prior to discovery
At present, no indication of involvement with AvR + Nmn, Wfhdn
Confirmed: Girl spotted in Göttermarkt, tried to sell false lead;
carries same curse + marks as imposter, matches description of V.
Confirmed: Vanja (Schmidt?) is imposter
Blood rushes to my face with every line. I never once had him fooled, not until I threw him in his own irons.
He has no right to know this much about me, let alone put it in writing. I hate this. I hate that someone out there knows even a fraction of who I am. I hate that he’s not at the bottom of the Yssar right now.
The fire lets out a vindictivepop. I stare at the flames, then look back to the journal, contemplating, furious. I suppose it’s one way to make sure these notes can’t hurt me anymore.
And if I’m being honest, I want that. I don’t remember the last time I felt really, truly safe, but I spent most of the last year feeling safeenoughbehind the façade of theprinzessin. I forgot how bone-deep the exhaustion goes when you’re living in fear.
I want to get back at Emeric for putting one more fracture in my safety. For calling me the Red Penny. I want to burn everything that hurt me until it’s nothing but ash.
I shut the notebook, lift it over the fire.
“What are you burning?” Ragne asks, blinking up at me curiously. She’s curled up under the towel, hair fanned out to dry on the hearthstones.
It rattles me from the angry fog. Stupid, stupid,stupid. I yank the notebook back. “Nothing.”
Emeric said he went to Sovabin. I need to know what he knows
about me if I’m going to keep one step ahead. If I’m going to keep my
distance.
And if he knew about my nickname—what else does he know?
I rub a hand over my face. “I’m getting some sleep. Stay off the bed.”
“No,” Ragne says. I would argue, but I doubt it’ll change a thing.
I lock the bedroom door. Then, as an afterthought, I lock the veranda door too. I hide the Eisendorf jewels and my small chest ofgildenback in the vanity’s secret cupboard, put on a nightgown, and snuff out most of the candles.
I take the notebook and the knife with me to bed, both for the same reason: Emeric Conrad is still alive, and he will likely want them back.
I set the knife on the bedside table, prop myself up on the pillows, and crack open the notebook once more. It takes a few tries to find the notes from Sovabin.
Castle Falbirg: lots of recent repair. New funding? AvR paid bribe for G? Definitely extortion, main town saw dramatic increase in business since betrothal, AvR possibly throttling trade routes What does AvR get out of it besides G?
The next line catches me in the gut.
Prince + dame openly abusive to staff, insult and threaten wages, potentially violent
I don’t know why I feel so thunderstruck. I suppose—I thought no one else saw it. Or they looked the other way. Or that it just wasn’t, well, that bad.
Even now I can feel a tiny voice insisting,It was only when they were angry, they were scared, they gave you a place in their home, and you could have worked harder, and—and it could have been worse—
But that voice comes from a part of me that would forgive anything just for a motherly pat on the head. And if I listen, it will eat me alive.
I make myself move on.
The next few lines are tidier, more complete, like Emeric was composing his thoughts at the end of the day.
