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She turned to see Mariam gazing around, wide-eyed. The square was packed as tightly as a trader’s caravan. “But I thought—”
“We were going to avoid the square. I know,” Lin said grimly. Nearby, several carriages had circled together. Their doors were thrown open, and girls in fashionable clothes—merchants’ daughters, their brightly colored boots showing beneath the lace hems of their frocks—were leaning out, giggling and calling to one another. Lin caught something about a princess and a kingdom, and two names she recognized: Conor Aurelian, and Counselor Bensimon.
Outside the Sault, there was no Ashkar with as much power as her grandfather, Mayesh Bensimon. Within the walls, his power was matched by that of the Maharam, but here, among themalbushim,the only Ashkar whose name they knew was Mayesh’s. For Mayesh stood at the shoulder of the King, at the side of the Prince.He advised, he counseled, he listened to their fears and desires and dreams. He mapped a path for them to follow. No one stood closer to the throne save perhaps Legate Jolivet, the head of the royal army.
All through the spring there had been rumors that Prince Conor would marry soon. Lin knew her grandfather would be at the heart of deciding what alliance he would make, what advantage it would confer on Castellane. It seemed these girls knew that, too. Everyone did.
Taking hold of Mariam’s sleeve, Lin began to push her way through the crowd, past wine-smelling shopkeepers and loudly singing guildmasters. Something struck her lightly on the shoulder; it was a thrown flower. A yellow aster, the symbol of House Aurelian. More crushed flowers were littered in the square, their gold petals ground to a fine dust.
Lin swerved to avoid the massive raised dais on which sat the Charter Families with their banners, and received several filthy looks from those who seemed to believe she was trying to get closer to the Convocat. She could hear Mariam complaining that she wanted to stop, tolook,but Lin’s heart was beating too fast. She couldn’t wait to get through the crowd to the other side, before—
A gasp went through the crowd. Mariam stopped dead and tugged on Lin’s hand. With a sense of resignation, Lin turned to see that the stairs of the Convocat were no longer empty. Prince Conor Aurelian had appeared atop them and was gazing out at the crowd.
Long ago, Lin’s grandfather had brought her to a King’s Speech here in the square. He had arranged for her to sit upon the dais, among the Charter Families, as King Markus spoke. Lin had understood nothing of his speech about taxes and trade, but she had loved the spectacle of it: the cheering crowd, the clothes, Queen Lilibet all in green, her throat circled with emeralds as large as the eyes of crocodiles. The young Prince at her side, his thick black curls just like hers, his mouth drawn down in a scowl.
Mayesh had seated Lin next to a fair-haired girl with fat curls and a thin mouth. Antonetta, her name had been. She hadn’t said aword to Lin, but Lin hadn’t minded. She was enjoying looking at it all too much.
That was, until she had become aware of the eyes that rested onher.And not just the nobles—who had been gazing sideways, discreetly—but those in the crowd: the merchants and shopkeepers and ordinary people of Castellane. They had all been staring at the Ashkari girl, up on the dais with the nobles as if she were just like everyone else. As if she werebetter.
It was the first time she recalled such stares—stares that told her she was peculiar, out of place, a curiosity. Not like everyone else. She had been a child, yet they had looked at her with open suspicion. Not because of who she was, but because ofwhatshe was.
All that flashed through her mind now as Prince Conor, his curling black hair held back by a winged golden circlet, came to the top of the steps to face the crowd. Lin had not seen him since all those years ago, when he had been a child, as she had. He had the same arrogant tilt to his chin even now, the same hard mouth. His frown was narrow as a razor.
Mariam sighed. “Heisawfully good looking.”
Lin knew that, objectively, this was true. Girls sighed over the portraits of the sons of the nobility sold at the weekly market in Windtower Square. And Prince Conor, she knew, was more popular than any other. Sketches of him, with his raven-dark hair and sharp cheekbones, sold for more than similar portraits of graceful Joss Falconet or scowling Charlon Roverge. Although it was more than just looks, Lin thought cynically; Falconet was handsome, but Conor was nearer to the throne, to power.
But she could not force herself to agree with Mariam. There was something about the harshness of the Prince’s looks she did not find appealing. He had not spoken yet but was looking over the crowd with a keen consideration. Lin thought she felt his gaze brush over her, though she knew it was only her imagination. She knew there was little point in hating Conor Aurelian. She was like an ant to him. He could step on her and never notice.
But she thought of her grandfather and hated him nonetheless.
“I cannot like him, Mariam,” she said. “My—Mayesh chose him, chose all the Aurelians, over his own family. Over Josit and me.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” Mariam looked troubled. And, in the open sunlight, paler than ever. Lin fretted silently to herself. “You know it wasn’t so simple.”
But it was. Lin still remembered sitting with her brother in their small bedroom, listening to Mayesh arguing with Chana Dorin in the kitchen.Chana, you must understand. I cannot take them. My duty is to the Palace.
“And his clothes are ridiculous,” Lin said. “The Prince’s, I mean.” She hoped this would distract Mariam, who loved fashion more than anything. Lin and Mariam had been schooled together as children, but Mariam had been deemed too fragile in constitution to continue her education. Without much reluctance, Mariam had stepped away from intensive studies, turning her considerable skill with needles into her trade.
In a short time, she had learned all there was to know about sewing and fabrics, about the differences betweenaltabassoandsoprariccio,between raw silk andmockado.She set up a stall in the market square, and soon enough rich women (and men) all over the city were cooing over her chemises with fine blackwork embroidery at the necklines and cuffs; over bodices of velvet and silk damask, and silk kirtles as fine and sheer as fishing nets. She made visits to the Hill to dress Demoselle Antonetta Alleyne, whose frothy, lace-covered dresses took weeks to complete. Her loom and needle were rarely still, and she often mourned that Lin was usually in her physician’s uniform and had little use for fine gowns.
Mariam eyed the Prince thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t sayridiculous,” she said. “They are of a certain style. It is calledsontosoin Sarthian. It means an intensity of richness.”
Richness, indeed. The Prince’s fingers gleamed with a dozen jeweled rings, sparking light when he moved. His boots and jerkinwere of rich incised leather, his shirt of crimson silk, bright as blood. The royal sword, Firefly, was buckled at his waist with a strap of gold and ivory brocade.
“It means…” Mariam took a deep breath and shook her head, as if to clear a fog. “It means that everything must be of the finest work. Look at his jacket. It is pomegranate velvet from Sarthe, woven with real gold thread so thin and fine it makes all the fabric shimmer like metal. The work is so delicate that a Law was passed forbidding the making of it, for it often made the workers mad or blind.”
“If it’s illegal, how does he have a whole jacket of it?” Lin demanded.
Mariam smiled faintly. “Heisthe Prince,” she said, just as Conor Aurelian stretched out his hands to the crowd and began to speak.
“I greet you, my people, in the name of the Gods,” he said, and though Lin knew better, though she hated him, it seemed that when he spoke the sun shone out slightly brighter. His voice was rich and deep and soft as the pomegranate velvet he wore.
The crowd began to surge forward, pressing Lin and Mariam tightly toward the steps of the Convocat. Adoration shone on their faces.
That is power,Lin thought.The love of the people. He holds them in his hands, and they love him for it.It was almost strange, though she had grown up in the shadow of Marivent and House Aurelian. But there was nothing close to a king or queen in the Sault. Power in the Sault was split between Mayesh himself—who acted as a bridge between the Ashkar and the outside world, protecting those inside the walls from the forces outside them—and Davit Benezar, the Maharam. Half priest, half lawmaker, the Maharam ruled over the community of the Sault, presiding over every birth and death, every wedding, and every punishment.
Neither position was inherited: The Maharam was appointed by the Exilarch, the closest thing the Ashkar had to royalty. The Exilarch, who traveled the Gold Roads from Sault to Sault, traced hislineage in a direct line from Judah Makabi. Makabi had been chosen by the Goddess herself to lead her people: TheBook of Makabiwas one of their holiest texts.
