Sarany’s lip curled. “I noticed you have a very active Sault. There are so very many Ashkar in the streets here. Don’t you find they spread criminality and disease?”
There was a blank silence; even Lilibet, normally poised, looked stunned.
Conor’s eyes had begun to glitter dangerously. “On the contrary,” he said. “The Ashkar are skilled healers who have saved many Castellani lives, and they are among our more Law-abiding subjects. Of the few hundred criminals in the Tully, not one of them is Ashkar.”
“You are young and na?ve, Ur-K?rul Aurelian,” said Sarany coolly. （Even with his limited Malgasi, Kel recognized the word for “Prince.”） “You are fond of Bensimon—or you believe you are, at least. The Ashkar exert a sort of pull, a power that draws you to them. It is part of their evil.”
“Evil?” The word broke from Kel; he knew better than to speak out, yet he could not help himself. “That seems a severe term. They are, after all, only people who pray to a different sort of God.”
“And practice gematry.” Sarany’s gaze swept over Kel and dismissed him. “In Malgasi, we believe all magic is sin. We have made our lands Aszkarivan—free of Ashkar. In doing so, we ushered in a new phase of prosperity for our people.”
“Was that because they enriched themselves with gold stolen from the Ashkar who had fled?” Conor said, and now his eyes were glittering in a truly dangerous way.
Kel could not help but remember the Dial Chamber meeting where Mayesh had said calmly that there were no Ashkar in Malgasi. No one had paused to ask the Counselor why, he realized. No one had thought about it; no one had seen it as important.
Sarany was looking at Conor, her nostrils flared. Kel could feel the energy in the room changing. It had spiked upward, from tension to anger. He wondered if he should rise and go to Conor, but at that moment, to his surprise, King Markus strode into the Shining Gallery.
With him was Fausten. Neither had dressed for the dinner, precisely, though the King wore a heavy velvet cloak over his usual plain tunic and trousers. It was clasped at the throat with a thick gold chain from which hung an elaborately carved pendant ruby. Fausten, a step behind the King, wore his astronomer’s cloak of silk and glass. Kel could not help staring at the little man; the sight of him made Kel feel sick with rage, and the fact that he ignored Kel completely, his gaze sliding over him as if he were not there, did not help.
Markus was stony, bland, and calm as he approached the table and took his seat at the head. Lillibet was staring at him, lips parted in surprise; Conor was expressionless, but his hand was clenched around the stem of his wine goblet.
As Fausten positioned himself behind the King’s chair, Kel noted there was something very different about his demeanor. Where he was usually cringing and sycophantic, now he seemed eager, eyes bright and darting. He seemed to be vibrating with excitement as he bowed in the direction of Ambassador Sarany, greeting her in Malgasi:
“Gy?nora, pi fendak hi líta.”
It was a breach of etiquette for Fausten to speak before the King did; Sena Anessa looked taken aback, but Sarany only smiled a thin smile and turned to the King. “I am so glad, K?rol Markus,” she said, “that we have the favor of your presence.”
Markus? Kel shot Conor a look; Conor only shrugged.
The King inclined his head. “I know my duty,” he said, with the tone of a man who was going to his own execution, and knew it, and knew he must not falter on the road to the gallows.
Very strange.
Ambassador Sarany did not reply, but stared at the King openly with a deeply peculiar expression. There was an edge in it, as of hunger—and something else as well. A sort of longing, almost desperate. Lilibet was watching her over the rim of her wineglass, her expression a mixture of vexation and disbelief.
“How kind of His Highness,” murmured Anessa into the awkward silence, “to make a special effort to see us.”
The King looked up and down the table, his face expressionless. Despite his rich cloak, there was a tear in the sleeve of the shirt underneath which must be causing Lilibet agonies of embarrassment.
“I have not heard words spoken in Malgasi in many years,” he said, “nor seen the wolf blazon. It brings back . . . memories.”
Kel saw Conor’s eyes darken. Even before he had retreated to the Star Tower, the King had never spoken of his time as a foster at the Court in Favár.
As if sensing a change in his mood, Sarany turned to Conor. “Perhaps your father has told you of the beauties of Favár,” she said. “The Erzaly River, the Laina Kastel palace—but to hear of something is never quite the same as seeing it yourself, is it?” She clapped her hands together in artificial delight, as if she had just had an idea. “Perhaps, Prince Conor, instead of our Milek Elsabet journeying to Castellane, you could come to us? Elsabet could be your guide to the city. No one knows Favár and its history better. And you simply must tour the harbor at night. The people of the city cast floating lamps upon the water; it is a sight to behold.”
Conor tossed back the dregs of his rose-colored wine. There was almost no food on his plate. Damn Sarany, Kel thought. She must press and press on this Elsabet business, like a finger pressing a bruise.
“I get seasick,” Conor said.
“What he means,” said Lilibet, “is that his duties here compel him. It is a shame. I am sure he would love to see your city.”
Sarany ignored this. “You must also visit our Kuten Sila, the Bridge of Flowers. It is a monument to the marriage of Andras Belmany and Simena Calderon, and known as the Bridge of Peace, for that union brought an end to many years of bloodshed. A marriage can heal many wounds, even those of long standing.”
Kel could stand it no more. “Our own King Valerian never married,” he said, “and he was known as a great peacemaker.”
For the first time that evening, Ambassador Sarany looked at Kel. Her gaze said, You are prey, but too small to interest me. “And there was a bloody civil war when he died,” she said.
“Arguably,” said Conor, “that would have happened anyway.”
Sarany looked directly at Conor. Something flickered in her gaze—there was a flash of anger, but that hunger remained there, too. She said, her voice dark and sweet as chestnut honey, “My dear Ur-K?rol Aurelian. Might I give you some advice?”
“I am dreadful with advice,” said Conor. “I so rarely take it. It is a besetting sin.”
His tone was casual but his hand was in danger of crushing the stem of his wineglass. Sena Anessa had abandoned any pretense of speaking with Kel and was staring from the King to Conor, and back again.
Sarany said, “I have known, in my travels, many young lords and princes. In love with fun and adventure and ease.” She made a face that indicated she was familiar with none of those things. “Those whom the Gods have blessed with a royal position inherit much from their forebears. Nobility and power, certainly, but also responsibility. Also debt.”
The King looked at Sarany as if, in her face, he saw the gallows.
“I owe no debt to Malgasi,” Conor said, and Kel saw an ugly smile flash across Fausten’s face. He wanted to get up and throttle the astronomer until he told what he knew.