Kel decided to take the long way back to the Palace to give himself a
chance to think. This meant the Sea Path. As the city fell away below, Kel could not help thinking of what Jerrod had said:ย Youโre thinking too small, Anjuman. Youโre thinking about your Prince and your House
Aurelian, like you always do.
Jerrod had meant it as a criticism, but to Kel it had been almost a relief to hear. A reaffirmation of his purpose, which was to protect Conor. His place was by Conorโs side, and both the Ragpicker King and Prosper Beck had tried to bend that loyalty and duty to further their own ends. His proximity to the Prince would always prove appealing to those looking for an advantage; he wished heโd been taught to guard against that sort of approach the way heโd been taught to guard against swords and daggers.
He had not realized that there was a gap in his armor: not the desire to involve himself in matters on the Hill, but rather the desire to be around people who knew him, knew him as heย reallyย wasโnot as Conorโs false
cousin, not as a suit of armor that sometimes wore the Princeโs face, but as Kelโorphan, observer, Sword Catcher. It was a need he had never known he had. A dangerous need to have . . .
He had reached the part of the path where it curved around the side of the hill, hiding the city behind it. Kel was always struck by the beauty of this part of the trail, where the green hill fell away to the sea. The ocean was an ink-blue road today, flecked with small boats. They cut white paths through the water, Tyndaris rising behind them, its towers like the fingers of a hand reaching out of the sea. The air tasted of salt and promise.
He thought of Vienne then, and how she had said that he guarded Conor as she guarded Luisa. As if she had sensed some quality about him that betrayed his true workโa quality that Falconet and the others, for all the years they had known him, had never observed.
The path slanted steeply upward here, the last quarter mile to Marivent, and Kel could see the sea cliffs appear, and far above him, the shadow of the walls. And then, below the path, appeared a strange sight. A wooden
platform, cantilevered over the sea, jutted from the hill below him. The Sea Path continued above it and the space below the path was recessed, meaning the platform must emerge from a hollow dug into the mountain.
Kel did not recall seeing the platform before, but surely it could not just haveย appearedย out of the mountain?
There was a flash of red and goldโthe uniforms of Castelguards, bright as flames. Two of them appeared on the platform, as if they had simply walked out of the mountain. Pinned between them was a struggling man,
his arms bound behind him. His hair was a wild tangle, his straggling beard matted with blood. His face was bruised, his eyes swollen half shut, but he wore his fine cloak, embroidered with tiny beads that glittered in the sunlight. Beads that marked out the shapes of constellations: the Lion, the Harp, the Twins.
It was Fausten.
He must have been dragged here from the Trick. Perhaps he had fought the guards who came for him. Perhaps he had expected them, and they had beaten him regardless.
The guards turned to each other, speaking in quiet voices; the wind off
the sea muffled the sound, in any case. Kel could hear his own breath, harsh in his ears, but nothing more.
He crouched down behind a scrubby growth of thyme. He could try to scrabble up the path or down it, but that would bring him more plainly in view of the platform below. He was hidden here, his own verdant clothes camouflaged among the hillโs greenery.
His view, straight down, was clear. He almost wished it wasnโt. Fausten was struggling, though he made no sound. He kicked out at one of the guardrails, then froze, his terrified eyes darting to and fro as a new figure stepped out onto the platform.
King Markus. He looked very big against the sun, his gold circlet glittering against his pale hair. His cloak was clasped at the shoulder with a heavy silver brooch, and his hands were, as always, covered with black gloves. A pace behind him came Jolivet, his posture rigid, his face expressionless.
To Kelโs surprise, the Castelguards immediately released Fausten, who sagged to his knees. Both guards vanished back into the mountain. Jolivet remained a few yards away, as though keeping himself at a remove: a witness, rather than a participant.
Markus reached down to catch hold of his adviser by the front of his cloak, hauling him to his feet. He pulled him close, and over the sound of
the sea, the screaming of the gulls, Kel heard him shout in Malgasi: โMiรฉrt รกrultรกl el? Tudtad, mi fog tรถrtรฉnni. Tudtad, hony mi leszekโโ
Why did you betray me? You knew what would happen. You knew what I would become.
Fausten was shaking his head. โYour medicine,โ he cried, answering not in Malgasi but in the language of Castellane. โOnly I can make it. If you kill me, your sickness will be worse. You know what is coming, my lord,ย you
know what is comingโโ
The King roared with rage. He caught hold of Fausten, wrenching him to his feet. Fausten screamed, over and overโhigh sounds that matched the crying of the gulls. Faustenโs feet were bare, Kel saw. They drummed against the wood, leaving bloody streaks behind.
It seemed like forever, but Kel knew it was likely only a few seconds. Fausten struggled as the King, inexorable, stalked to the platformโs edge. Gripping the thrashing man with black-gloved hands, he lifted him as if he weighed no more than a pair of boots and flung him over the guardrail.
Fausten fell, hurtling toward the sea like a bird shot out of the air.
His body hit the waves. There was a soundless splash, and then his head appeared, a dark dot riding the surge of the water. He seemed to be screaming as the sea roiled around him. A black shadow rose up under him and Kelโs stomach surged into his throat. Dark, knobbled green heaved itself through the dark blue; a vast mouth yawned, lined with discolored, knife-sharp teeth. Even from a distance, Kel imagined he could see the thingโs eyes: yellow and rolling as the jaws snapped shut, blood pulsing through razored teeth. A howling scream, a last, helpless thrash, and a great blot of scarlet spread like a stain over the surface of the ocean.
The crocodile vanished with the surge of the waves. Faustenโs head still floated atop the water, the red stump of his throat no longer joined to his body. Then the shadow beneath the water curved back around and the head, too, was pulled down.
Everything seemed distant, as if it were happening at some remove. Kel dug his fingers into the dirt. He could hear nothing now but the wind in the branches of the scrub pine and his own harsh breathing. He watched as the King dusted off his gloved hands and stalked back into the mountain.
He was followed a moment later by Jolivet, who had watched the scene unfold without moving, a silent witness. As Jolivet passed out of view, he looked up, as if alerted by a movement. His eyes met Kelโs. They were
chips of ice, chill and dead.
You will be Legate Jolivet,ย the Ragpicker King had said.ย And it will be
your task, as it was his, to go to the Orfelinat and select from the frightened children there the next Sword Catcher. The next you. And it will kill a piece of you to do it.
A moment later, Jolivet was gone. There was a deep groaning sound from within the mountain, the rattle of gears and pulleys. The platform began to recede, sliding back into the Hill; in seconds, it was gone, along with any
evidence that anything unusual had just happened. As Kel rose to his feet, he saw that even the surface of the sea where Fausten had died was smooth again, an unruffled expanse of blue-green silk.
Kel started back up the path to Marivent. He felt numb, as if he had been dosed with morphea. When he had to stop halfway to the walls to vomit among the rosemary and lavender bushes, he was more surprised than anything else. He had not even realized he felt sick.
He must have seemed normal enough to the guard at the gate, who let him in with a friendly word. He stopped in the courtyard of the Castel Mitat to splash water on his face. His heart was racing as he made his way up to
the rooms he shared with Conor.
Conor was there, sitting in the window embrasure. He looked up when Kel came in. There was something about him that seemed differentโhe was smiling, and there was real relief in it, as if he had been divested of a weight on his shoulders. The last time Kel could remember Conor smiling like that was before he had found out about Prosper Beck.
Kel hated to have to shatter that expression. But Conor needed to know; it was not something he could keep from him. โCon,โ he said, his voice rougher than heโd expected, โthereโs something I have to tell you. Itโs about your father.โ
It was Second Watch, and there was not enough moonlight to read by; Lin, with a sigh, rose to light the lamps. She had been sitting at her kitchen table all afternoon and into the evening, translating Qasmunaโs book and taking careful notes.
Notย inย the original book, of course. She wouldnโt have dared to write in it, and besides, the pages were already loose in the binding, the paper soft with age, almost powdery under her fingertips.
Lamps now glowing, Lin returned to the table and her cold cup ofย karak.ย There were, of course, still passages she didnโt understand, so she planned to bring the book to the Black Mansion tomorrow; surely among the forgers and thieves Andreyen employed, someone must be able to translate Callatian. She suspected Kel could do it, if it came to that.
There were many passages in the book about how magic was used for healing. The first of them followed what she had learned about Source- Stones: Magicians in the past had been able to use their powers to heal, but were limited by the power they could themselves expend without dying.
Those able to store energy in stones were able to do more. When Suleman (the betrayer, the traitor) created stones that could hold limitless energy, the ability to heal became, also, nearly limitless.ย A man would fall dying on the field of battle,ย Qasmuna wrote,ย and the sorcerer-healer would come and
raise him up to fight on; even if his wounds could not be healed, he would still fight.
It was a chilling image, and gave Lin pause. She even had to rise to her feet, and make a circuit of her room, before returning to the book. Every powerย canย be used for evil, she reminded herself. But she would not do so. She wanted only to heal Mariam. But her stone seemed dead, and had since she had used it to heal Conor. And while she had known that there was a way to put her own power into the stone, to imbue it again with strength,
she had not known how to do it.
According to Qasmuna, as Lin read painstakingly on, the issue was one of binding. A Source-Stone needed to be bound to its user via a series of steps. Some seemed simple, while others involved words that, even with her dictionary, Lin could not yet understand. There were also places in the manuscript that Lin found blankโsections, she guessed, where the Word itself had once been written, and had vanished when the Goddess removed it from the world.
Still. There was enough for her to try binding herself to her stone, and why not now? Why wait?
Her eyes fixed on the page in front of her, she took the stone, embedded in its silver setting, in her hand. She laid her hand against her chestโas the book bade her to do, and as she had done instinctively when she healed
Prince Conorโand closed her eyes.
Against the darkness of her lids, she imagined the stone as her heart.
Imagined it set into her chest like a jewel that was also a living part of her. That pulsed with light in time to her heartbeats.
For a moment, she felt wind in her hair, and smelled the scent of smoke. She saw the top of the tower in Aram, and Suleman, rising to his feet, his stone pulsing at his chestโ
Her eyes flew open. Her heart was hammering almost painfully, as if she had run flat-out until she could run no more and must crouch down, gasping for breath.
Her hand ached. She opened it, stared down at the stone in her palm. It was still pale, milky as a blind eye, but was there something moving in it now? A swirl, down in its depths, like the first rise of smoke from a
fire . . . a whisper, in the back of her mind.
Use me.
A sharp rap on her front door. Lin jumped to her feet, flipping the tablecloth across Qasmunaโs book to hide it.
โLin!โ A familiar voice. โItโs Chana. Mariamโโ
Lin flung the door open. Chana Dorin stood at her threshold, her broad face creased with worry.
โItโs bad, Lin,โ she said, in answer to Linโs silent question. โSheโs been coughing up blood. And her feverโโ
โIโm coming.โ Lin slipped the stone into the pocket of her tunic, caught up her satchel, and stuffed her bare feet into a pair of embroidered slippers Josit had brought her from Hind. She followed Chana out into the night, her heart hammering as they raced through the dark streets of the Sault.
She found Mariam in her bed at the Etse Kebeth, racked with
uncontrollable coughing. She held a bloody rag to her mouth, and more rags were littered on the bedspread. She was pale as starched linen, drenched in sweat, but she still managed to glare at Chana.
โYou shouldnโtโhave bothered LinโIโm fine,โ she gasped. โIโll beโ fine.โ
Lin clambered onto Mariamโs bed, already unbuckling her satchel. โHush, darling. Donโt talk. Chanaโtea, with feverfew and willowbark. Quickly.โ
Once Chana had left, Lin wrapped a shawl around Mariamโs shoulders,
despite Mariamโs coughing protests that she wasnโt cold. There were streaks of blood on Mariamโs chin and neck, blackish red.
โItโs always worse at night,โ Mariam said, hoarsely. โIt . . . goes away.โ
Lin wanted to scream in anger, though she knew it wasnโt Mariam she was angry at. It was the disease. The blood on the rags was flecked with foam: It was coming from deep within Mariamโs lungs, carrying air inside it.
โMari,โ she said. โHow many nights? How long?โ
Mariam looked away. Sweat shimmered on the sharp divide of her collarbones. The room smelled of blood and sickness. โJust make me well enough to go to the Festival,โ she said. โAfter that . . .โ
Lin caught Mariamโs thin wrist. Squeezed it gently. โLet me try
something,โ she whispered. โI know I keep saying that. But I think thereโs a real chance this time.โ
Some part of her knew it was a terrible thing to keep askingโto keep raising Mariamโs hopes and then dashing them. But the voice in her head was louder:ย You have the book now. Youโre so close. She cannot die now.
Mariam managed a weak smile. โOf course. Anything for you, Linnet.โ Lin reached into her pocket and drew out the stone.
Use me.
Holding it lightly in one hand, she placed her other palm over Mariamโs heart. She could feel Mariam watching her as she let her mind spin away into that space of smoke and words, where letters and numbers hung shining against the sky like the tails of comets.
Heal,ย she thought, picturing the word in all its separate components, and then in its completeness, the pieces ofย gematryย flying together to form the concept, uncovering the truth of what language had been formed to hide.
Heal, Mariam.
โOh!โ Mariamโs gasp broke the silence, and the shadowy world fled from Linโs vision. Mariam had a hand on Linโs shoulder, and her huge dark eyes
were wide. โLinโit feels different.โ
โIs the pain gone?โ Lin demanded, not daring to hope.
โNot entirelyโbut itโs much less.โ Mariam took a breathโstill a shallow one, but less ragged than before.
Lin reached for her satchel. โLet me examine you.โ
Mariam nodded. Lin retrieved her auscultor and listened to Mariamโs
chestโthe terrifying clicking and bubbling noises had faded. Lin could still hear a faint wheezing when her friend inhaled deeply, but at least sheย couldย inhale deeply. Some color had come back to her pale face, too, and the beds of her nails were no longer blue.
โIโm better,โ Mariam said, when Lin straightened up. โArenโt I? Not healed, but better.โ
โIt really seems like it,โ Lin whispered. โIf I try again, or try differently
โI need to look at the books again, but Mari, I thinkโโ
Mariam caught at Linโs hand. โIโm well enough to go to the Tevath, arenโt I? However long this lasts?โ
Lin bit back an assurance that of course this would last. She could not be sure, and knew she should not raise Mariamโs hopes unreasonably. But her own hope felt as if it were pressing against the inside of her chest like a
bubble of air. For so long, nothing had worked to help Mariamโto have helped her at all, even just a bit, seemed a reason for optimism.
And more than that. It seemed a reason to believe that all she had done, all the choices she had made with Mariamโs healing in mindโperhaps they had been the right ones? She had reached the limit, she knew, of what she could do with the knowledge sheโd gleaned. But there was more to be learned from Qasmunaโs book . . .
โLin?โ Chana appeared at the door, looking apologetic. โIโm not sure about the tea, Lin, could you look at itโ?โ
Lin felt a wave of impatience. Chana knew perfectly well how to make willowbark tea. She slipped her brooch into her pocket again and followed the older woman to the kitchen, where a kettle was boiling away on the stove.
โChana, whatโ?โ
Chana turned to face her. โItโs not the tea,โ she hissed, waving away Linโs question. โI just heard. The Maharam is at your house. With Oren Kandel. Theyโre looking through your things.โ
โNow?โ Lin felt faint. She had expected some sort of reaction from the Maharam to Prince Conorโs visit, but had been anticipating being called to the Shulamat, or perhaps even waylaid and scolded in the street. For the Maharam to enter an individual home without permission spoke of a situation he believed to be extreme indeed.
โI must go,โ she gasped, and fled, Chanaโs worried look following her to the door. Lin raced back through the Sault, cursing herself for not having hidden the Qasmuna more carefully. She could have taken it with her, rather than merely slipping it beneath her tablecloth. She had been foolish, careless. She was shivering with anxiety as she passed through the Kathot, where long tables were already set up in preparation for the Festival
tomorrow night. Silver braziers of incense hung from the trees, and the air was redolent with the smell of spices.
When she reached her house, she saw that the front door was flung open, yellow lamplight spilling out into the street. Shadows moved against the
fabric of her curtains. She raced inside, only to feel her heart tumble into her slippers.
It was as she had feared. The Maharam stood by her kitchen table, from which the cloth had been removed. Oren Kandel stood beside him, looking smug; his smile widened when Lin came into the room.
Laid out on the table, like a body ready for the autopsy knife, were all her booksโQasmunaโs tome, of course, and the pages the Ragpicker King had given her. Even the scatter of mostly useless books on medicine and spells
she had bought long ago in the market, or at Lafontโs, were thereโ everything she had collected in the desperate hope she would find answers among their pages.
Lin lifted her chin. โZuchan,โ she said. The formal term for a Maharam; it meant He Who Communicates the Word. โThis is an honor. To what do I owe this visit?โ
The Maharam struck the floor with his staff, nearly making Lin flinch. โYou must think me quite an old fool,โ he said coldly. Lin had never seen him look like this: the rage on his face, theย disgust.ย This was the man who had sentenced his own son to exile for his studies into the forbidden. Lin
felt a small sliver of ice lodge in her spine. โThe Prince of Castellane comes marching into our Sault, our sacred place, becauseย youย invited himโโ
โI never invited him,โ Lin protested. โHe came of his own accord.โ
The Maharam only shook his head. โYour grandfather, as much bad as there is to say about the man, has never made the denizens of the Palace feel that they are entitled to enter here. The Crown Prince of Castellane would hardly have come marching up to your door had you not let him think he was welcome to do so.โ
โI didย notโโ
โHow long has he been giving you books?โ the Maharam snapped. The rage in his voice was a pure flame; Oren seemed to be lapping it up, like a cat with spilled milk. โYou came to me, asking to see the books in the Shulamat, but you were not satisfied with my answer, is that it? So you went behind my back, in defiance of the Law?โ
โThe Law?โ Linโs voice shook. โThe Law says that above all things, life matters. The life of our people matters, for if we were gone, who then would remember Adassa? Who would open the door for the Goddess to
return?โ
The Maharam gazed at her coldly. โYou say those words, but have no idea what they mean.โ
โI know what they mean to a physician,โ said Lin. โIf we are offered the means to save a human life, we must seize it.โ
โYou speak of the Law? You, who have never cared about it?โ said the Maharam, and for a moment, Lin saw a flash of the dislike he held for Mayesh, and knew that he hated her in part for that. For being her grandfatherโs blood. For, like Mayesh, finding the Sault too small for her desires, her dreams. โThese books will be confiscated. And when the Sanhedrin comes, this matter will be put directly before the Exilarchโโ
โZuchan,โ said Oren, hoarsely, and Lin turned to see Mayesh ducking through the low doorway. She wondered if he had just returned from Marivent; he was in his Counselorโs robes, his medallion shining on his chest. The lamplight carved deep shadows under his eyes.
โThe Exilarch?โ he said, mildly enough. โThat seems extreme, Davit, for what amounts to no more than a misunderstanding.โ
The Maharam looked at him with loathing. โAย misunderstanding?โ He swept a hand toward the books on the table; Lin saw her grandfatherโs gaze flick from Qasmunaโs book to the Maharam, an odd expression flashing
across his face. โAt least one of these dates to the time of the Sundering. The Goddess alone knows what sort of forbidden magic it detailsโโ
โI doubt Lin has even had time to peruse it,โ said Mayesh. He was utterly calm. Calm as his job had trained him to be, calm in the face of crises through five decades of serving the Palace. โIt is, as I said, a misunderstanding. I brought her to Marivent to consult on a medical matter, as you know, and the Prince, in his gratitude, took this volume from the
Palace library and decided to make a gift of it. He believed it a medical tome she might enjoy. A mistake was made, but not intended; I cannot
imagine you, Maharam, would think it wise to throw that error back in his face by punishing the very one he meant to honor.โ
The Maharamโs mouth worked. โHe is notย our prince,โ he said. โOur prince is the Exilarch, Amon Benjudah. Conor Aurelian has no authority here.โ
โBut outside these walls, he does,โ said Mayesh. โAnd outside these
walls is all the world. There was a Sault in Malgasi, you know. Queen Iren Belmany knocked down the walls and seized the Ashkar inside. By the word of the Law, it may be true that House Aurelian has no authority here. But in practice, those in power can do what they like to us.โ
His eyes bored into the Maharamโs; Lin could not help but feel that there was some communication here that she and Oren were not privy to; that
more than the present moment was under discussion.
โThen what do you recommend,ย Counselor?โ said the Maharam, finally. โShe keeps these books, and the Law goes begging for justice?โ
โNot at all. The books shall be confiscated, and reviewed when the Sanhedrin comes, if you like. Lin wonโt care. She never asked for the book in the first place.โ Mayesh turned to Lin, and the meaning in his eyes was unmistakable. โYou donโt mind, do you?โ
Lin swallowed.ย Blood on the rags on Mariamโs bed, streaks of blood on her hands.ย Then Mariam telling her the pain was better. What she had done had not fixed Mariam forever; she knew that. But with only a few hoursโ reading of Qasmunaโs book, she had done something she had never managed beforeโshe hadย helpedย Mariam, using magic. To give up that
chance now was more bitter than the taste of blood.
But she knew what had to be said.
โNo,โ she whispered. โIโdonโt mind.โ
There was a moment of silence. Finally, the Maharam nodded. โThe Law is satisfied.โ
โThatโsย all?โ Oren cried. โYouโre just going to take these stupid books away from her? Isnโt she going to be punished?ย Exiled?โ
โNow, now, young man,โ Mayesh said. โDonโt overexcite yourself. The Maharam has spoken.โ
โButโโ
โShe is young, Oren,โ said the Maharam. โShe will learn better. The Law can be merciful, too.โ
Merciful,ย Lin thought, bitterly, as the Maharam directed Oren to gather up her books. They seemed a pitifully small pile in the end, as Oren, glaring furiously, marched out the door with them. The Maharam lingered a moment longer before he, too, departed.
Lin sank down in a kitchen chair, all the strength gone from her legs. She was trembling suddenly, her body shaking with frustration. It was unfair, so very unfairโ
โThat could have been much worse, Lin,โ said Mayesh. โHad I not been here, had the Maharam not been in a generous moodโโ
โAย generousย mood?โ Lin flared. โThat was generous?โ
โFor him. He has a special hatred for this sort of thing, even the hint of interest in medicine that is not Ashkari medicine. And as for magic, the study of itโโhe shook his headโโhe would never have let you keep those books, and he might have done worse.โ
โWe are supposed to save lives,โ Lin whispered. โHow is that something he does not understand?โ
โHe understands it well enough,โ said Mayesh. โIn his mind, he is weighing the life of one against the lives of many. If theย malbushimย thought we were practicing forbidden loreโโ
โIt is the Prince of theย malbushimย who gave me the book in the first place!โ
โDo you think Conor had the slightest idea what it was he was giving you?โ Mayesh said. He did not sound angry, only tired. โI assure you, he has never given this sort of thing any thought; he has never had to. You
refused the first thing he offered, so he wanted to offer something he did not think you could reject. It was a challenge, and he wanted to win it. He does not like to lose.โ
Lin stared at her grandfather. โYou know him so well,โ she said. โI
suppose that is because you spent every day of his childhood with him, as
you did not with me, or with Josit.โ
It was a low blow, she knew. He did not flinch, but his eyes darkened. โConor Aurelian is dangerous,โ he said, heading for the door. He turned on the threshold to look back at her. โIn ways that he does not even understand, he is dangerous. You were right to refuse the first gift he offered you. You should have refused this one, as well.โ
When the battle was done, and victory secured with blood, the people of Aram fell to their knees in thanks. And before them appeared a white doe, and spoke to them in the voice of Adassa:
โOnce, in another land, I was your Queen, but now I am your Goddess. You are my people. You will no longer be Aramites. Instead, you will be known as the Ashkar: the people who wait. For there will come a time when the Ashkar will be needed. You must be preserved, you must continue, until that day. You must become a people of all nations, so that if one community of Ashkar is destroyed, the others shall survive. You must be everywhere, though none of these places will be home.โ
โBut what of you, O Goddess?โ cried Makabi. โWhere will you be?โ
โI will be all around you and with you, my hand on your shoulder to guide you, and my light to lead you. And one day, when the time has come, I will return to you clothed in the flesh of a woman of the Ashkari people. I will be once again
your Queen, and we will rise in peace and glory.โ
And then the Goddess ascended into the heavens, and as she went, she took Makabiโs hand and brought him with her, and she gave his sword to his son and named him Benjudah, son of Judah, the next Exilarch. All Exilarchs from that day forth would be descended from Makabi, and would carry the name Benjudah and the Evening Sword, the gift of the Goddess.
Thus dawned the new age of the Ashkar.