The little girl pouts. “His hair’s too short anyway. Can I braid yours?”
Joniza presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. “My hair’s already in braids,” she says. “And it took a long time, and I paid a nice woman a lot of money to do it, so I think I’ll have to pass, thank you.”
“You can braid my hair,” Gisele informs Khidren as we walk over to the table nearest the slate wall. I see both sets of Emeric’s notes wedged between a few volumes of Imperial Law.
Khidren ties a pink ribbon in a bow around Emeric’s head, to match the outlandishly fluffy ones clustered on her own glossy dark braid. “There. Now you’re pretty.”
“Thank you,” he says solemnly, spectacles askew. “I’ve been very concerned.”
“You’rewelcome.” She overenunciates in the way of a child still nailing down their please-and-thank-yous, then hops down and zooms over to Gisele.
I set my cloak and scarf on the table with the law books and go to squint at the diagram, doing my best to muffle my sheer delight at Emeric’s new accessory. “So the lead with the law book didn’t pan out?”
“It’s definitely part of the picture, I just can’t see how it fits,” he grumbles, straightening his spectacles. “The mar—excuse me, thebakerhad—”
“Who is the baker?” Ragne asks, dropping her cloak by mine. She only deigned to wear one for the sake of disguise; a thick layer of black fur is still running down her arms.
“MäestrinUmayya allowed me to use the slate wall so long as I remembered I had a, er, younger audience,” Emeric explains, “who also might repeat what they read or hear.”
I take a closer look at the wall. “‘Possible motives for baker to . . . hugG’?Hug?Really?”
“Gis for the Gisele, yes?” Ragne crouches on the chair like a wayward gargoyle. “Why is this baker hugging the Gisele?”
“No, it’s code for, er—” Emeric draws a finger across his throat. The ribbon flopping in his hairreallybrings the gravity of the situation home.
Ragne brightens. “I know that! The Vanja told me. It means dead.” Then she bristles. “Who is hugging the Gisele to death?”
One of the little boys ceases his drawing and whirls around, eyes sparkling. “Who’s dead?”
“Aaaandit’s bedtime,” Umayya announces from across the room.
“Let me take care of it, Umayya. You rest. Come on, everyone, pack it up.” Gisele starts ushering children toward a hallway.
Joniza sets down her parchment. “That’s my cue too. Those little monsters better be happy with one lullaby. I have a gig tonight.”
As the room quiets down, strains of a festive Winterfast carol rise from the street, punctuated by jingling bells. Normally the carol-band would be playing in the Göttermarkt so couples could dance in the plaza, but it seems they’re making do outside. I can’t say I mind. Low Gods don’t typically tolerate anygrimlingenin their temples, but it’s good to be doubly sure thenachtmärenwill keep clear of the bells.
Emeric waits until Khidren is out of sight to remove the ribbon, though he absentmindedly winds it around his knuckles as he thinks. I did not expect that to make itincrediblydifficult to concentrate, but it turns out I’m learning a lot of things about myself these days.
Once the children are out of earshot, he speaks. “I’m afraid I have some dismal news. First, apparently the nearest fully ordained prefects can’t make it to Minkja for another week.”
My stomach drops. “Does that mean we can’t summon the Godly Court, then?”
“Not exactly,” Emeric says slowly. “I’m not supposed to, but I can, in an emergency. It . . . It’ll be fine. We just have to make a strong case.” The ribbon digs into his hand a little too deep. “But that’s the other bit of news. I borrowed a couple of law books from the outpost’s library so I could look into the sectionMarkgrafvon Reigenbach book-marked. It doesn’t give us any clear answers.”
There’s a shuffle behind me. I turn and find Umayya walking up.
“I want to see what this boy’s been working on,” she explains, bundling her indigo shawl tighter. “I like puzzles, when I’m not picking them up off the floor.”
“Princess Gisele brought you up to speed on her situation?” Emeric asks, and she nods. He sets the ribbon on the table. “Then yes, please. The three of you could see what I’m missing.”
I pick up a volume that’s been left open, and see Section 13.2: Filiation and Guardianship; Subsection 42: Adrogation and Intestacy. That’s the one. I pass it to Emeric. “Start by walking us through it. Maybe something will click.”
“It’s all inheritance law for nobility.” He paces back to the slate wall, book in one hand, and picks up a discarded bit of chalk with the other. “Specifically, the inheritance rights of an adopted heir, and the rights of the adopter.”
Ragne wrinkles her brow. “Inheritance rights? Why do you need rights to inherit?”
“Because otherwise the aristocracy tend to kill each other while they’re carving up an inheritance,” Emeric drawls. “So the inheritance laws are all built on the concept of noble houses.” He draws two rectangles, labeling oneFalbirgand the otherReigenbach. “House Falbirg producesprinzeps-wahlen, which means Princess Gisele’s father is eligible to elect anotherprinzeps-wahlto the Blessed Imperial Throne, or to be elected himself. Under certain conditions, Princess Gisele would inherit the role ofprinzessin-wahlfrom her father once she comes of age. Does that make sense so far?”
