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“Then propose yourself as a match to House Alleyne,” Kel said to Charlon, through his teeth. “With all you have to offer, they could hardly say no.”
Conor’s lips twitched. Roverge, though, was oblivious to the sarcasm. “Can’t,” he said. “My bloody father promised me off at birth to a Gelstaadt merchant’s daughter. We’re just waiting for her to finish her education. In the meantime, I’m free to play.” He leered.
“Speaking of play,” said Montfaucon, “I hear Klothilde Sarany arrived last night. I thought she might enjoy a small and tasteful gathering at House Montfaucon.”
Roverge looked puzzled. “Who?”
“The Malgasi Ambassador,” said Falconet. “Do try to keep up, Charlon.”
“If you intend an amorous connection with her, I’m impressed,” said Conor. “She’s terrifying.”
Montfaucon grinned. “I like a few scars.” He blew a smoke ring. “You’re having dinner with her tomorrow night, Conor. You could bring up the matter of the party…”
“I am not inviting Klothilde Sarany to a party whose only guests are you and her,” said Conor. “She would be rightfully annoyed.”
“That’s why I’m inviting the rest of you,” said Montfaucon, gesturing expansively. “Come one, come all. Wine will flow, there will be beautiful dancers and less attractive but highly skilled musicians…”
Montfauconwasfamous for his parties. They went wrong as often as they went right, but were always a spectacle. There had been the time every guest had received the gift of a basket of snakes (Antonetta had fainted and fallen behind one of the sofas) and the time Montfaucon had planned to arrive atop his balcony in a hot-air balloon that became entangled in the trees instead.
“She’s not here to attend your party, Montfaucon,” said Roverge, ungraciously. “She’s here to try to talk Conor into marrying the Princess, Elsabet—”
There was a crash. Falconet had let an arrow fly, shattering a bottle ofsamohanfrom Nyenschantz. Everyone ducked as glass flew in all directions. The floor was littered with shards, and some of the tapestries boasted long tears. Queen Lilibet was going to be furious.
Joss offered the bow to Conor, whose turn it was. Roverge, eyes glittering—he’d bet against Falconet making the hit—said, “Well, Conor. If this marriage business is still troubling you, you should talk to my father. He gives the best, most objective advice.”
“Charlon,” Kel said as Conor’s expression stiffened, “whatever happened with that upstart merchant that was troubling your family? The ink-makers?”
Roverge scowled. “We took them to court. They had the temerity to argue before the Justicia that ink and dye are quite separate things.”
“Aren’t they?” said Conor, taking aim with the bow.
“On the contrary, they are the same! And the judges saw it our way, of course.”With an ample bribe,Kel thought. “The Cabrols have left Castellane with their tails between their legs. They’ll be lucky if they can set up as shopkeepers in Durelo.” He spat. “I don’t think they’ll trouble anyone from now on. You’re welcome.”
He swept a bow just as Conor let his arrow fly. It hit the bottle of jenever, sending more glass flying and filling the room with the scent of juniper. Roverge, as always inattentive to the mood of his companions, clapped Conor on the shoulder. Montfaucon went totake the bow as Roverge continued chattering on about ink and dye and the destruction of the Cabrol family.
The table shifted; Falconet had seated himself beside Kel. He wore black velvet today, the silk pile enlivened with a luminous silver weave. Falconet was not like Conor or Montfaucon—he presented himself well but clearly lacked their fascination with clothes and fashion. Kel often wondered what it was that did interest Falconet. He seemed to regard all activities with the same casual amusement, but no real preference.
“So,” said Falconet, glancing at Kel’s shoulder. “How did you get injured, then?”
Kel cut his gaze sideways. “What makes you think I did?”
“People talk. But…” Falconet spread his hands wide. “We needn’t discuss it if you’d prefer not to.”
“I got drunk,” Kel said. “Fell off a horse.”
Falconet smiled. Everything about him was sharp—his cheekbones, the angle of his shoulders, even the cut of his smile. “Why in gray hell would you do such a fool thing?”
“Personal reasons,” Kel said.
“Ah.” Falconet was watching Montfaucon, who was engaged in wagering with Roverge. “As I said, we needn’t discuss it.” He leaned back on his hands. “Conor had mentioned that he was thinking of going to Marakand, but he seems to have abandoned that idea.”
He was only running away from Prosper Beck.“Yes, he has.”
“That’s a pity,” Falconet said. “I visit my mother’s family in Shenzhou often, myself.” This was something Conor and Joss had in common: Neither of their mothers had been born in Castellane. “But I take it that perhaps he has gotten more serious about getting married.”
“Really? I hadn’t gotten that impression.”
“Well, it makes sense. The right marriage would bring a great deal of gold and glory to Castellane. If I may share a thought…”
