Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

“How kind of His Highness,” murmured Anessa into the awkward silence, “to make a special effort to see us.”

The King looked up and down the table, his face expressionless. Despite his rich cloak, there was a tear in the sleeve of the shirt underneath which must be causing Lilibet agonies of embarrassment.

“I have not heard words spoken in Malgasi in many years,” he said, “nor seen the wolf blazon. It brings back . . . memories.”

Kel saw Conor’s eyes darken. Even before he had retreated to the Star Tower, the King had never spoken of his time as a foster at the Court in Favár.

As if sensing a change in his mood, Sarany turned to Conor. “Perhaps your father has told you of the beauties of Favár,” she said. “The Erzaly River, the Laina Kastel palace—but to hear of something is never quite the same as seeing it yourself, is it?” She clapped her hands together in artificial delight, as if she had just had an idea. “Perhaps, Prince Conor, instead of our Milek Elsabet journeying to Castellane, you could come to us? Elsabet could be your guide to the city. No one knows Favár and its history better. And you simply must tour the harbor at night. The people of the city cast floating lamps upon the water; it is a sight to behold.”

Conor tossed back the dregs of his rose-colored wine. There was almost no food on his plate. Damn Sarany, Kel thought. She must press and press on this Elsabet business, like a finger pressing a bruise.

“I get seasick,” Conor said.

“What he means,” said Lilibet, “is that his duties here compel him. It is a shame. I am sure he would love to see your city.”

Sarany ignored this. “You must also visit our Kuten Sila, the Bridge of Flowers. It is a monument to the marriage of Andras Belmany and Simena Calderon, and known as the Bridge of Peace, for that union brought an end to many years of bloodshed. A marriage can heal many wounds, even those of long standing.”

Kel could stand it no more. “Our own King Valerian never married,” he said, “and he was known as a great peacemaker.”

For the first time that evening, Ambassador Sarany looked at Kel. Her gaze said, You are prey, but too small to interest me. “And there was a bloody civil war when he died,” she said.

“Arguably,” said Conor, “that would have happened anyway.”

Sarany looked directly at Conor. Something flickered in her gaze—there was a flash of anger, but that hunger remained there, too. She said, her voice dark and sweet as chestnut honey, “My dear Ur-K?rol Aurelian. Might I give you some advice?”

“I am dreadful with advice,” said Conor. “I so rarely take it. It is a besetting sin.”

His tone was casual but his hand was in danger of crushing the stem of his wineglass. Sena Anessa had abandoned any pretense of speaking with Kel and was staring from the King to Conor, and back again.

Sarany said, “I have known, in my travels, many young lords and princes. In love with fun and adventure and ease.” She made a face that indicated she was familiar with none of those things. “Those whom the Gods have blessed with a royal position inherit much from their forebears. Nobility and power, certainly, but also responsibility. Also debt.”

The King looked at Sarany as if, in her face, he saw the gallows.

“I owe no debt to Malgasi,” Conor said, and Kel saw an ugly smile flash across Fausten’s face. He wanted to get up and throttle the astronomer until he told what he knew.

“Oh, but you do,” said Sarany. “Your father might not have told you, but long ago you were promised to Elsabet Belmany. Before either of you were born. It was a union written in the stars.” And she looked at Fausten with her narrow, predatory gaze, the force of which made him shrink back a little.

Conor had gone an ashen color. “Promised? What nonsense is this?”

“Markus.” Lilibet’s voice was chilly calm. “Say it is not true.”

“A King does his duty,” King Markus said. “Conor’s duty is to marry Elsabet Belmany. To unite the blood of Belmany and Aurelian. The stars have foretold it. It must be so.”

Conor knocked over his wineglass, spilling rosy liquid across the tablecloth. The servants at the door exchanged glances, then vanished back into the kitchen.

“For months,” Conor snarled, “we have been discussing the nature of the union I must enter into: which countries, which nobles, which alliances. And you have said nothing. I take it Bensimon does not know, nor my mother, nor Jolivet. You have lied to us all—”

“There was no lie,” hissed the King. “Let the Council of Twelve bicker and barter. See where their alliances lie. It does not matter what they say, or do. What is written in the stars cannot be undone.”

“No, my lord,” said Fausten, in a voice like a chant. “Oh, no, it cannot. Never.”

“Enough!” It was, of all people, Sena Anessa. She was on her feet, her crown of white hair trembling with indignation and rage. “Enough of this ludicrous discussion. It is too late for the stars.” She spoke the words with contempt. “Prince Conor, in the name of the agreement that exists between us, put a stop to this—this—misunderstanding, before the Ambassador from Malgasi is further embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” echoed Sarany, her voice rising. “What is this? I demand to know.”

There was an awful moment of silence. Conor looked down the table—not at Anessa, but at Kel. There was something like an apology in his eyes. It sent a dart of fear up Kel’s spine.

“Conor, jun,” said Lilibet. An endearment, one she rarely used. “What is all this about?”

Conor flung his napkin onto his plate. He looked around the table with defiant eyes. “It is really very simple,” he said. “I am already engaged. To Princess Aimada of Sarthe.”

Ambassador Sarany’s mouth fell open. Lilibet looked stunned, Sena Anessa vindicated. Kel felt as if his mind had gone blank for a moment. How could Conor have done this? Or, if he were honest, how could Conor have done this without Kel knowing?

“There you have it,” said Anessa. “The contract has already been signed.”

“Conor,” said Lilibet, urgently. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” said Conor. “It is not a joke.”

Lilibet whirled on Anessa. “This may well not be binding,” she said, “given that neither myself nor the King knew anything about it.”

Anessa’s smile soured. It seemed clear she had not been aware that Conor was making this agreement in secret, without the agreement of the King or Queen, though Kel imagined she would deny it if asked. “My dear Queen Lilibet,” she said. “Prince Conor is not a child. He can make his own agreements. We have his signature, his seal, and we have already delivered the dowry payment.”

The words flashed like lightning behind Kel’s eyes. What was it Beck had said? About being paid in Sarthian gold? “Ten thousand crowns,” he said, then clamped his lips together; he had not meant to speak at all.

But Anessa was crowing. “See,” she said. “Even his cousin knows.”