“You are just as good as any one of them,” said Patrick with sudden seriousness. He held my chin in his hand and tilted it upward. “Better, in fact. Remember that.”
His eyes were very green all of a sudden. I swallowed and nodded.
A trumpet and the shout of a major-domo made a booming announcement.
“Ah!” Patrick said, turning away and sounding pleased. “The king. Come.”
He strode ahead to where a commotion had formed at one end of the room, and I had to trot to keep up with him. The crowd bobbed and swayed in curtseys and bows, lookingrather like ears of corn caught in a stiff wind, and a uniformed man ushered King Colin to a comfortable seat. I had expected him to be wearing a crown, as he had during the Plaguenight parade, but the only thing marking him as the king was a slim golden circlet that almost disappeared into his pale hair.
He looked younger than I had thought, this close, and—despite the rouge that had been rubbed into his cheeks—sicker. His skin had a waxy sheen, like a soft cheese, and the shadows under his eyes were dark as violet petals. Even the lightweight circlet looked so heavy on his veined forehead that I imagined it might leave a bruise.
Patrick led me through the crowd by my arm. Once again, it parted for him like magic, and the king stirred himself a little at his approach.
“Patrick,” greeted the king. He had an oddly sweet smile, boyish and self-deprecating. He held out his limp hand to be kissed. “And who is this?”
“The woman I told you about, Your Majesty.”
“Ah. The little mage.” It was hard to sound condescending when you looked like one good sneeze would finish you off, but he managed it. He extended his hand again, this time to me. I stared at it for a moment before realizing I was meant to curtsey and kiss it. Beneath my lips, the skin of his knuckles felt soft and painfully thin.
“I have heard so much about you,” said the king.
“Um … oh. Your Majesty,” I added hastily.
“Charming,” the king said to Patrick over my head. “And pray, what is this magnificent bird?”
Baldbeak preened.
“A raven, Your Majesty,” said Patrick.
“Really? How original.”
He gave me a sweet, distracted smile and turned away from me. He and Patrick whispered for a moment and then Patrick rejoined Baldbeak and me, smiling like a man who had the whole world in order.
Was that the king? I thought he would be bigger, said Baldbeak.
“What was all that about?” I hissed as we walked back through the assembly.
“I thought you might want to meet the king.”
“You thought no such thing.”
“These are uncertain times. Making powerful friends is never a bad idea.”
He was steering me towards a small reception room leading off the main hall.
“Is the Pontiff here? Where are we going?”
Patrick ushered me into the room, then closed the door behind us, turning the key in the lock. My stomach lurched at the sensation of being confined again, and I smiled a little uncertainly.
“What are you doing?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“Behind a locked door?”
“I needed to make sure we weren’t interrupted.”
Baldbeak was contentedly playing with a strand of the Hair and seemed unworried. I clasped my hands before me and stood very still, waiting. Patrick fidgeted with his cuffs a little and cleared his throat.
