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As she drew out the papers, the pain in her head made her flinch. The papers fell from her hands. She knelt to gather them, half-absentmindedly, her attention on the turmeric tea she’d need to make to prevent her headache from worsening.
She paused. The pages had fallen in such a way that she was able to see something she had not seen before. Two of the torn-out pages were clearly meant to be looked at side by side. What had seemed separate incomplete designs was in fact one design—the same design, like a ten-rayed sun, that she recalled from the covers of more than one book in Petrov’s flat.
Frozen, she stared at the pages. Petrov had been obsessed with the stone in his possession. What if he’d also had Qasmuna’s book, or one like it?
You want his books—nasty little magic books, full of illegal spells,his landlady had said.I sold them to a dealer in the Maze.
The Maze. Just on the other side of the Sault walls, but nowherean unaccompanied Ashkari woman could go safely. Neither the Vigilants nor the Ragpicker King could protect her there.
It was Mayesh’s voice she heard then, in her head.You could not get in yourself, so you found someone who could, and you worked your will through them.
Still kneeling on the floor, and despite the pain in her head, Lin began to smile.
—
Long ago, Kel had trained himself to wake up at dawn for training sessions with Conor and Jolivet. Now that Conor was old enough to refuse to rise at daybreak to practice swordplay, that skill had fallen out of use, but Kel was pleased to discover his internal clock still functioned. He woke as the sun rose over the Narrow Pass, his eyes snapping open.
Pale-gray light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Conor was asleep in his bed nearby. The light that filtered through the draperies around his bed laid a pattern of uneven lines across his bare back.
Kel dressed silently: soft boots, gray clothes that would blend with the dawn. Conor did not stir as he left the room.
Few were afoot in Marivent at this hour. The grass of the Great Lawn was starred with dew, and in the distance, the ships in the harbor bobbed on water that resembled hammered tin.
Servants hurried back and forth like flitting shadows, preparing the Palace for the day. When they saw Kel, they ignored him. It was fortunate, Kel thought, as he approached the Star Tower, that he had been marching himself around the Palace grounds for the past days. No one would question his presence anywhere; they were used to his wanderings.
Still, when he entered the tower, he felt a tightening of his nerves. He had not been inside the tower in years, and the air of it felt peculiar—cool and dry, which was not surprising, but also dusty, as if it had been closed up for a long time. Like the air of a tomb—though that was foolishness; Fausten came in and out here every day, as did Jolivet and a few of the older servants.
As with most of the other towers, the upper, inhabited part of the Star Tower was reached by a set of narrow spiral stairs. Kel’s soft boots allowed him to move soundlessly up them. He tried to look intent upon the simple activity of walking.
The staircase ended at a landing that featured two doors: one of plain wood, the other metal, hammered with a pattern of stars and constellations. Light spilled from around the metal door’s edges, providing the strange illusion that it was floating in space.
Years ago, Kel recalled, he and Conor had been playing up and down the steps, and the King had emerged from behind the metal door, benevolent but stern. He was studying the stars, he had told them; they needed to leave him in peace and quiet.
Kel put his hand to the metal door now. It was possible, he thought, that this was merely the King’s study and that he slept in the room across the landing. But barely had he touched the door than it swung open, and he found himself in a chamber lit brightly by two orbs of Sunderglass, within which a blue light shone. The room was circular, the roof high above a clear glass turned to silver by the dawn’s light. The walls were paneled wood, gleaming a warm brown; the furniture was plain but solid, carved from Valdish chestnut.
A gold-and-silver orrery, displaying the elliptical position of the planets, rested on a desk; the walls were lined with books regarding astronomy, the positions and histories of the stars. A cabinet held a sextant, and telescopes of varying sizes, some made of ivory or studded with gems. Finely drawn wheel charts and maps, showing the position of the stars and the paths of the planets, hung upon the walls. Everywhere were papers, covered in notes made in a close, dark, scribbled hand.
As Kel’s eyes adjusted to the light, he started, realizing that what he had taken for an empty chair by the window was, in fact, occupied. It was only that the man sitting in it was as motionless asfurniture. He did not seem to be moving at all, not a twitch of muscle, or a breath. Despite the harsh light in the room, he was in shadow.
“Your Highness,” Kel said. King Markus did not look at him. He was gazing out the window at nothing, his eyes red-rimmed. He wore his astronomer’s robes, though Kel could see they were frayed at the cuffs.
Kel cautiously approached the chair—it was difficult not to think of it as a throne. The back was plain but high, the arms carved with worn scrollwork. As he drew close, he went instinctively to his knees. “Your Highness,” he said, again. “The King in the City sent me.”
Now the King did look down at him. His gray eyes, so like Conor’s, were hazed with confusion. “You are not Guion,” he said.
Kel reached into his jacket. Before he had left the Black Mansion, Andreyen had pressed into Kel’s hand a small pewter bird. The King would recognize it, he’d said, though Kel was puzzled. It seemed a cheap trinket to him, though the little magpie did seem to be the Ragpicker King’s unofficial symbol. The thieving bird.
“The Ragpicker King said you would know me by this,” Kel said. “That I have come from him.”
The King’s eyes were glued to the bird. “Yet—you are the Sword Catcher.”
“Yes,” said Kel. “But I am also a messenger. The King in the City is concerned he has not had word from you.”
“It is I who have not had word from him. I sent a message requesting a meeting.” The King tore his eyes from the magpie trinket and stared again out the window. “I should not have done it. The stars prophesied we would not meet. The stars do not lie.”
“Perhaps,” said Kel. Sweat prickled along his spine—the sky outside was brightening. He could not stay here long. And his knees hurt from contact with the stone floor. “Perhaps what the stars intended was that you tell me what danger faces House Aurelian, and I will bring that message to the Ragpicker King.”
The King moved fretfully in his chair. “Fausten tells me this is the destiny written in the stars. But I know it is my sin, my evil, that has brought us to this place.”
