I suppose mathematically it makes sense. With a large enough number, a single digit will not have any impact. It’s when you isolate the numbers, set them apart, that they become important on their own.
Back to doorways. I know I remember how they are formed. And thinking about doorways distracts me from looking over my shoulder for bird spies. Must keep my mind busy.
Finn is still talking. “It is not a matter for your father, but I have been meaning to ask. Would you—I mean, when this is over—”
The symbol for earth, and the one for air, and a third for . . . movement. Yes. The door functions as a transfer point, a focus for the magic. Like the quadratic formula. A stable base for all of the different variables to function around.
“Are you listening to me?” Finn asks.
“Running water.”
“What?”
“When we were escaping from Lord Downpike’s home. The symbol was under running water, and you said it helped. There was no door there.”
“Oh, right.” Finn looks disappointed to be discussing doors. “It’s a trickier matter to move without physically moving between thresholds. Takes a good deal more power. Using the earth and natural elements helps. That’s why I put that transport point underground.”
“Were you planning on spending much time running through the sewers and needing a quick escape when you came to the city?” I shake my head at the woman aggressively shoving ribbons at me.
Finn is quiet, then says, “Yes. I was. I didn’t come here for the fine society and opportunities to dine with lords and ladies.”
“Why did you come after so long of avoiding it all?”
He lets out a long, sad breath. “I came to find my parents’ murderer.”
I stop, blocking the flow of foot traffic. “They were—oh, Finn.” I suppose I should have realized, or at least suspected, but he only told me they were dead. Suddenly, the fact that Finn appeared in the city out of nowhere, striving to make connections and immersing himself in magical society without forming any real friendships makes perfect sense.
“Have you . . . do you have any idea who did it?”
His eyes darken like a cloud passing over the sun. “No. I thought for a time it was Lord Downpike, but his alibi is airtight.”
“How?”
“He was in jail that evening. Picked a fight in a tavern and nearly killed two men.”
“But a man of his skills, surely—”
“They have special cells for the nobility. There is no way he could have been out that night.”
“But with magic, maybe he set something up? Did it . . . long distance?”
“It was . . . messy. Whoever did it took his time, and he did not use magic. Not for the end. It was personal for him. As near as I could tell, my father was killed first, and then my mother . . .” He passes a hand over his eyes. “It was not the work of someone uninvested in the outcome.”
“Finn, I . . .”
He looks down the sidewalk. His face is once again composed and carelessly handsome. “This isn’t our concern right now. It will keep. I can’t be focused on it when other things hang in the balance. I never found the information I sought, but I find enough else to trouble me.”
Before he can resume walking, I circle his waist with my arms and pull him close, nuzzling my face into his neck. Here I was, bemoaning my fate for being drawn into a conflict for a country I don’t love. Finn has given up something deeply personal and tragic to protect others. He’s noble in the sense of the word that matters. “I am so sorry.”
His back muscles loosen, and he pushes his face against my hair, breathing deeply. “Thank you.”
A woman passing us clears her throat and whistles approvingly. Sharing a small, sad smile, we resume walking, nearly to the school grounds.
“She would have loved you,” Finn says. “They both would have.”
“I wish I could have met them. And I’m sorry you have to meet my father.”
We enter the building, the smell of ancient wood and dust and leather making me homesick for my cozy library carrel.
Outside Professor Miller’s office door, Finn taps his cane against the frame.
“Yes, yes, sorry, I am nearly done, just a moment, I have it right here for you, Lord—” The door opens, and my father’s squinted and puffy eyes open wider in surprise. “Oh. Hello.”
“Lord who?”
Professor Miller wipes his forehead nervously, a sheath of papers clutched to his chest. “What?”
“Which lord were you expecting?” Finn snatches the papers. I remember how his assertive airs used to infuriate me, but today I am grateful for how they cow my father. “This is another of your articles extolling the benefits of imposing Albion on the continent. Who are you giving it to?”
“I . . . we haven’t been introduced. Jessamin?”
Finn walks forward, forcing my father to stumble back into his office. Without asking, he crosses to the other side of the desk and begins opening drawers, looking through them. “I have no desire to be introduced to you. You don’t deserve your daughter, and I won’t do you the courtesy of pretending to be polite.”
Professor Miller stutters. “That’s private. You can’t be in here.”
Finn pulls on a drawer, but it won’t budge. He taps it with his cane, muttering a single word, and it pops open.
“Hey! How . . . you can’t, and I . . . I’m calling for the guards.” I let him walk past me. I don’t care enough to stop him.
“Interesting.” Finn pulls out a small pistol and lays it on the desk. “And more interesting.” In his hands is a bundled stack of envelopes. He pulls off the top one and hands it to me. In the corner, where a return address goes, is stamped: THE OFFICE OF HIS LORDSHIP, THE MINISTER OF DEFENSE.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
Finn looks exhausted. “It means we know who is commissioning those news articles from your father trying to sway public opinion and make them view expansion in a positive light.” He puts the gun back in the drawer and closes it.
I feel it settle into place in my head. The attempts to win public opinion via positive examples. The criticism of other countries. The delicate balance that exists between Albion and the Iverian continental countries to prevent any one country from becoming more powerful than the rest.
The balance that hinges on both sides having their own magic.
“He wants to invade,” I say.
“And all he needs to ensure victory is access to Hallin magic.”
Thirty
I WATCH THE DOOR IN FEAR. “WE NEED TO LEAVE.”
“I want to speak with Professor Miller,” Finn says. He’s still searching through the letters.
“He’s expecting a lord. Lord Downpike. Do you want to face him here?” I hate that I’m scared, but I am. It’s one thing for Finn to face Downpike on equal ground, but if I’m here, I give Downpike an automatic advantage. Finn will try to protect me over anything else.
Finn tucks the letters into the jacket of his three-piece suit, and we hurry into the hall.
“Hey!” Professor Miller shouts from where he’s turned the corner in a shuffling, unsure run toward us. “Stop! The guards are coming! Stay where you are.”
“Never mind that.” I tug Finn’s arm. We turn back around but then stop dead. Lord Downpike stands in the center of the hall. He looks from us to my father, a smile creeping across his features.
Finn raises his cane defensively.
“By all means, don’t let me hinder your flight.” Lord Downpike bows and sweeps an arm out to let us by.
I look at Finn, confused. His eyes are narrow, posture wary, but he walks ahead, keeping himself as a shield to me the whole time. When we come to the doors, I burst through and we hit the sidewalk at a run, passing through the gawking crowds, my breath catching painfully in my chest by the time we reach the portal back to Finn’s house.
“What happened?” I gasp, leaning against the wall in Finn’s dim hallway. “Why did he let us go like that?”
“I don’t know.”
I sit down on the floor, my skirts pooled beneath me. “Lord Downpike can’t really think a few newspaper articles will help his cause. No one would agree to trying to colonize the entire Iverian continent. Or even a single country like Gallen or Saxxone. It would mean war for certain.”
“He has been trying to sway public opinion in that direction for some time now. And it is not such a stretch to think they would approve. Not if Lord Downpike holds all the power and can guarantee an easy victory.” Finn slides down the wall to sit next to me, his shoulder against mine. “We have to stop him.” He takes my hand, staring at the way our fingers connect.
I lift our hands and brush my lips across his knuckles. “He depends on accessing Hallin magic to overthrow the balance of power, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And he hasn’t been able to get it from any of the Hallin lines.”
“They’re too smart, too careful. Cromberg knowledge is dispersed and diluted—even if they took dozens of our nobles, it wouldn’t matter. We rely on strength of number. But Hallin magical knowledge is concentrated, a vast and depthless pool that only a few can draw from. He’ll never get it from them.”
“Which is why he has been so focused on you.” I don’t want to ask, but I must. “Do you have it? The information he needs?”
“There are no books of Hallin magic in this country.”
I narrow my eyes. That wasn’t a direct answer to my question. I wonder if he’s seen the magic Lord Downpike wants, or if he knows how to get it. “You’re not telling me everything.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sorry. I think my parents died because of this, and I won’t put you in any more danger than I already have. Bringing you into all this is the greatest guilt in my life. And still, selfishly, I’m glad for it.”
I put my hand on his cheek and turn his face to look me in the eyes. “I did not choose to start on this path, but I chose to stay.”
“I don’t suppose, then, that you will accept my offer to send you somewhere safer than here.”
I laugh. “As always, no. I am precisely where I want to be.”
“If something happens to me . . .” His face is grave and so serious I realize that he thinks it a strong possibility.
“Do not even speak of it. That’s nonsense and I will not have it.”
He leans forward and kisses me, his lips gentle and tender against mine. Something slides over my gloved ring finger and I draw back to look down. Finn’s ring with the family crest of two trees intertwined sits, heavy and gleaming, over the black satin.
“Finn, I—”
“It’s a promise,” he says. “From me to you. You needn’t promise me anything back, not yet.” His sly smile sneaks into place. “Though soon would be nice.”
I push my fingers through his hair, matching his smile. “You will need a good deal more charm to persuade me.”
He stands so abruptly I nearly fall on my side.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I find myself in sudden dire need to increase the potency of my charm spelling.”
I laugh, and he offers me a hand to help me stand. We walk, arm in arm, back to the library, where Eleanor startles and tries to act as though she hadn’t been leaning against the door, listening.
“I thought you’d given up listening at doors. Do we need to update you, or have you heard enough?” I ask, sitting next to her with a smile.
“I haven’t any idea what you are referring to, Jessamin. I was merely checking for a nasty draft. You may feel free to tell me all about Lord Downpike’s plan for an aggressive military takeover of the entire continent, aided by the Hallin magic he thinks Lord Ackerly has, but that Lord Ackerly insists he does not. I will be very surprised to hear it. And then you can add to my shock by taking me aside and whispering that Lord Ackerly has given you his golden ring with the family crest, and I can promise you that it means much more than you think it does, and he is being sneaky by pretending it is merely a promise.”
“Eleanor,” Finn says, a single eyebrow raised. “Would you be a dear and check the pantry to see whether we need to order more groceries?”
“Oh, fie on you, Lord Ackerly.” She flounces to a love seat, lying on her stomach with her chin on her hands. “I will do no such thing. You two are going to discuss your plans to defeat Lord Downpike’s nefarious machinations, and spirits take me if I will be anywhere but here.”
“You can start with some of your marvelous letter-writing skills,” I say. “Ask whether it is worth the risk to make a power grab on the continent, implying heavily that you have information it’s in the works. Ponder what will happen when those of you with less magical ability are called upon by the queen to go on the offensive against vastly more skilled Hallin practitioners. And then comment on the ghastly new dress that Arabella Crawford was seen in, just for good measure. You can check the pulse of noble opinion and see what direction they are leaning—whether there is a real risk of their following Lord Downpike down this mad path.”
“You are the cleverest girl I know.” She stands and goes to her writing desk, dumping off a stack of books without ceremony. “I’m so pleased my lifelong cultivation of gossiping skills will be essential in saving the world. And to think, my mother said it would get me in trouble.”
“Do you have everything you need for the spellwork?” Finn asks.