AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And you want me to find out how they did.”
“I cannot force you to do this,” said Jolivet. “But you are uniquely positioned, Kel Saren. You are both of the Palace and not of it, of the city and not of it. You stand in the place between—and only from that vantage point, I think, can it be clearly seen who is attacking House Aurelian. Who wants them gone.”
Kel thought of the assassin on the rooftop—this is the beginning of the end of House Aurelian—but before he could decide whether this was something he should mention to Jolivet, the sky above him turned the color of fire.
Kel spun to see that half a dozen ships in the harbor below had exploded into shimmering blossoms of flame. Nor had they simply caught fire; he had heard the crack of black powder detonating, flinging itself skyward to lace the clouds with burning chains.
Jolivet had turned to look at the harbor, and Kel could see the flames reflected in the pupils of his eyes.
“Another attack?” Kel said.
“Not on Castellane,” said Jolivet. “No—this is revenge, pure and simple. I knew Cabrol had something like this planned, but not the how or when of it.” He turned his head to look at the Castelguards, who were pouring out onto the lawn now, gaping over theramparts to where the ships burned like floating candles on the water. Already the air was carrying with it the tang of saltpeter. “Go,” Jolivet said abruptly. “Get down into the city before the chaos stops you. I’ll deal with the guards. You aren’t the only one who will assume this to be another attack.”
And he strode away from Kel without another word.
—
The passage down into the city was like something out of a dream. Kel was halfway down the hill when the alarm bells began ringing, a relentless blaring that jarred his bones. The ships in the harbor were still burning high, illuminating a sky turned the color of marmalade.
Against that sky threaded long tails of black clouds formed of smoke and tinder. Under that choking banner, Kel reached the city itself, finding the Ruta Magna almost too crowded to navigate, citizens spilling from their houses to exclaim and point, wide-eyed, in the direction of the harbor. Their voices rose in a clamorous murmur:
—Six ships, they say. Maybe ten. All blown to bits while lying at anchor.
—The Roverge fleet. All of it, gone. They could lose their Charter.
—Who’d get it next, then?
—Not you, numbskull, so no point wondering. It seems like nobles’ business. And their problem.
“Wise man,” Kel muttered, fairly sure no one could hear him over the clangor. Indeed, no one paid any attention to him at all, though he would have thought he was an unusual sight. A filthy young man in blood-streaked velvet and silk, making his way half dazed down the Great Southwestern Road.
Fortunately, he wasn’t the most interesting thing in Castellane right now. Not by many miles.
Someone had blown the Roverge fleet sky-high. Most likely the Cabrol family. Kel thought of Benedict. Of Charlon. That was theirgold burning out there on the water. Depleting the coffers of House Roverge, leaving them vulnerable. All around him was the chatter of excited voices, describing the scene at the harbor:six tallships burning to the waterline, little left now but flaming embers adrift on oily scrims of multicolored liquid: pools of saffron, indigo, and madder caught by waves and churned to bright froth. Small boats, piloted by officers of the city watch, searching the choppy waters for whatever might remain of the Roverge fortune. The light from their lamps picking out bits of the wreckage: here a barrel floating on the waves, there a torn sack bleeding cochineal.
Under ordinary circumstances, the attack on the Roverge fleet would have occupied Kel’s mind to the exclusion of all else. With Conor, he would have discussed it long into the night over glasses of greenpastisson,getting drunker and drunker until they were no longer making any sense at all.
But these were not ordinary circumstances.
He began to walk west. He was aware of Marivent, above, like a white star on his shoulder, gleaming just out of reach on the Hill. From here in the city, there was no sign that any trouble had touched the Palace, its cool white stillness a counterpoint to the chaos of the streets. He imagined Antonetta, slipping out of her bloodied golden gown, watching as it was whisked away by servants, never to trouble the sight of the Alleynes again.
Though Antonetta would remember, he knew. It was not in her nature to forget, much as the Hill loved to forget everything that troubled it.
Enough thinking about Antonetta. She was not his mission now. He could not have said exactly when the moment was that he had determined to seek out the Ragpicker King as soon as he could leave the Palace. Perhaps the moment when Gremont had, dying, begged him not to trust anyone; perhaps the moment when the dark assassin on the roof had told him that danger was all around. Perhaps even the moment when the King had caught Vienne d’Este’s blade out of her hand.
It could have been any of those moments, or all of them, when Kel had thought:I cannot do this alone.And then, when he had seen Jolivet, he had feared it had all fallen apart. That he would be locked away as a traitor, and the worst would be that Conor would be left unprotected from whatever threats might come.
But what was it Jolivet had said?You are both of the Palace and not of it, of the city and not of it. You stand in the place between.Kel had always known he did not belong. Not at the Palace, or among those he had grown up with in the Orfelinat. Not in the city or on the Hill. He had always thought of it as a weakness. How strange that it had taken Legate Jolivet and the Ragpicker King for him to realize it might be his greatest strength.
He was almost drunk with exhaustion by the time he reached the Black Mansion. He had pictured himself climbing the stairs and knocking on the scarlet door, but there was no need for that. The red door was flung wide open, and the Ragpicker King was standing atop his steps, looking out over the city.
He was not entirely alone, of course. Guards in the livery of the Black Mansion flanked the stairs. They moved to stop Kel as he approached, one reaching for his sword, but the Ragpicker King held up a hand.
“Let him through,” he said, and Kel started up the steps toward him, seeing the Ragpicker King’s eyes widen as he drew near and Andreyen took in his bloodstained appearance. “Something has happened, then?” he said. “At Marivent?”
Kel paused on the step below the Ragpicker King. Looking up at him, he realized he had wondered, all the way down the Hill, whether Morettus would already know about the attack before Kel told him. It was clear from the look on his face, though, that he had not. For the first time Kel knew something before the Ragpicker King did—but it gave him no pleasure.
“You tried to warn me,” Kel said. “You told me to talk to Gremont. I should have done it. Now it is too late.”
