Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

“Yes,” Lin said, her voice seeming to echo, some distance from where she was. “But they’ve been ill a long time, I think.”

“Well, don’t let it ruin the Festival for you,” he said, kindly, and tapped at his forehead. “I nearly forgot. You’re popular today, Caster. Someone left this note for you, earlier.”

He handed over a folded sheet of vellum, sealed with wax. She thanked him and walked away, running a thumb under the seal to break it. When she opened the note, she saw familiar, cramped handwriting. The Ragpicker King’s.

Remember, stay away from the harbor this midnight. You never know where a stray spark might land.—A. M.

She crumpled the note in her hand. She had not forgotten about Ciprian Cabrol’s black powder. It was time to send a note back to the Ragpicker King, telling him that she had acquired Qasmuna’s book, and though it had been taken from her, she now had a plan to get it back.


When Kel woke up, Conor was not in his bed. This was unusual, as Kel was almost always the earlier riser. Still, he had had a restless night, tossing back and forth as he woke over and over from dreams of Fausten’s screams, and red blood spreading across the surface of the ocean.

It was already nearly afternoon, and a quick look out the window told Kel that preparations for the evening’s festivities were well under way. He frowned—tailors, boot-makers, jewelers, and the like would all be arriving shortly to make sure Conor would be impeccably turned out. As much as Conor might not be looking forward to the banquet, he would be unlikely to miss having every stitch of his attire fussed over. Frowning, Kel threw on clothes and went in search of the Prince.

He looked first in Conor’s favored hiding places—Asti’s stable, the Palace library, the Night Garden—but found no trace of him. As he wandered, preparations for the banquet went on around him. The trees were draped in yards of blue and scarlet fabric, and lanterns in the shapes of apples, cherries, and figs dangled from their branches, waiting to be lit at nightfall. Waggons rolled by, piled with ceramic plates, silver vases, and what looked to Kel alarmingly like whole trees. The doors to the Shining Gallery had been flung open, and servants raced back and forth from the kitchens and the storerooms, carrying everything from piles of green silk to what appeared to be a life-sized jaguar carved from sugar pastry.

So he returned to his bedchamber. Later, he would wish he had kept wandering around the grounds, possibly until the next day, but by the time he stepped through the door it was already too late. Conor’s closets had been torn open, and his clothes scattered on the floor. Queen Lilibet was pacing back and forth, stepping occasionally on an embroidered waistcoat or fur-trimmed hat, keeping up a stream of curses in Marakandi. Mayesh had stationed himself at the window, his lined face more haggard than usual.

Both started at the sight of Kel, their faces momentarily eager before relaxing in disappointment.

“It’s you,” Lilibet said, marching across the room toward him. “I don’t suppose you have an explanation for this?”

She thrust out a folded note. This, Kel knew, could not be good. He took the paper with a feeling of deep foreboding and unfolded it to see Conor’s familiar spiky hand slashing across the page. He read:

Dear Mother,

I have decided not to attend the welcoming banquet this evening. I wish to reassure you that I have thought deeply about the issue, and the many very good reasons I ought to attend. Please do not imagine it an ill-considered decision when I say that I will not be attending because, frankly, I do not want to. I leave it in your capable hands to manage my absence. If it will trouble you, I suggest you cancel the banquet. If not, it is my opinion the banquet could be held perfectly well without me. If you really consider it, this entire engagement and wedding could proceed perfectly well without me there, to say nothing of the marriage. My part could as easily be played by an empty chair.

If you demand to find me, I will be in the Temple District. I have heard that they occasionally throw orgies, and while I have never attended one, I find myself suddenly curious. If nothing else, it should be an education in how to manage a party involving a large number of guests.

All best, yours, etc, etc,

C.



“Gray hell,” Kel said, forgetting not to swear in front of the Queen. “He’s serious?”

Lilibet snatched the note from his hand. “Don’t pretend as if you didn’t know,” she snapped. “Conor tells you everything; surely he would have mentioned this. I’m sure he thought it was the wittiest sort of joke, that stupid boy—”

“No,” Kel said. For all the bite to Conor’s letter, there was nothing about it that made Kel think it had been penned by someone who was amused to be writing it. It was bleak, no doubt informed by the knowledge of Fausten’s death, not that Kel could say that. “I do not believe there is any chance Conor imagines this a joke.”

Lilibet pressed her lips into a thin line. She looked to Mayesh, who was gazing at Kel, his eyes seeming to bore into him in a way the Queen’s had not. “Think, Kel,” he said, his deep voice gruff. “Something must have happened, to so affect Conor’s attitude, and so suddenly—”

Surely he cannot want me to say it, Kel thought. To mention the execution of Fausten, carried out by the King’s own hand. But he must imagine I know nothing of it, unless Jolivet told him I was there. Jolivet saw me—

“Counselor. My lady,” Kel said. “The Prince has been miserable. Of course he has been miserable. That ought not to be a surprise to either of you.” He looked to Lilibet, who glanced away, her right hand toying with the emeralds at her throat. “But he has been resigned, not rebellious. I cannot speak to what is in that letter. I do not understand this sudden change. Only that he must be unhappier than we have all thought.” He spread his hands wide; he was only telling the truth. He did not know where Conor had gone, or why. “I blame myself.”

Lilibet muttered something that sounded very like, I blame you, too.

“Leave him be, my lady,” said Mayesh. “Kel is the Prince’s Sword Catcher, not the guard of his emotions.”

Lilibet had started pacing again. She wore a dress of dark-green velvet, to match the emeralds at her throat; her black hair was lacquered into coils. “I am sure he thinks me very cold,” she said, half to herself. “As if I would want my own son to be in despair; I could never want that. If I could have shielded him from the consequences of this mistake . . .” She glanced at Mayesh. “The King must not know. About tonight. He will not be at the banquet, but still.”

Her tone was brittle. Kel thought of the King lifting Fausten over his head, as easily as if he were a bag of feathers. Thought of the blood in the water, the slick green slide of the crocodile beneath the waves.