Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

“I thought we were enjoying ourselves before,” said Joss. He plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant. Flicking open the clasp on his ring, he tapped three drops of poppy-juice into the pale-red liquid and handed it to Conor. “Drink,” he said. “I’d imagine it’s been a while since you’ve been . . .” He paused as if searching for the right word. “Tranquil.”

Conor stared down at his own fingers, silver-tipped, wrapped around the stem of the glass. Kel wondered if he were hesitant—but it seemed not. A moment later, he had downed the contents, licking a spilled drop from his thumb.

Charlon had signaled another servant. Montfaucon and Falconet both took glasses; Joss looked over at Kel, indicating his own ring. “And for you?”

Kel refused the poppy-drops, taking only the wine. It was one thing to drink alongside Conor (always carefully, always less than he did). That was a sort of protective camouflage; to refuse wine would only bring questions. But poppy-drops made all the world seem as a dream, as if everything were happening at some distance, behind a wall of glass. As a Sword Catcher, they would render him virtually useless.

Conor sighed and relaxed back into the cushions. “You are always there in my time of need, Falconet.”

Joss grinned. One of the serving girls sauntered by dressed in a shift of saffron silk with indigo stockings. As she bent to pluck the empty wineglass from Conor’s outstretched hand, Kel recognized Audeta, the girl whose window Conor had broken at the Caravel.

She appeared to harbor no ill will. “Boys,” she said, smiling at them all. “Domna Alys will be hosting a party at the Caravel late tonight and into the morning. She wished me to extend an invitation.” She glanced at Kel. “Silla especially hoped to see you there, Sieur Anjuman,” she added, and darted off, her stockinged feet soundless on the marble floor.

“And Anjuman conquers, without having done much of anything,” said Charlon. “As usual.” There was an edge to his voice. Kel imagined he hadn’t much liked Conor’s praise of Joss, either; he was looking peevish.

Kel raised his glass in Charlon’s direction. “Perhaps we have forgotten to thank you, Charlon,” he said, “for an excellent festivity.”

“Indeed,” murmured Conor. He was half sunk among the cushions, his eyes heavy-lidded. The poppy-drops would be softening the edges of everything for him, muting the brightness of all the colors, letting them run together like paints in the rain. “There are those who would say that throwing a party for a child and staffing it with courtesans would be wildly inappropriate, but not you. You have forged ahead, a true visionary.”

“Thank you.” Charlon looked pleased.

Montfaucon snorted, and said, “Joss, do we—”

“Wait.” Falconet held up a languid hand. “Who is that? With the Counselor?”

Puzzled, Kel glanced over and saw that Mayesh had just come into the room, looking as he always did in his gray robes and heavy medallion. Beside him was Lin.

He had to blink to be sure it was her. She wore a deep-indigo velvet, against which her hair seemed a fiery crown. The dress was not in the current, fashionable style of heavy skirts clipped back to show a narrower column of contrasting material. It was all the same velvet, shot through with a few glittering strands of silver, the hem sweeping around her ankles like waves. The bodice was tightly fitted, shaping her slight body into distinct curves, the tops of her pale breasts swelling above the neckline. She wore no jewelry that he could see, but the lack of adornment only seemed to accentuate the delicate slant of her collarbone, the line of her throat, the curve of her waist where one might lay a hand while dancing.

Kel heard Charlon say, in a surprised tone, “Is that Bensimon’s granddaughter? She’s attractive. Doesn’t look much like him.”

“If by that you mean she does not have a long gray beard, Charlon, you are observant as always,” said Joss. He narrowed his eyes. “Interesting that Bensimon would choose to bring her here, tonight. Is this her first visit to the Hill?”

“No,” Conor said. He had sat up and was half sitting forward, his gaze fixed on Lin. Mayesh was introducing her to Lady Roverge, and she was nodding along politely. Most of the women at the party had their hair dressed high, held in place with glittering pins like Antonetta’s. Lin’s was loose, cascading down her back in rose-colored curls. “She’s been to Marivent, I believe.”

Montfaucon, alert to every nuance, gave the Prince a sideways look. Conor was still looking at Lin, a low fire in his gray eyes. Kel had only seen him look like that before when he hated someone—but he had no reason to hate Lin. She had healed him, tended him, spent the night sitting beside him. The three of them shared a secret only they knew. The last thing Kel could recall Conor saying to him about Lin was that he owed her now.

Antonetta had come over to Mayesh with Luisa and Vienne in tow. Introductions seemed under way. Luisa was smiling shyly and fidgeting; Kel could not help but think that Conor had been wrong when he’d said Kel had managed the Hill easily as a child. He’d managed, but he’d been a gutter rat from the streets of Castellane, used to lying and fighting and scheming to survive. Luisa had none of those skills.

Lin bent to say something in Luisa’s ear, the line of her body graceful as she moved. Joss said, “I wonder if Mayesh would introduce me to his granddaughter.”

“Probably not,” said Conor shortly. “He knows your reputation.”

Joss laughed, unperturbed. Montfaucon said, “She’d never sleep with you, Joss. It’s against their Laws to go with those who aren’t their kind.”

“Forbidden fruit is the sweetest,” said Joss airily.

“Who’s talking about fruit?” said Charlon. “It’s her arse I’m looking at. And it’s never forbidden to look.”

“But it might be unwise,” said Montfaucon. “Unless you want Bensimon to kill you.”

“He’s an old man,” Charlon said, with a touch of a sneer. “I hear they know all sorts of tricks, Ashkari girls,” he added. “Things they don’t even know about at the Caravel—”

“Enough,” said Conor. His eyes were half closed; if he was still looking at Lin, Kel could not tell it. “The lure of a new face certainly has an effect on you lot, doesn’t it? There are a hundred girls here you ought to find more interesting.”

“Name one,” said Joss, and as Conor began to tick off names on his fingers, Kel rose and crossed the room to where Lin stood beside the Counselor.


Lin saw Kel rise and come toward her across the crowded room; by the time he had reached her side, Mayesh had excused himself. The younger crowd, those near the Prince’s age, were here in the main room, he had explained. Those he wished to speak with—diplomats, merchants, Charter holders—were by and large in the back rooms, drinking and betting money on games of chance.