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I wondered, too, but we had bigger concerns at the moment.
Cait fired again, her second shot landing near the first.
I kept my ears covered and watched as she steadied the pistol and took a third and final shot, this one making a hole in the center.
My mouth fell open. Apparently, she had a hidden talent.
Cait looked ridiculously proud of herself as she came to my side and traded the gun for the newspaper.
We plopped onto the stone floor.
Sir Graham Brennin Returnswas the paper’s main headline. A drawing of him graced the cover—a surprisingly good one, too—and my heart leaped, though I’d already seen it.
We both leaned in close to read at the same time.
Sir Graham Brennin arrived by boat on Cambrian shores this morning accompanied by Lachlan Welsh, a formerlybanished outlaw. Brennin has credited Welsh with rescuing him from his island imprisonment and is petitioning the Academy for a pardon of Welsh’s crimes, the full extent of which has not been made public.
Cait cheered for joy, and we continued the article:
“Though my son has thankfully returned alive, he remains a victim of treason,” said Lady Maeve Brennin to the Cambrian Tribune. ‘He is the rightful heir, and I have formally withdrawn my proposal to alter the line of inheritance to delay his coronation. Indeed, he is quite prepared for the throne and has returned a new man. I hope for all to understand that it is he, and no other, who deserves to inherit the throne.’
Though it has not yet been determined whether Brennin’s disappearance was due entirely to the alleged Stroud coup or if it may have been of his own volition, both Brennin and Lachlan bear injuries to suggest they were victims of outlaw brutality. While some maintain that Brennin abdicated the throne by leaving, whether forcefully or by choice, further investigation is needed to prove his innocence and validate his eligibility to rule.
Sir Graham Brennin himself claims exhaustion after his ordeal and has said little. He did, however, provide the Tribune with the following statement: “Though Evander Stroud refuses to speak, I will, and this is what I say to him: the cost of your deception has been great, both upon my House and upon your own. You do not yet comprehend the irreparable damage you have inflicted, but you soon will. Indeed, the Third House has stooped to a new low.”
My face grew hot and my eyes blurred. Graham wasn’t holding back from publicly blaming us. I wanted to tear up the papers, destroy his words, and erase the accusations against my House. On the bright side, at least the Academy couldn’t accuse us of killing Graham any longer. Treason would still warrant asevere punishment, but without the crime of murder, my father and I were protected from execution—as long as no one revealed his true identity.
Having Graham back in Cambria contending for the throne was everything I’d wanted, so I should’ve been happier about it. And yet . . . I couldn’t celebrate as I imagined I would—not when we felt like enemies.
Whatever hope I’d held onto that Graham had returned for my sake had been obliterated.
I continued to read each article of the Tribune. If I intended to pass as a socialite tomorrow, I needed to know every current event. I wouldn’t be able to request the company of Sir Pearce if I couldn’t hold a conversation with the grace of an informed and intelligent noblewoman. So I decided to occupy my mind with the information I needed to know, the strategies of blending in, and how I would look. If I focused on all that, I could almost forget I would be attending as an assassin.
Chapter
Eighteen
The next morningarrived with a heaviness in the air and in my heart.
Cait and I rode through the streets in a horse-drawn carriage. Curtains covered the windows and the air inside was stale and humid. I’d called Cael on the radio and asked him to send transportation. He’d paid the driver handsomely to keep him from asking for a rank card or any further information. All the driver was told was that he needed to quietly deliver me to a certain wig shop in the Class A Quarter without garnering any gossip. He’d also left a hefty bag of cowries in the carriage, which would be more than enough for my transformation.
I’d taken advantage of the situation by bringing Cait along, but the driver didn’t say a word. Cael still didn’t know for certain that Cait was with me, and I didn’t intend to tell him.
If he’d known she’d be in attendance at tonight’s ball, he would have forbidden it. I could hear every facet of his argument in my head. And, if I was honest, I knew each of those arguments would be valid. Letting Cait go to the ball was a risk, but she’d be in disguise, too. If we were lucky, we’d hardly even see each other there.
And afterward, if she got what she wanted, I may never see her again.
The thought of Cait finding freedom made me happy. I genuinely wanted joy for her and Lachlan. I’d let her go and wish her the best, hiding the envy that would set in when I knew I’d never have that same joy. Graham despised me, and even if he didn’t, our worlds had split in two. He was aiming for the throne with the hopes of lifting an entire kingdom while I, on the other hand, was plotting to murder the man who had been at the head of the Academy for two decades.
I wasn’t one for parties, but I found myself longing to be a normal guest tonight. If only I could walk in as myself without an anchor’s weight of baggage dragging me down.
How would it have been to meet Graham under different circumstances? Free of betrayal, no disguises, no conspiracies. Maybe we would’ve laughed at the same jokes and met each other’s eyes, instantly feeling a magnetic pull for the other. Would we have found ourselves in the gardens at night, carried away in intimate conversation? Would we have danced?
I closed my eyes and sat back in my seat, letting my daydreams sweep over me like a rising tide.
Only when the driver stopped at the Class A gates was I pulled back to the present that paled in comparison to my imagination.
“Please have your passengers furnish their rank cards,” said an Enforcer at the gates, her voice loud and direct.
