I jot down the book’s title and volume number, then check to see if Adalbrecht’s marked any pages. Sure enough, there’s a folded slip of paper tucked inside at Section 13.2: Filiation and Guardianship; Subsection 42. “‘Adrogation and Intestacy,’” I read aloud. “What’s that?”
Emeric tilts his head. “That’s inheritance law. But why would he . . . ?” He trails off, then keeps mumbling to himself like I’m not even here. All I catch are fragments like “coparcenary” and “chain of title” and “ultimogeniture,” which I’m pretty sure is something you pay amietlingfor.
I consider throwing his charcoal at him, but settle for sticking my tongue out at his back. Then I return to the law book, writing down the section and subsection, and finally unfold the paper. It’s a list of names in Adalbrecht’s handwriting.
“Interesting.”
This time it’s my turn to jump, almost knocking the inkpot off the desk as I discover Emeric looming over my shoulder. “Do youmind?” I hiss.
“Sorry,” he says, not even trying to hide a smug little smirk before he taps the paper. “I think these are all border towns . . . to the north. Write those down too.”
I shove the charcoal his way. “You’ve got perfectly good hands. Write it yourself.”
He tears a clean paper out of the notebook and snaps the charcoal in half, then points at the trophy wall. “We have ten minutes at most, and I need to document those runes.”
I look up. The elk head is sitting on the ground, and in the void left behind, a bleached horse skull has been nailed to the wall. Runes are scorched into it in wheels and patterns that make me seasick if I try to focus on them for too long.
It’s the one I saw with Augur’s Tears. I guess that much was real.
“What if we just smash it?” I suggest. “There’s a poker by the fireplace.”
Emeric shakes his head as he walks back to the trophy wall, then draws one of his knives. “From your vision, it sounds like his arrangement with thenachtmärenis to sacrifice an animal every time he wants one to do his bidding. This is similar, but . . .” The blade flashes with a veneer of gold as he uses it to prod the skull.
“Worse?” I suggest.
Emeric nods. “I’m fairly certain at least part of that is a binding spell, like a warlock’s. Binding himself to a singlenachtmahrwouldn’t do much, though. If we knew the horse this skull came from, we could get answers from its ghost, but without it we’re just guessing. I think we’d better know what the margrave’s bound himself to before we cut it loose, don’t you?”
“You take the fun out of everything.” I start copying the town names down. “Is it enough to summon the Godly Court?”
“Not yet. A warlock can legally bind themselves to whatever manner of creature they like. We have to prove he’s using it to do harm. Besides, we should wait for Hubert to get here so he can call the court.”
“What, Papi Klemens doesn’t let—”
Emeric’s voice turns sharp, sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Pleasestop calling him that.”
I flinch, a dart of panic zipping through my veins. Hot embarrassment flushes on its heels. A year is not enough to undo the instincts of Castle Falbirg.
“Fine, you don’t have to be a beast about it,” I mumble.
Emeric doesn’t speak for a moment. There’s only the scratch of charcoal on paper. Then he says, “My father passed away about ten years ago. It’s not particularly funny to me.”
I remember what I saw through the Tears: a little boy standing before Klemens, saying gravely that he had a petition for the Godly Courts. A pin in the lock begins to slide.
“Huh,” I say, cunningly.
“And we need Hubert because a fully initiated prefect is allowed to lose the occasional case. I’m not.”
There’s enough weight there that I don’t push.
“When’s Klemens supposed to arrive?” I know it’s in the letter in his old notebook, but I can’t remember for the life of me, and even if I did, I can’t let on. Those notes are supposed to be cinders in my fireplace.
Emeric glances back at the glowing coin on the credenza. “Eight hours ago.”
That’swhy he’s been so on edge.
I decide it’s getting a little too tense for both of us. “What are the chances he has a soft spot for charming and unrepentant jewel thieves?”
Emeric’s shoulders loosen. We’re both more comfortable on this ground. “You never know. Did you see if von Reigenbach altered anything in the marriage decree?”
