“I see.” She flops back into the chair. “Then I kissed the Gisele on the cheek! And she kissed me, the plain kind. It was very strange and I liked it.”
I pause scrubbing to blink up at her. “You . . . she . . . plain as in on the mouth?”
“Yes!”
“With . . .Gisele?”
“Yes!”
Many, many pins onthatlock click into place.
I mean—I need to speak with Gisele first, to make sure I’m not assuming things, but . . . the Prince and Dame von Falbirg were atrociously clear about one thing growing up: The best Sovabin could offer was royal lineage. Gisele’s dowry was little more than the promise of an heir who would be eligible to be elected emperor by theKronwähler. But if Gisele prefers girls, the candidate pool would be severely limited, leaving only the few noblewomen able to conceive with her. No wonder she hadn’t told her parents.
But I’m jumping to alotof conclusions. There’s one thing I know for sure. “Ragne, you know how humans make things complicated when they don’t have to be?”
“Very,” she says, curling up in the chair.
“Who you kiss is one of them. We should both talk to Gisele before telling anyone else. She might want to keep it to herself. Does that make sense?”
Ragne looks a little forlorn, resting her head sideways on her knees. “I think it does. I would like to kiss her again, though.”
I think about the look on Gisele’s face when she’d spoken of Ragne earlier. “I’d bet she’d like that too.”
Then I push myself up to empty the bloody water off the veranda. I can’t help sneaking a glance at Emeric’s windows next door; there’s a dim light through the sheer curtains and a silhouette hunched over a desk. I hurry back inside. Ragne is coiled in the chair, nodding off.
“Don’t fall asleep like that, you’ll hurt your neck.” I change into a nightshirt myself, douse every candle but one, and crawl into bed. A moment later Ragne climbs up as a cat, settling against my shins. I’m too used to it by now to even pretend a protest.
Instead I search under the pillows until I find soft, sturdy leather and the crinkle of parchment I’ve kept hidden there for almost a week now.
I tell myself I’m reading through Emeric’s stolen notes to make sure there’s nothing we’re missing. Not because I can hear them in his voice, see him twirling a stick of charcoal around his fingers before adding another line. Not because it reminds me he’s one room away, that he came back to the house of a man trying to kill him just so I wouldn’t be left on my own.
Not because all of those things are comforting in an entirely terrifying way.
Perhaps a drop of Augur’s Tears lingers in me still, though. Because I must tell you the truth of the matter: I fall asleep by the dwindling candle, thinking of the moment before he threw the copper knife, when he called me by my name.
`
After breakfast the next morning, I decide to give the notes back.
Is it motivated, at least a little, by the fact that rashes of pearls have broken out over my elbows? Maybe so. I think I’m starting to connect the dots on the curse: At least a few gems disappear every time I do something, well, selfless. Like rescuing Fabine from the Wolfhunder, or throwing myself at thenachtmahr. I think they’re growing no matter what, but they seem to grow faster when I do something self-interested, let’s put it that way.
That would explain why my charitable spree last week was for naught; it was all just to help myself. And maybe giving the notes back won’t change a thing either, but it feels like—ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this,who am I—it feels like the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, it gets a bit more difficult when Emeric doesn’t answer his door. I’ve prepared a short and scathing speech (I’ve decided you need these after all, you’re clearly helpless without themis about the gist of it) and come up with a decent ruse (the journal is tucked into a stack of towels that I, Marthe the Maid, am delivering to his room). But I knock once, twice, and there’s no answer.
Trudl pokes her head out of another room down the hall. We’re due for another wave of guests this evening, and every bed in the castle must be ready. “You can go in. The prefect’s not there.”
“Junior prefect,” I correct before I can catch myself. I decide we’re all going to pretend that didn’t happen. “He’s not in?”
“Hurried out a little after sunrise. Said he got some urgent message or something.”
Klemens.He must have arrived.
Trudl misreads the dismay on my face. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back. The margrave is having us hold the room for him.”
She garnishes that with a wink that says word has gotten around about the linen closet incident.Fantastic.Just what I need.
I hurry back to my room and toss the extra towels on a chair. I suppose I’ll have to face Prefect Klemens one way or another, and perhaps if I graciously return Emeric’s notes in his presence, that whole “reformed thief” concept will be easier to pitch.
