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Two long tons of pure black powder. The ships will burn to the waterline before any smaller craft can reach them.

A glow like sunrise rose over the walls of the Sault, outlining the Shomrim, black figures printed against a sky of deep gold.

Lin let her arms fall to her sides. The Maharam sank into his chair, staring at her in bewilderment.

The alarm bells in the city had begun to ring. The Vigilants would be rushing through the streets toward the dinghies in the harbor. On the Hill, the nobles would be watching the fiery ruin in the harbor. Kel would see it. The Prince would see it. He would not think of her; this had nothing to do with her, not out there in the great world.

Dimly, Lin could hear the voices of one of the Shomrim, who had clambered down from the walls: Six tallships of the Roverge fleet were husks, aflame on the surface of the sea. It had happened between one moment and the next, and there had been no attack; they had simply begun to burn.

For the first time since her announcement, Lin allowed herself to look around at those gathered in the square. At her people. She saw Mariam, her hand over her mouth. Natan, shaking his head. Mez, his expression worried. Chana, her back straight, her eyes bright. And Oren—Oren was gazing at her in utter horror and revulsion.

“Kneel,” said Chana Dorin, her voice hard as steel. “Sadi Eyzon,kneel to the Goddess-elect.Kneel,” she said, and they did, dropping to their knees all around Lin—young and old, shocked and wondering, the firelight from the harbor playing across their faces. Even Oren, his face set in anger, sank to his knees.

Lin could hardly bear to look. Chana, Mariam, Mez: She had never wanted or imagined them kneeling to her. She felt sick, and even more so when she imagined what Mayesh would say when he returned and found out what she had done. She folded her hands across her stomach, swallowing back bile as the Maharam rose wearily to his feet.

“Come, then,” he said, and in his tone Lin heard his fury, his incredulity, and his powerlessness. If Davit Benezar, the Maharamof Castellane, had not been her enemy before tonight, he certainly was now. “Let me bring you,Goddess,to the Shulamat. We will speak there of what must happen next.”

—

Kel turned.

Standing behind him on the path that led through the North Gates and down into the city was Jolivet. Kel had rarely seen the head of the Arrow Squadron in disarray. From the first moment Jolivet had come to take him from the Orfelinat, even during training sessions in the Hayloft, he had seemed to Kel like a statue of a heroic soldier in a town square. Jaw set, eyes forever fixed on the middle distance, posture erect.

He was surprisingly composed now, given all that had happened, though the gold braid on his uniform jacket was torn and stained with blood. A cut along his neck had soaked blood into his stiff collar. He held an unsheathed sword in his left hand.

“Never mind,” Jolivet said, striding closer to Kel. The Castelguards at the gate looked pointedly away from the two of them: What Jolivet did was none of their business. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

I doubt that.“I assume you think I’m off to the Caravel, or some other place where I can forget the events of this night—”

“No,” said Jolivet. “I think you’re going to the Black Mansion.”

It was as if wires were run through Kel’s bones and blood, and had been suddenly and viciously tightened. It took everything in him—all the training Jolivet himself had ever given him—to remain composed. He only looked around, wondering if any of the Castelguards were within earshot. None seemed to be; all were staring toward the Shining Gallery, the ruin of tonight’s banquet.

“Now, I know you will protest,” said Jolivet. “And you will tell me I am being ridiculous, to make such accusations and assumptions. But I do not want to waste that time. The Palace keeps its eyes on the Ragpicker King. We are notinsidethe Black Mansion,but we know enough. If you invent excuses now, you will only waste both our time.”

“So are you calling me a traitor, then?” The wires Kel imagined seemed to be pressing in on his heart. “Am I next for the Trick—and then the crocodiles, like Fausten?”

Jolivet smiled coldly. “I saw you there on the path that day,” he said. “I wondered if you glimpsed your own fate in the astronomer’s.”

“You’ve known me all my life, Jolivet,” Kel said. “Do you think I belong in the Trick?”

The wind off the ocean had picked up. It blew dirt from the path into small whirlpools at Kel’s feet.

Roughly, Jolivet said, “Not only have I known you, I have shaped you. I have always sought to mold you into the best armor for the Prince that you could be, the strongest defense. I thought of it in terms of combat, always: that you would protect him with your blade, stand between him and arrows. But I have come to understand that this is Castellane. Danger is more subtle than could have been imagined by those who invented the office of the Sword Catcher.”

Kel narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“There is a difference,” Jolivet said, “between leaping in between the Prince and a sword, and knowing from which quarter danger might approach, that the sword might never leave its sheath in the first place. I knew I had trained you to defend the Prince, but it is also true he has your love and loyalty. I am loyal to the King; Bensimon to the Palace. You alone place Conor above all other things.”

“So you are saying,” Kel said, hardly able to believe his ears, “that you understand why I had counsel with the Ragpicker King? Why I thought to accept his offer of cooperation?”

Perhaps this was merely a trap, Kel thought. Perhaps Jolivet was in search of a confession. But if Jolivet knew the truth, and meant to damn him with it, then it was already too late to scramble out of the way.

“I understand that you left Conor to go to the Carcel without you because you believe that the Ragpicker King may have information about what transpired here tonight that will be more significant in protecting Conor than your presence beside him.”

“Then—if you have no objection to my going—why tell me? That you know any of this at all?”

“There have always been ties between the Palace and the Black Mansion,” said Jolivet. “I want those ties unbroken. If you are to continue your alliance with the Ragpicker King, I wish to hear everything you learn, everything you are investigating. What happened tonight could not have occurred without the involvement of someone on the Hill. Without instruction, without help, these assassins could not have breached the walls of Marivent.”