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He swung himself out of bed; there was, after all, only one person who could unknot this knot. And he could explain any absence from Marivent as the need to take a walk and clear his head. Perhaps he would stop at the kitchens and ask Dom Valon for a serving of his hangover cure before he headed down into Castellane. Maybe ask for an extra helping of white vinegar. After last night, Kel felt as if he needed to be cleansed, inside and out.
Kel was just stepping into a pair of linen trousers when there was a rustle from behind the heavy velvet drapes that shielded Conor’s bed. A pale hand parted the curtains, and a distinctly feminine leg followed.
So there was a girl in Conor’s bed. It was hardly the first time. Kel cast about for a shirt while a slim, white-clad form slipped between the curtains, closing them carefully behind it. She exhaled and shook her head, sending a fountain of dark-red hair tumbling over her shoulders, and for a moment, Kel’s heart stopped.
Lin?
He must have made a noise, for she jumped a little and turned around. When she saw him, she smiled. “Ah,” she said. She was wrapped in a white sheet; it hung to her bare feet. “Fancy meeting you here.” She flicked her dark gaze up and down him with a grin; he was still shirtless. “I applaud your choice of outfit, Kel.”
“Silla,” he breathed. There was relief mixed in with his surprise, and some annoyance at himself: How could heeverhave thought it would be Lin? She had made it clear enough several times that she didn’t care much for Conor. “What are you doing?”
“I should think that much would be obvious. I’m looking for my clothes.”
Kel pointed. The red dress she had been wearing the night before was tossed over a chair back next to Conor’s bed.
“Why, thank you,SieurAnjuman.” Apparently deciding that since it was just Kel, it didn’t matter, she dropped the sheet, stepping out of its white folds like a mermaid out of seafoam. Kel flushed a little, not because she was naked, but because her body was sofamiliar.He had learned her body as one might learn a piece of music, its rhythm and inflections, the vibration of its low notes, the sharp trill of the higher range.
Silla slipped the red dress on and began to do up the laces in the front. She peered at Kel from beneath her eyelashes. “You don’tmind,do you?” she said. “I hadn’t seen you in so long. I assumed…and heisthe Crown Prince.”
Somewhere in the distance, outside the room, Kel could hear the sound of laughter. A child playing. He pressed his fingers to his eyes as if he could hold back his headache.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “He treated you well enough, I assume?”
She kicked her feet into her red satin slippers and padded across the room to him. “Perfectly well,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “But thank you for worrying about me.” She tilted her head. “Now, is there a…discreet way out of this place?”
Kel searched for a shirt while giving her directions to the Sea Path, and told her what to say to Manish at the gate. Shedisappeared in a swirl of red hair and redder satin. He did not know why he had imagined she was Lin. Lin was tall, while Silla was slight; Lin’s hair was dark auburn, streaked with lighter strands of copper, while Silla’s was bright as scarlet paint.
But Lin had been there last night, and he had thought there was something about the way Conor looked at her—but it could just have been rage. Conor was bitterly miserable these days. Miserable enough that Kel could not be angry at him about Silla.
And indeed, Kel thought, having located boots and shirt and run his fingers through his hair to tame it, Silla was free. He had not paid to reserve her only for himself. Still, Conor knew…Heknew…
Though what he knew, Kel could not put his finger on exactly.
The sound of laughter grew louder as Kel made his way downstairs and into the courtyard. He found it empty save for Vienne and Luisa, who was scampering up one of the walls rather as if she were a Crawler. Vienne stood under her, her arms outstretched, wearing her Black Guard uniform—and looking far more comfortable than she had the night before. “E si tescavalca ’l muro,alora, cosa fatu, insemenia?” Vienne said in Sarthian.And if you get over the wall, then what, you silly girl?
Luisa looked over and saw Kel. Startled, she lost her grip and tumbled off the wall; Vienne caught her while Luisa pealed with laughter. Kel had worried Luisa would be troubled by memories of the night before, but she seemed to have recovered. She giggled while Vienne set her on her feet, then ran over to Kel and began to rattle away in Sarthian so fast he could barely follow it.
“She’s glad to see you,” Vienne said drily, “and she wants you to know that she’s had a Castles board set up in her rooms, if you want to play.”
“Me piasarìa zogar, ’na s’cianta,” Kel said, and would have said more, but Vienne—not sharply, but firmly—said, “Luisa,cara,go pick some flowers for thePrìnçipe Marakandi.”
Luisa skipped off to begin denuding a marigold shrub of itsblooms. It was a cool day, for Castellane, with a wind off the ocean that shook the petals of the flowers.
“You are her new favorite person,” said Vienne. Sunlight glinted off her chestnut hair. Kel was aware of the weapons she was carrying: a short-sword at her side, and almost certainly daggers in her boots. “Do not worry; the position comes with few responsibilities.”
“Ah,” Kel said. “Well, Conor will win her back. He always does.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” said Vienne. “Whether she likes him or not, this business will all go forward regardless.”
“I suppose.” Kel’s head felt as if it were splitting under the hot sun. “Still, I want to apologize. To you, to her. The way Conor was last night—he isn’t usually like that.”
“Verità?” she murmured. “I will tell you, as a bodyguard, I am trained to observe people. To watch their reactions.”
That’s nothing I don’t know about.But Kel kept his eyes wide, voice neutral. “And last night someone reacted oddly?”
“No one reacted oddly,” said Vienne. “No one seemed surprised by your Prince’s behavior at all.”
“Really?” said Kel. “He is not usually dressed like the God of love, or drinking quite so much. All right,” he admitted at her doubtful expression, “dressing as the God of love is just the sort of thing he likes to do, and he often drinks when he is miserable.”
