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

by Cassandra Clare

He turned and for a moment saw nothing; then she appeared, shadow evolving out of shadow. (The first time he had seen her do this, he’d nearly fallen over with shock; he was more used to her brand of magic now.)

“Don’t be sour, Gremont. I do hope you are not having second thoughts about our arrangement.”

“I hope you are made of stronger stuff than your father was. He gave us assurances of his loyalty, too, but planned to betray us in the end.”

There is someone else we need on our side, and she knows how to find him.”

Many still loyal to House Aurelian. Do not forget to wear your amulet. It is more powerful than you think.”

but the subject of the great change in Conor that had begun three months ago—his strange new dedication to his role in actual governance—was off limits even to his Sword Catcher.

Place your trust in no one, he’d said. Not mother, not Counselor, not friend. Trust no one on the Hill. Trust only your own eyes and ears, or else the Gray Serpent will come for you, too.

He could still remember her, months ago, begging him to do something to stop the marriage—but he had been wearing his talisman at the time. She had thought he was Conor.

He still recalled what the black-clad figure—face and body entirely hidden, identity unguessable—had hissed at him as he stood, incredulous, sword in hand.

He had unusual coloring: dark eyes and hair the color of Castellane’s red roof tiles. “I have usually found soldiers to be good company in a tavern, but I would say the Legate is an exception.”

Montfaucon shrugged, though he was clearly pleased with himself. “I told you, he goes by his Arena name. The Gray Serpent.”

“Get a message to Artal Gremont. Tell him that the Princess of Malgasi, heir to the Belmany throne, has arrived in his city. That should bring him running.”

Half his face was covered with a hammered-steel mask. Now that he kept his head bare around Kel and the others, it was easier to see the thin scars that unspooled like thread from beneath his mask, marring his temples and cheekbones. Kel wondered often what could have made such a wound as the one Jerrod Belmerci was hiding.

Elsabet Belmany.”

You would cage your son as you caged me! A

“Why would that trouble me?” said Kel, feeling very tired indeed. “I keep secrets from everyone.”

of a man throwing a book into the sea, of a Malgasi man finding something

golden and dangerous inside a cave. Even last night, she had dreamed of a dark-haired woman with fire spilling from her hands and of a man turning to ash against a white marble pillar.

When she did, it was all worth it: the resentment and hostility, whatever damage she had done to her own soul with her lies.

It was odd, Kel thought, how Ciprian spoke of them all with such familiarity, as if his family had always been on the Hill.

Hmmm

“You pretend to foolishness,” he said. “It is your armor.”

You told me yourself, city business and Hill business should stay separate.”

the inky S shape of a hook.

The legal business of trade is far too entangled with its illegal cousin, smuggling, to ever be extricated from it.

“They’ll return when summoned. They all knew my leave of absence wasn’t permanent.”

Thirty-six crossbows, hidden under an order of teakwood for House Raspail.”

“No. Malgasi would be my guess.”

“I don’t suppose your desire to remain has anything to do with a certain Princess from Kutani, does it?”

There is a reason you stood up in that moment at the Tevath and claimed your power. Do not let fear take that reason from you now.”

When the Goddess returns, she will come in fire.

“He has only ever sung our songs in a strange land,”

“He may fear he

will find Aram foreign. The cantillations of a faraway place may not be ...

Beautifully put,

“Mayesh represents what we are,” said Mariam. “You represent what we can be. Our strength.”

Ahh yes Mariam! Tell her!

Fall into that sea of words, as the Goddess fell into a sea of stars.

The Word is the sum of human will. Magic cannot exist without the Word because it cannot exist without will.

She reached out with her mind, using all her will to erase those words. To replace them with other words: healing, and cure, and remedy.

And Mariam’s faith did not weigh Lin down; it was not something for her to carry. Rather, it had always carried her.

shades of red.

One that surprised Kel. Relief. Who did he think we were?

“I might need to inform Legate Jolivet that you were involved in the Shining Gallery slaughter.”

“Fuck you. I’m no murderer. I don’t know who told you this horseshit, but they’re lying.”

You know who pays? The nobility. And they’ll spend a lot of gold to find someone to get their hands dirty on their behalf.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a slaughter!” he said hoarsely. “They fucked me over. Liars! They were liars!”

“Stop following me, Királar.”

You die that he might live forever.”

Domna Delores’s eyes fill with tears. “So was I, once.”

What is life? It is a narrow bridge. Why will the Goddess return? To heal the world.

“It means we do not believe in many Gods, as you do,” Lin said. “We believe only in one. It is what makes us what we are, that faith. And so the words of the Great Prayer are a safeguard. They are etched into amulets worn against the skin, woven into clothing, inked as tattoos. In times when the Ashkar have had to hide who they were, they were often written on strips of paper cunningly concealed inside a pen, or an earring, or the heel of a boot. As long as you carry the Great Prayer with you, she protects you. And you never forget you are Ashkar.”

There are other girls, the kind who cater to men who like to inflict pain. I suppose he’ll see them. But they’ll have to pretend they truly hate what he’s doing; he won’t enjoy it otherwise. He wants to cause misery.”