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“You will, whether I give you permission or not,” said Kel, andFalconet grinned. Joss was among those rare nobles who treated Kel as a person separate from Conor. Kel knew perfectly well this didn’t mean Falconet had his best interests at heart, but it was interesting, all the same.
“If Conor has come to consider marriage, and I think he has,” said Falconet, “he ought to consider the Princess from Kutani.”
“I thought you were a backer of Sarthe. Or is this sudden enthusiasm for Kutani related to your holding of the spice Charter?” The Falconet fleet circled the world, delving deep into Sayan and Taprobana for cinnamon and pepper. But Kutani was known as the island of spices for good reason. Its shores were perfumed with cassia and clove, saffron and cardamom, each one precious and expensive.
Falconet shrugged. “Just because something is good for me, it does not hold that it isn’t good for House Aurelian. The spices of Kutani are valuable, and will serve to enrich the coffers of Castellane. But I have had the privilege not just of visiting Kutani but of meeting Anjelica Iruvai. She is far from some empty-headed royal. A bandit uprising once threatened the palace in Spice Town while the King was away; Anjelica directed the army herself and put down the threat while the Princes cowered. The people adore her. And—well, you’ve seen her.”
“Yes,” Kel said drily. “Or I have seen the work of some very imaginative artists, at least.” He glanced over at Conor, who was laughing as Charlon Roverge arranged a tower ofpalitbottles to form a new target. A few servants had ventured into the gallery and now scuttled about, picking up the broken glass that littered the room. Montfaucon looked on as he always did, dark eyes unreadable.
Kel glanced at Falconet. “Might I ask you something?”
“You may alwaysask,” said Falconet. “Whether you will get what you ask for is anyone’s guess.”
“It is information,” Kel said. “I overheard the Queen refer to Artal Gremont as a monster. Have you any idea why, or why he was exiled?”
“Hm.” Falconet seemed to be considering whether to answer, for so long that Kel assumed he had settled onno.Then he said, “He was never exactly upstanding, is what I’ve gleaned. But it seemshe conceived a passion for a guildmaster’s daughter in the city. He could not offer her marriage, of course. But he did offer to make her his official mistress, for a decent sum.” Falconet examined the shining half-moons of his nails. “Alas, her father was a respectable sort. Wanted his daughter married, and had no interest in bastard grandchildren. Gremont had the father thrown in the Tully on a trumped-up charge and took the opportunity to…usethe daughter.”
Kel felt sick to his stomach. “He raped her.”
“Yes. And the father killed himself in the Tully. But he’d had friends among the guilds. There was talk of going to the Justicia. So Artal was sent away, and the scandal died down. Some money was settled on the daughter, for her pains.” Falconet sounded disgusted by the whole business, which was, Kel thought, to his credit.
“The daughter,” Kel said. “Was she Alys Asper?”
Falconet whipped round to look at him. “Youdoknow more than you let on,” he said. “Don’t you?”
Before Kel could reply, there was a tap on his shoulder. It was Delfina. “My apologies, Sieur. Gasquet wants a word with you.”
Kel hopped off the table. “You understand,” he said to Falconet. “The chirurgeon demands my presence.”
“Of course.” Falconet inclined his head. “Your injuries, the sad result of falling off a horse for personal reasons, must be seen to.”
Kel followed Delfina out into the courtyard. It was no longer drizzling, though the courtyard still smelled of it—the richness of white flowers, the green scent of damp earth and limestone, the sour-sweet marriage of sea and rain.
She turned to face him beneath a dripping arch. “I’ve a note for you, Sieur.”
She handed over a folded piece of paper. Kel scanned the lines quickly before looking up at Delfina, who was watching him without curiosity. “So Gasquetdoesn’twant to see me.”
Delfina shook her head.
“Who gave you this note, Delfina?” Kel asked.
She beamed, her face blank as paper. “I really couldn’t say. So much happens in this Palace, one simply cannot keep track.” She bustled off toward the kitchens.
Kel glanced back down at the missive, its ink already beginning to smear with the dampness of the rain.
Meet me at the gates of the Sault. You owe me.—Lin
The people of Aram had gathered together to hear the words of their Queen in their time of greatest need and fear. Already the armies of the Sorcerer-Kings were massing on the plains beyond Aram.
With Makabi beside her, Queen Adassa stood before the Ashkari people and spoke unto them. “For many years our land has been at peace while those around us have warred,” she said. “But that time has come to an end. The wicked and the power-hungry are bringing war to us, and Aram must answer.”
And the people cried out, for they were in fear for their families and their lives, and they said, “But Queen, Aram is such a small country, and with such power ranged against us, how can we prevail?”
And Adassa said, “Sorcerer-Kings such as Suleman know only how to take power by force. They do not understand that which is freely given.” She stretched out her hands. “I cannot command you to share your strength with me, that I might wield it against our enemy. I can only ask it of you.”
But though her words were bold, in her heart she was afraid. Perhaps none of her people would wish to share their strength. Perhaps she would stand alone before the armies of the plains.
But Makabi said, “Take heart,” and so then the Queen threw open the doors of the palace, and as she sat upon her throne one by one each of her people passed before her. Not a one stayed back: not the very young or the very old or the sick or the dying. Each came and offered a word to increase the power of her Source-Stone—a word that they gave up willingly, a word that, after it was offered, they could never speak again.
