Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

“I must find Conor,” Kel said.

“Sardou can wait,” Antonetta agreed, and Kel slipped into the crowd. The night air was cool, the mingled scents of different perfumes—musk and flowers, the bite of juniper—clashing in an olfactory war. As he came close to the edge of the terrace, he realized why the guests were here. Down below, at the foot of the Hill, a crowd had gathered. Kel could see little of them in the torchlight, but recognized their makeshift banners, the lion of Castellane pouncing upon the eagle of Sarthe.

Their chanting rose up, faint at this distance but still audible, like thunder over the mountains. “Death to Sarthe! Better blood than alliance with Sarthe!”

But Kel could not concentrate on Sarthe, or questions of uneasy alliances between countries. In the room with Antonetta, he had seen the label on one of the Roverges’ boxes flash out at him. Singing Monkey Wine. He had not forgotten the odd name. The same brand of wine, the same sort of boxes, that Prosper Beck had had in his office.

Could the Roverges have some connection to Beck? Could Benedict be his patron? It was a thin connection, but enough to push Kel to do what he had done next.

Now he opened his left hand and glanced down at the gold locket in his palm. Antonetta had not even felt it as he slipped it off her neck. That same sickness of guilt came back as he stared down at it. This was what Beck had demanded of him, what he had sacrificed the little that was left of his sense of honor for. He felt suddenly sick at the idea of turning it over to Beck without knowing what was inside it. He knew what Beck had told him, but had no reason to trust it; what if it contained something that could truly damage Antonetta, or her reputation?

Without another conscious thought, he snapped it open. And stared. There was nothing inside, only an empty miniature frame where a small painting or illustration might be placed. Surely Beck had not charged him with this task only to have him retrieve an empty locket?

And yet. The locket was oddly light in his hand, for an object made of gold. He thought of the false bottom to Conor’s cabinet, where the poppy-drops were concealed, and pressed down hard with his thumb on the gold frame.

With a click, it slid to the side, revealing a small hollow space beneath. Inside it was a woven circlet of some kind of dark, rough twine, with fraying edges . . .

His heart seemed to stop in his chest. It was a ring. A ring made of grass, the long pale grass that grew in the Night Garden. It was the gift he’d given Antonetta so many years ago, before her mother had warned him away from her. Before she had changed.

He snapped the locket shut, his mind buzzing. Someone was coming up behind him; he turned, trying to school his expression from shock into a mild curiosity.

It was Polidor Sardou, wearing a brightly dyed doublet of rich brocade. “The protestors only say what everyone feels,” he said. He looked sallow, unwell, his eyes shadowed. “It is an insult, what Sarthe has done.” He glared past Kel, in the direction of the Sarthian Ambassadors, who stood with Mayesh. Senex Domizio seemed impassive, but Sena Anessa was clearly furious. “And House Aurelian tolerates it.”

“House Aurelian has no choice.” Kel saw Conor, then, emerge from the house. He was smiling, seemingly careless, and not alone. With him was Silla, her red hair bright as candle flame. “You wanted to talk to me?” Kel asked, tucking the locket carefully into his sleeve.

“Indeed. There are always choices,” said Sardou. “I hear you walked away from that farce of a welcoming ceremony in the square. You showed your loyalty then.”

Kel looked at Sardou in surprise. You showed your loyalty. Loyalty to whom? It had never occurred to him that his leaving the dais might be interpreted as anything other than what it was: a desire to go to Conor. But it was clear that some had seen it as an expression of indignation.

“If you ever wish to discuss,” Sardou began, “potential options—pressure that could be brought to bear, perhaps, in certain places, where this marriage”—he said the word with disgust—“might be discouraged . . .”

Kel could not help but think of Fausten. “There are those who would see House Aurelian destroyed,” he said in a low voice.

Sardou recoiled. “Destroy House Aurelian? I have no such goal. I wish to strengthen them where they are weak.”

Kel looked at him in the shadow-shifting darkness. He knew he should stay, pressure Sardou, try to discover more. But he felt a sudden revulsion for all of it—for the Ragpicker King, for Prosper Beck, for the lies he had told Conor, for what he had just done to Antonetta. For having looked inside the locket at all.

Antonetta had worn the locket necklace since she was a child; she could easily have placed the ring inside it years ago and forgotten all about it. But it did not change the fact that he was most likely the last person she would ever want to know it was there. He could not escape the feeling he had violated more than her trust. And then there was Prosper Beck. Why on earth would the crime lord care about the dried-up remnant of a long-gone crush?

But is it long gone? whispered a voice in the back of his head. Did your heart not skip a beat when you saw the ring, hidden away? Does it not mean something to you that she kept it, all these years?

Kel was well practiced at ignoring that small voice, the one that wished him to know more about himself than was practical or wise. He pushed the thought away, concentrating on Sardou.

“I shall remember what you’ve said,” Kel said, carefully, “as the words of a loyal man who wishes to protect his Prince and his King.”

“Indeed.”

Kel took a step back. “But I must go. Conor will be looking for me.”

Sardou’s smile turned brittle. “Of course.”

Kel felt Sardou’s eyes on him as he left the terrace and went back into the mansion, where he found Antonetta in conversation with one of the brightly dressed courtesans. She turned to smile at him as he approached. “Everything all right?” she said.

“Yes, only hold out your hand,” he said, and when she did, he set her locket gently in her palm. “You dropped this,” he said.

“Oh, how lovely!” said the courtesan, leaning in. “What do you keep inside it?”

Kel felt his stomach lurch as Antonetta flicked the locket open. “Why, nothing. It’s a pretty bauble, but I don’t keep anything in it. I just like people to think that I have secrets.”