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Chapter 8
“So, Rossi’s Pub?” Lila asked under her breath as the pair escaped into the empty hallway. The crowds had not dispersed, but the blackcoats had pushed them far away from the courtroom and the private meeting. Highborn stood on tiptoes at each end of the corridor, all trying to get a view of Lila’s exit. Whispers rose to a buzz. Blackcoats held up their arms, brushing everyone back.
“If only I didn’t need to fetch the files.” Shaw chuckled. “Once word spreads, I’ll never be allowed in another militia-only bar again, and Rossi’s makes the best cheeseburgers.”
“That they do,” Lila agreed, remembering too late that she couldn’t drink anyway. The pair padded toward the rotunda, the well-dressed crowds noting how she walked freely without handcuffs. “I owe you for speaking the truth, and I’m not the only one.”
“It was necessary. Bullstow needs to change, and we can’t do that unless the senate acknowledges the problem. After this mess is resolved, I’ll make sure we do.”
“Nothing changes quickly in government, and not without considerable inertia. I wish you luck.”
“I’ll need it.” Shaw stopped several meters from the senate rotunda and jerked his head toward a waiting intern. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, you father requests a conference.”
Lila turned, finding Shiloh in the crowd. He grinned at his big sister, an insufferable I-told-you-so smile locked from ear to ear.
The boy still had a lot of growing up to do.
“I look forward to learning of your new occupation,” she told Shaw. “You were right inside. You still have much to offer Bullstow.”
“I suspect they’ll only let me choose between filing papers and throwing out the trash.”
“It would be a waste of you, Mr. Shaw.”
His face darkened at the loss of his title, a feeling she knew all too well. “I could same the same to you, Ms. Randolph. I hope you will return to the Randolph security office.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible now. Besides, I had planned to take some time away from the family before all this happened. My plans have not changed.”
“I suspect your matron will have a few words to say about that.”
“She always does.”
“Good luck.” He shook her hand firmly. The former militia chief then shuffled off, leaving his prisoner behind.
Many mouths hung open in the rotunda. That one act had proved the rumors true.
Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph had beaten her charges and walked away from the courtroom free and clear. Not only that, but Chief Shaw had given a highborn heir access to BullNet. Expressions switched instantly from curious and gloating to wary and suspicious.
Lila ignored them all. As she threaded through the crowd, everyone backed away as if she had the plague. It wouldn’t do for any heir or senator to be seen with her yet, for their matrons had not officially changed their standing orders. Could they converse with Elizabeth Randolph now that she’d been found not guilty, or would she be an outcast for a little while longer? It would take a few hours for spies to make their full reports, for matrons to confer with one another, for the highborn to jostle and shove and glare until they reached their decisions.
For the moment, they merely shunned her, and that was perfectly fine with Lila.
She followed behind Shiloh as he led her down the corridor, his chest puffed and hands locked behind his back in the elegant walking pose of Bullstow men. When they traveled past Dixon, Lila motioned for him to follow.
He did, though at a distance.
The group passed from the senate building into the center of the compound, stopping before Falcon Home, a mansion that could have housed hundreds. Instead, it had been split into suites, housing the governor, the Saxony state senate, and the prime minister while in the city.
Dixon sat on a park bench, pulled out his notepad and pencil, and began to doodle, giving her a wink as Shiloh tugged on her arm. The pair entered Falcon Home and followed a gray-haired servant toward the central staircase, the newel posts carved into rosebuds. They jogged up the creaking, cherry-stained staircase to the top floor, then slipped by a dozen doors. Priceless art hung upon the walls. Freshly cut roses sprawled in vases older than Saxony, settled on tables crafted in a forest of darkly stained woods.
The footman stopped at the end of the corridor. He clapped a gilded rose knocker fixed to the door.
Her father answered the knock, dressed in a white suit coat and trousers, a much more informal version of his prime minister’s garb now that the legislative session had ended.
“Lila girl.” He enveloped her in a fierce bear hug and twirled her off the ground in the vestibule. “Thank you, Mr. Rhodes
,” he said to the servant as she spun, his voice muffled as he dug his face into her shoulder.
Shiloh chuckled and waved, a gesture she tried to return with each rotation.
