The Ragpicker King (The Chronicles of Castellane, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

“Forget anything Jerrod or I may have said about the dangers of murdering Gremont,” Kel said, his voice low but surprisingly steady. “Go ahead and kill him.” Merren did not look surprised. He did, however, look relieved. “I’m so glad you said that.” He exhaled. “You see, I’ve already poisoned his wine.”

“The assumptions you make about me are truly bizarre,” he said. “Apparently you think I am illiterate and are not afraid to say so to my face. It’s…unusual.”

He was eating an apple. He grinned when he saw Kel and Conor and tossed it in Conor’s direction. Kel’s arm shot out; he intercepted the apple automatically. Conor cast him an amused look. Kel shrugged. I am the Prince’s shield; I stand between him and thrown fruit. He played it off by biting into the apple with a smirk at Joss.

He was silent, staring at the pages. Lin prayed quietly to herself that Fausten hadn’t made any notes that said things like, Today I have decided to poison the King. Surely a most excellent idea. She had no idea how she’d explain that to Aron Benjudah.

“That’s true,” Kel said. “He does approve of the elephant. He may be more excited about the elephant than he is about the Princess.”

He looked up at their approach and smiled as his eyes met Kel’s. “I wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “My best friend and my bride-to-be.” And Kurame, Kel thought,

Me and you. Just us and your friend steve. Do do do do do steve

“On the contrary, one’s choice of disguise reveals a great deal,” Anjelica said. Her expression was unchanged, but Kel thought he could hear the smile in her voice. “Kellian, you could be a chameleon, that creature which disguises itself so well as others. And you, my lord”—she turned to Conor—“you would be a lion, for you are Castellane.”

Conor was with her. She felt the warmth of him, his presence. His hand brushed back hair from her face. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he said. “Can you do that?”

“Don’t get my hopes up for nothing, Lin,” he called after her. “There’s only so much disappointment a man can take.”

Poor Merren

“Hush.” Mariam strokes Lin’s damp hair, whispering, “Hush, my little sister, my little heart,” while outside the window, the rain continues to fall in soft sheets, whispering like silk against the panes.

Their friendship is so sweet.

“Wonderful,” Lin said. “My patients will enjoy having a large, glowering man stare at them while they’re treated.”

“The Malgasi fear a legend,” he said. “Claim your power. Give them something true to fear.”