreed to meet with me at all.”
Beck sat back. His gaze flicked over Kel. His eyes were dark, opaque as metal. “You poisoned Jerrod. I thought that was . . . interesting. It made me interested in you.”
Jerrod cleared his throat.
“Though the Prince’s debt may no longer be an issue,” Beck said, “I admire a person with nerve, which you seem to have. And I am sure you wish to know where the money I used to set up my business came from. Specifically, who on the Hill gave it to me. A person who wishes very much, let us say, to destabilize the monarchy. It was their idea”—he smiled thinly—“that I buy up Conor Aurelian’s debts. And they gave me the money to do it.”
Kel’s heart slapped against the inside of his rib cage. “Why would I believe,” he said, “that you would turn against your own patron?”
Beck snorted. “Why wouldn’t I? If they happen to wind up in the Trick, I keep the whole ten thousand crowns, not just a cut of it.”
“You’re offering to tell me who on the Hill is betraying House Aurelian,” Kel said. “But you have not said what you want in exchange.”
“Antonetta Alleyne,” said Beck.
In the ensuing silence, one could have heard a feather strike the floor. Kel thought of his imaginary armor, but it did not help. Rage was running through his veins like wires through a puppet. He glanced at Jerrod—as if Jerrod of all people would be any help—but Jerrod was at the door, conversing in a low voice with a boy in a blue velvet suit.
“Specifically,” said Beck, as the boy slipped back out of the room, “a necklace that belongs to Antonetta Alleyne. A gold locket, shaped like a heart.”
“It can’t be worth that much,” Kel said, without being able to stop himself. “Why—？”
“It’s what is inside it that I want,” said Beck. “A piece of information.”
“Information that could hurt her?” Kel asked.
“She is far too rich and protected to be hurt,” said Beck, dismissively. “And the information I have could well save your precious Prince, even your House Aurelian.” He sat back in his chair. “Get me the necklace. Then we’ll talk.”
“And if I don’t get the necklace?”
“We won’t talk. And you came here for nothing.” Beck shrugged his big shoulders. “I’ve nothing else to say. Off you go, Prince’s cousin.”
Kel rose to his feet. Beck was watching him with his odd, metallic stare. What the hell, Kel thought. He might as well ask. Abruptly, hoping to catch Beck off guard, he said, “Where did Conor get the money to pay you?”
Beck raised his hands, palm out. “Don’t know,” he said. “Don’t care. One odd thing—he paid me in Sarthian lire.” He chuckled. “Not that it matters. Gold is gold.”
“We ought to get down to the floor,” Jerrod said to Beck. “There’s some kind of fight brewing over a hand of lansquenet. Things are turning violent.”
Beck rose to his feet and, without another word, followed Jerrod out of the room. Kel watched him go. There was something odd about Beck, something that did not seem to quite match up, but he could not quite put his finger on it, and Jerrod and Beck did not seem to be coming back. After some time spent sitting alone in the room, Kel got to his feet and shrugged.
“Well, all right then,” he said. “I’ll show myself out.”
When Lin returned to the Sault, she felt as if she had traveled much farther away from home than simply the Maze. She was absurdly pleased to see the place again, and wondered if this was how Josit felt when he returned from the Gold Roads. （She suspected not; he was always happy to see her, and Mariam, but retained an air of guarded wistfulness about him, the sense that while his body might be in the Sault, his mind was voyaging still.）
She went immediately to the Etse Kebeth, the House of Women, and found Chana in the kitchen. Chana shook her head when she saw Lin. “Mari’s asleep,” she said. “She was in a bad way. I had to give her passiflora tea to calm her down.” She narrowed her eyes. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” Lin protested. “She saw a royal Malgasi carriage on the Ruta Magna. It gave her a shock.”
“Ah.” Chana played with the beaded fringe that edged her cuffs. “I had thought perhaps it was something about the Tevath. The Goddess Festival.” She shook her head. “I had not thought of something so very painful. It took Mariam so long to feel safe in Castellane. To see a Malgasi carriage here . . .”
“She said something about the vamberj,” said Lin.
“They were the Queen’s own guard in Favár,” said Chana. “They covered their faces with wolf-face masks in silver, and hunted the Ashkar in the streets as a wolf might hunt a rabbit.” She shuddered and gestured to Lin to come closer. “Darling girl,” she said, giving her a one-armed hug around the waist, “you have been out in the city so often these past days. Be careful.”
If only she knew, Lin thought. She dropped a kiss on Chana’s wrinkled forehead and made her way back out into the night. As she crossed the Sault, heading toward her home, she glimpsed the shine of lanterns and realized, with a pang, that today had been the day of Mez and Rahel’s wedding ceremony.
She hurried to the Kathot. It was still alight. Round glass lamps hung like pendant moons from the boughs of the fig and almond trees. The damp paving stones were strewn with the petals of red and white roses, as were the steps of the Shulamat.
Long tables draped in fine white linen bore the remains of the wedding feast—half-empty glasses of wine; crumbs of sweet bread and cake. Lin closed her eyes. She could picture it all: Mez and Rahel in their finery, arms around each other; the Maharam with his staff, giving thanks for the blessings of the Goddess: joy and gladness, loving couples, mirth and song, close communities, peace and companionship. There would have been gifts: silver blessing cups, made in Hind; gold incantation bowls from Hanse. From Marakand, leather prayer books studded with semiprecious stones. It was traditional that the wedding gifts come from far-flung places, as a reminder that the world was full of Ashkar, their sisters and brothers. They were not alone here in Castellane.