Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

The stars glittered overhead, a brilliant fretwork. As they crossed the courtyard, Kel pushed his way past an irritable-looking Castelguard and fell into step beside Conor. They were passing through the garden between two courtyards. Colored lamps still glowed among the tree boughs, though the candles that had lined the stone path had been trampled by running feet. They lay crushed into the grass, messes of broken wax.

Rather suddenly, Conor stopped and crouched down by the wall. In the starlight, Kel could see his shoulders convulsing. He was being sick—which was something Kel had seen before, but he did not recall Conor being sick for these reasons. Out of grief, or shock, or more than that.

Conor staggered to his feet, wiping at his mouth with a brocaded sleeve. There were bruises on his face, and a cut on his cheek that might need to be stitched.

He put his hand on Kel’s sleeve. Kel could not help but recall earlier that night, Conor keeping a hand to the wall of the Gallery as he walked, holding himself steady. “I was so unkind to her,” Conor said. His voice was low. “The child.”

He still cannot bring himself to say her name.

“The Sarthians made Luisa a pawn,” Kel said, quietly. He could see the King ahead of him, walking between Jolivet and another Castelguard, his broad back immobile. “That was not your fault.”

“It was my fault,” Conor said. “I thought I was being clever. That I would impress them—Jolivet, my mother, my father. Bensimon. I went behind their backs out of vanity and pride, and now that pride is paid for in other people’s blood. This—” He flung a hand out. “This is my mess. Mine to clean up.”

“You tried to do it all alone,” Kel said in a low voice. “None of us should do everything alone.” He took hold of Conor’s lapel. “Go into the Carcel. I cannot come with you, you know that. But keep yourself and your parents there while the grounds are searched and cleared. It’s the best thing you can do for everyone.”

Because there is something I must do. Something I should have done before. A path I should have taken, a way to protect you that I cannot speak about. That you cannot know.

Conor’s eyes reflected back starlight. “She said I was broken,” he said. “Do you think I’m broken?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” said Kel, and then Jolivet had come up, and Conor went with him, crossing the grass to join his family as the Castelguards escorted them to the Carcel. Mayesh lingered a moment longer, staring up at the sky as if he wished he could, like the King, find answers in the stars.

“The other Charter Families,” Kel said, carefully. “Are they all right? The Alleynes—”

“Antonetta has returned to her estate.” Mayesh looked at him coolly. “She is unharmed. As are the other Charter Families. They will all be under heavy guard tonight,” he added. “As will the Aurelians, of course. And where will you be?”

“I’ll be staying out of sight,” Kel said, backing away from the Counselor. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not sure I was,” said Mayesh, but Kel was already gone, rapidly crossing the lawns toward the North Gate. He kept toward the shadows, away from the guards who were patrolling the dark grounds. The air smelled of honeysuckle and blood. As he walked, he skirted all manner of miscellany that the nobles, dancers, and servants had dropped while fleeing the Shining Gallery—here a pale glove on the path, like a severed hand, and there the chain of a necklace, an apple-carved garnet, a phial of posy-drops, and a crushed glass goblet, sparkling like dew among the grasses.

A wave of nausea ran through him as he crossed the empty courtyard where earlier Vienne and Luisa had played together. He passed under the archway, pushing his way through the line of Castelguards ringing the perimeter of the inner Palace. Some of them stared at him, but none asked a question. He did not think he would have had the words for an answer if they had.

He was nearly at the North Gate. The sky seemed to rise above him, drawn upward like the painted scrim of a stage. He could see the city below him, its mapped channels of lighted roads, the shimmer of the water in the canals. The walled circle of the Sault.

It would not take him long to reach his destination. It was earlier than he had guessed: The great clock in the square showed it to be near midnight. And then a voice came, from behind him.

“Kel Saren,” said Jolivet. “Where do you think you’re going?”


Yes. Yes, I am.

What followed Lin’s declaration was a silence no ocean could have concealed. Lin looked neither to the right nor the left, only at the Maharam directly before her. His wrinkled hand had tightened on his almond-wood staff, knuckles bulging as if the bones would split the fragile skin. “What did you say, girl?”

“I said yes,” said Lin. She felt strangely light. She had stepped off the cliff; she could no longer clutch at the earth for support. She was falling free, and there was a relief in it she had not imagined. “The Goddess has returned, in me.”

Now there were murmurs, rising, racing through the gathered throng. Lin thought she heard Chana speak and then Mariam’s frightened voice. She felt her throat ache. Don’t be afraid, Mari. This is for you. I’m doing this for you.

The Maharam sat forward. In the flickering light of the bonfire, his face was a mask. “You understand the consequences,” he said, in a dry small voice, “of lying in this situation.”

Lin wasn’t sure she did; as far as she knew it had never been attempted or considered before. “I am,” she said, “not lying.” She met his gaze with her own. “In the name of the Goddess, and of Aram, I tell you again: I am the Goddess Reborn. She is within me.”

The Maharam rose to his feet. He seemed to be struggling for words. The noise among the crowd had risen, a buzzing whine in Lin’s ears.

“If she says she is the Goddess, she must be treated as such; that is the Word,” said Chana, her voice unexpectedly firm.

More buzzing. Lin fixed her gaze on the clocktower. The hands had inched forward.

Three minutes.

Stroke of midnight. All the nobles will be gathered for that banquet. Roverge and his rotten son will be there. I need them to see my vengeance written in fire across the sky.

“She must be tested.” It was Oren Kandel, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. “The Sanhedrin must be called upon, Maharam.”

But the Maharam only stared at Lin, the lines beside his mouth harsh and pronounced. “Why this year, your last year at the Tevath? Five years you have had the chance to reveal yourself as the Goddess. Why have you—has she—been silent?”

“The Goddess comes when she comes.” It was Mariam. Her head held high, ignoring the stares of those around her. “She has waited for us to be ready—not for Lin to be so.”

Hoarsely, the Maharam said, “The Goddess would not come in the form of one who embraces blasphemy—”

The hands of the clock swept around. Less than a minute now.