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“Here’s breakfast.” He crossed the room and handed me the flaky bread.
“Is she gone?” I asked, taking a bite.
He nodded. “She had a meeting with the First Immortal she couldn’t miss.”
“Is your door okay?”
“It will recover,” he said, “but I’m more concerned about you.”
“Does she know I’m here?”
“Definitely not, or that door wouldn’t have remained standing. But you won’t be safe here much longer now that she knows about my prison visit.”
“And the king’s signature,” I said.
One side of his mouth turned up in a shy smile. “Actually, she doesn’t. I mean, she thinks she does, but she’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
His face lit up. “It wasn’t forged.”
I watched him to see if I could detect a lie. “So, you’re saying the king actually approved my release?”
Graham gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took the other armchair.
“When I found out you’d been captured, I went to see him. I’m not sure why. He doesn’t talk much these days.” He’d said so little about his father that I’d assumed their relationship was no better than the tumultuous one he had with his mother, but his gentle tone suggested otherwise.
“When I sat next to his bed, he woke up and smiled at me,” he said. “Then he asked what was wrong.”
This was beginning to seem too personal, but he continued. “I told him I had a friend who’d been wrongly imprisoned. I didn’t tell him the details, but he told me to write up his orders and then he signed it. Honestly, he might’ve been delirious, but I wasn’t going to argue.”
So, I owed the king my freedom too. I didn’t think he had any compassion at all, let alone for a criminal. Delirium seemed the most likely scenario, but I couldn’t help but feel strangely honored, though I hardly wanted to admit it to myself.
“Please give him my thanks.” My response was hugely inadequate, but I’d never been good at expressing my gratitude, especially when it was most sincere.
“Or you could,” he said.
“What?” I stiffened in my chair. “No, no way. I couldn’t. I’m sure he doesn’t want to spend his last”—I cleared my throat and chose different words—“to spend his precious time with strangers.”
“You’re not entirely a stranger. I’ve told him a bit about you—not the outlaw part, naturally—but he knows you’re my friend.” Graham rested a hand on my arm, reminding me of the awkward fact that we were alone in his bedroom. “You’re already in his house. And you’ll probably never get another chance to meet him.” His face turned solemn.
Everything in me told me not to go, but I owed him so much, and the hand on my arm was heavy and insistent. I looked away, trying not to be swayed by his plaintive blue eyes. My gaze landed on a quill and inkpot on Graham’s nightstand. An idea stirred in my mind—an opportunity to twist the rumors to our advantage.
“Fine. I’ll go. But I hope you’ve had my gown cleaned.”
He smiled so widely that I had to question his sanity. A dying father. A hateful mother. What allowed him to smile through all that?
“Thank you.” He grasped my hand in his, and the heat burned through my skin, leaving me disoriented and confused. About everything.
* * *
I twistedmy hair into multiple braids and pinned them up on my head in the noble style. It didn’t seem right to wear a gaudy feathered hat to visit the dying king. I reached back and tightened the corset of the midnight blue gown before finishing the ensemble with the satin shawl. Looking in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall, I realized it wasn’t actually so bad without the hat and the odor.
I glanced at the locked door and picked up the book I’d snuck in here with me, as well as the quill and ink. The Academy’s book still had about a hundred empty pages, perfect for someone who happened to need a spare piece of paper. I flipped it open and noticed the first page that marked the book as the Academy’s. It could work even better than a blank page.
I tore it out as quietly as possible, hoping Graham wouldn’t hear it from the other side of the door. Dipping the quill in the inkpot, I wrote a few words:
Thank you for the second chance. I swear I’ll get the job done this time.
