Page 39

“Conor, my dear son,” said the King. “And my Council.” His gaze trailed over the nobles, slightly unfocused, as if he were not entirely sure he recognized each one of them. “I was at my studies when I thought—what was it I thought, Fausten?”

“You spoke of destiny, my King,” said Fausten. He was sweating, clearly uncomfortable in the heavy velvet robes he insisted on wearing. They were midnight blue, and on them the constellations of the sky had been picked out in beads of silver: the Swan, the Crown, and Aigon’s Sword among them. “And of fate.”

The King nodded. “Such meetings as this are foolishness,” he said, indicating the whole of the Dial Chamber with a sweep of one gloved hand. “The stars should be consulted when matters of import lie before us, for that is how the Gods speak to us. Squabbling among ourselves nets us nothing, for we see only a fraction of the path laid out.”

“We do not all have your skill, Highness,” said Mayesh, “in interpreting the will of the stars.”

Conor had gone very still. His face was white, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair. Kel laid a hand on his shoulder; it was rigid as steel under his touch.

“Indeed,” said Montfaucon. “I do not find them very talkative, myself.”

The King turned his unfocused gaze on Montfaucon. “Then you are lucky,” he said. “For when I gaze upon the stars, I see the ruination of Castellane. Marivent, our White Lady, tumbled in the dirt. The Ruta Magna running with blood.”

There was a soft murmur of mild shock, as if Lady Alleyne had whipped off her bodice, but no one seemed particularly alarmed.

The King turned to Mayesh. “All must be done to avert this fate. The stars…”

Between his teeth, Conor hissed, “Fausten.”

The little man turned anxiously to the King. “My liege,” he said. “We cannot stay. The lunar eclipse tonight, do you recall? When the moon’s light is quenched, much will be revealed. Wemust prepare the telescopes, that any messages of import are not lost.”

The King seemed to hesitate. Fausten dropped his voice, murmuring in Malgasi. After a few moments, the King nodded and strode from the room. Fausten, picking up his heavy robes, scurried after him like a sheepdog after a wayward member of his flock.

“There you have it,” Conor said, into the ensuing silence. “I will be consulting the stars as regards my future marriage, so there is no further need for discussion on the subject.”

“My lord,” said Kel. He rarely addressed Conor in this way, but the moment called for it. He had withdrawn his hand from Conor’s shoulder, knowing it was a familiarity the Council would look askance at, even from the Prince’s cousin. “King Markus was clearly joking. A bit of humor to lighten the mood. Would you not all agree?”

The assembled nobles murmured in assent, recognizing the escape Kel was providing, and relieved enough not to mind, for the moment, the source of it.

“Of course,” Conor said. “A joke. My father was being purposefully absurd.”

“Have a care,” Mayesh said in a low voice, but Conor was spinning the tea glass rapidly in his hand, staring at it as if it held the answers his father sought in the stars.

“There are no other matters to discuss, then?” Conor asked, not looking up. The nobles exchanged glances, but not a one spoke. “Before this meeting is adjourned?”

“Well,” said Lady Alleyne. “There is the matter of the Solstice Ball—”

Conor rose abruptly to his feet, green glass sparking in his hand. Kel knew what he was going to do, but had no way to stop it; he flinched as Conor threw the glass as hard as he could. It sailed past Gremont, striking the wall behind him and smashing there, spraying crystalline fragments.

Antonetta gave a little scream before covering her mouth. Gremont sat up, blinking. “What? Is the meeting over?”

Without another word, Conor stalked out of the room. Frowning, Lady Alleyne said, “That child must learn to curb his temper.”

“That child,” said Kel, “is your Prince, and will one day be your King.”

Lady Alleyne rolled her eyes. Coldly, Roverge said, “The dog barks on behalf of its master. Bark somewhere else, little dog.”

Kel did not answer. The Charter Families were already rising, ready for departure. And it was hardly his place to argue with Roverge, or any of them. He had said too much already; he could see that in Mayesh’s eyes.

He followed Conor out of the room, pausing only to bare his teeth at Roverge as he went. Antonetta watched him anxiously as he went; worried, no doubt, about Conor. Kel could not help but recall what she had said the night before:We can all be made to do things. It simply requires finding the right way to push.

—

Lin was in the physick garden, kneeling in the dirt beside a foxglove plant. She loved it here—the air was fresh and green with the scent of growing, and the sun illuminated the winding paths through the beds of herbs and flowers. Though maintained by the Women’s House, the contents of the garden were shared with all the Sault. Here grew the medicinal herbs that had been used by Ashkari physicians for generations. Larkspur, asphodel, and foxglove rubbed shoulders with monkshood and laburnum. Jars in the Physicians’ House held that which could not be grown in the Sault: birch and willowbark, ginseng and lotus root.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Lin looked up, shielding her eyes with one hand, to see Chana Dorin looming over her. She wore her usual frayed gray dress, a colorful apron tied around her waist. “I suppose you need to use the kitchen?”

Lin tucked her handful of foxglove leaves into her satchel and rose to her feet. Most physicians in the Sault simply placed orders with the Physicians’ House for the compounds they needed. Linhad discovered early that her requests were often seen to last, or ignored entirely, leaving her short of medicine. Chana had offered to let her use the kitchen in the Etse Kebeth, the largest in the Sault, to compound her own medicines.