Eleanor stops, pen poised midair. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean the way you’re so drained after writing. I know what it feels like to expend a great deal of energy on magic, Eleanor. Your letters are not ordinary missives.”
She turns and smiles demurely at us. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”
“Hmm,” Finn says. “I think you do. And I find myself very, very glad you are on our side. You frighten me.”
“A well-wielded pen is a woman’s best weapon.” Laughing to herself, she turns back to her letter writing. I look at Finn but he shrugs.
“And as for us,” I ask, “what should we do?”
He shakes his head. “I really can’t say. Everything I think of is either too dangerous or too inadequate. If I outright attack Downpike, someone will end up dead. I fear we’ll have to spread the word and wait for it to settle, see who falls on which side. I know how much you hate being locked up in here, but this is a political game, and until—”
A bell rings, and Finn frowns.
“What is it?”
“The door chime for my official front door. No one ever calls on me.”
It rings again, insistent pealing as though someone is doing nothing but tugging on the line. Taking his cane, Finn walks out into the hall. I follow. He opens a door I haven’t been through, which leads us to a gleaming foyer, marble floors, and white pillars around a large oaken door.
“Stay behind me.” He opens the door.
The porch is crowded with purple-uniformed guards. “Lord Finley Ackerly?”
“Yes.”
“You are under arrest for the murder of Milton Miller and the attempted murder of Lord Downpike, minister of defense, as well as high treason against Her Majesty, the Queen.”
Thirty-one
THE GUARD NEAREST THE FRONT, A BRICK WALL OF a man, frowns. “If you do not come willingly, we’ll use force.”
“This is insane!” I step forward, trying to put myself between Finn and the guards. I don’t know if they can enter his home. I hope not. “He hasn’t murdered anyone! I was with him all afternoon. Milton Miller is alive. I’m his daughter,” I add, desperately grasping for some sort of authority.
The guard’s stony gray eyes do not shift from their stern, impassive glance. “I am sorry to inform you, miss, that Professor Miller was shot to death in his office. We have witnesses.”
“Then they will tell you that I was in his office, too, and when we left my father was alive!”
The guards share a look, a silent nod passing between the two nearest me. They take out a second pair of wrist irons. “We’ll have to take you in as well, on suspicion of being an accomplice.”
“No.” The voice chills my blood, and the guards part to let Lord Downpike through to the front. His suit is artfully disheveled, a single plum-colored bruise standing in dark contrast on his forehead. “I will vouch for the girl. When Lord Ackerly attacked she was clearly under a heavy charm. She stood in the corner as though seeing nothing. No reason to let him take her down with him.”
Finn shakes his head, as cool as the marble beneath our feet. “You will not get away with this, Downpike.”
“With bringing you to justice? Of course I will. Officer, when you search his jacket you will find a series of confidential letters I wrote to Professor Miller answering his scholarly questions about the nature of our defenses against continental attacks. Lord Ackerly, you have finally been exposed for the Saxxone spy that you are. By queen and country, I will see you hanged.”
“No! It’s him, it’s always been him!” I point to Lord Downpike, who smiles with false pity.
“Lord Ackerly, please release your hold on this poor child’s emotions or we will be forced to lock her up as well.”
Finn puts a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. He’s calm, too calm, and I cannot handle it, my heart will not take it. “Tell them! Tell them it’s all lies, that Lord Downpike is behind everything! He must have killed my father after we left. They will find his . . .” I pause. The fingerprints. Finn took his gun out of the drawer. And he still has the letters in his jacket. “Please,” I whisper. “Let’s run.”
Finn tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers linger on my neck, then leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. “I cannot allow them to break the barrier on the house. If Downpike has enough help he can do it. Don’t leave. Don’t allow anyone in.”
He turns from me, and I grab his hand. “No! Finn, please!”
He whispers a word and taps his cane against the ground and I find myself fighting through the air as though it were a solid thing, unable to follow him.
He has rendered me powerless to help him, and I cannot forgive that.
Lord Downpike exhales softly when Finn crosses the line of the door and then smiles at me, his pale eyes flashing black. “Break his cane.”
A soldier takes it from Finn, snapping it across his knee. There’s a hollow, popping sound and all the soldiers wiggle their jaws to clear their ears. I fall forward onto my knees as I’m released. I expect to see a physical change in Finn, but if anything he stands taller, prouder. The soldiers cuff his wrists behind him, and he doesn’t turn around as they walk him away.
Lord Downpike hangs back, standing just outside the threshold of the door. I want to throw myself out, to run and take Finn back, but he blocks my way.
My voice trembles with rage. “The truth will come out. Besides, you need him alive.”
“For such a noble principle, truth is a fragile, malleable thing. As for needing him, you underestimate yourself in this equation.”
I laugh hollowly. “If you think I have any information you will be sorely disappointed. I can’t reveal something he never told me.”
“Then come with me and we’ll discover the truth together. If you’re as worthless as you claim, you can be finished with this whole game. I’ll let you run free, little rabbit. I can be merciful.”
I narrow my eyes, gripping the door handle. “When I destroy you—and I will destroy you—please believe I will offer no such mercy.” I slam the door in his face.
“Is there nothing your uncle can do? What about someone else? Surely among all the nobles there’s someone who can stand up and cut through the web of lies!” I throw the paper down on the table, the headline LORD ACKERLY: SAXXONE SPY AND MURDERER, CROWDS CALL FOR IMMEDIATE HANGING carving a hole in my chest from where it leers at me.
“I’m trying.” Eleanor’s voice is tight with strain. “Uncle will not get involved.”
“Have you had a letter back from him, then?” Ernest asks.
She bites her lip, raising her eyebrows. Then, with a cagey shrug, she says, “He has received my letter and that’s enough for me to know his mind. I have also tried Lord Haight and Sir Cartwright, but they won’t respond. The problem is that Lord Ackerly made no friends! He had many admirers and made no enemies, but no one knew what his agenda was. All he did was ask questions and encourage people to avoid any aggression toward the continental countries. So, given his parentage, when he is painted as a Hallin spy in such a full picture, everyone is inclined to believe Lord Downpike.”
I turn to Ernest, who is pacing in front of the library windows. “What about you? Can’t you do anything?”
“I have far fewer connections than Eleanor.”
“But you’re a lord, nephew and heir to an earl. You could go directly to the queen, appeal on a higher level than we can.”
He grimaces, no doubt weighing what it would cost his future. “I can try to get an appointment, but I’m not sure it will do any good.”
“We have to at least try.” I cradle my face in my hands. “It has been three days, and all we have to show for it is mounting false evidence against Finn.” I stand and scream, sweeping my arm across a stack of books on a table and knocking them to the floor. “Curse him, what was he thinking? That we would sit in this house, safe and isolated, until he dangles from the end of a rope?”
“Jessamin,” Eleanor says.
“Spirits below, he is an arrogant fool, and I will not stand by while he nobly accepts a fate he does not deserve! I think he saw this all as a solution. If he dies, Lord Downpike cannot get the Hallin magic. If Finn even had it to begin with! I hate—I hate—”
Eleanor pulls me into a hug, and I cry into her shoulder. We’re interrupted by an urgent knocking sound.
“What is that?” I ask, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe my face.
“Knocking.”
I roll my eyes and smile at her. “Yes, obviously. But from where?”
I go into the hall, listening at the doors until I come to the door that opens onto the park near Eleanor’s house, the one Ernest comes and goes through. We knew Ernest was safe because Finn had allowed him in before—plus, we desperately needed someone to bring us food and supplies.
But Ernest is already here. A cold chill sweeps through me. I hesitate. Finn said not to leave and not to let anyone else in. But I can open a door at the very least.
I am greeted by a dark and cloudy afternoon. I don’t know whom I expected on the porch, but it was not Kelen. He stands, hunched, looking nervously over his shoulder, hand still raised to continue his urgent knocking.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He turns to me, and his face is covered with the same cuts and slashes I saw on Ma’ati’s when she was attacked by the birds. “Jessa?”
“Oh, Kelen! What happened?” What a stupid question. I know what happened. And I know why. I should never have spoken with him at the symphony. Will Lord Downpike leave no connection unharmed? I’m so glad Mama is far outside his grasp.
“There was a man. He stopped me on the street and asked me to deliver a letter to you. I said I hadn’t seen you and didn’t know where you lived now. Then I asked how he knew that I knew you, because it seemed strange.” A birdsong drifts past us on the bitter breeze, and he flinches, looking back over his shoulder. “He told me you had business. I didn’t like the looks of him so I told him where he could get off, and then a great flock of demon birds swooped down out of nowhere, pecking and scratching and—then they were gone, and he handed me the letter and told me to deliver it myself or he would know.” He holds out a thin envelope, crinkled in the corner where his fingers are clenched around it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “So very sorry. I never thought . . .”
“Can I come in?” he asks, and I recognize the wild look in his eyes of someone on the verge of losing their composure. It is the same look I carry with me all the time since Finn was taken.
“Of course you can—” I stop, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. “No. I can’t explain why. I want nothing more than to have you in and clean you up, but this is not my home, and I can’t let you past the door. If you’ll wait right here, I’ll bring a cloth and a basin of water.”
“What are you involved in, Jessa?” His eyes with their almond corners narrow in concern. “You should have let me get you out.”
“Please wait. I’ll be right back, I promise.” I run to the washroom and fill a basin with water, then grab several hand towels. When I come back out he’s sitting on the porch, arms around his knees and eyes trained on the sky.
“Here.” I set the basin on the porch step next to him, along with the towels. Only my hand crosses the threshold.
He frowns and then holds out the letter again. I take it, sick to my stomach but oddly hopeful. Perhaps Lord Downpike has given up. Perhaps he realized that Finn hanging accomplishes nothing.
Perhaps I have been declared queen of Albion. It is just as likely.
I break the seal and pull out a single sheet filled with elegant writing. A card drops down, but I do not pick it up. The fate card, once again decorated with the gleaming yellow-eyed bird. This time, the bird has its beak open wide around the letters, swallowing them whole.
Kelen cleans his wounds, muttering about killing the man if he ever sees him again, while I read the contents of the letter.
Little Rabbit,
Lord Ackerly will go to his grave without giving me what I want, but I suspect you will be more accommodating. Please do not bother protesting that you do not have the information. Let us not pretend you are anything other than clever. I say this not to flatter you, but because many lives depend upon it.
It took two years of waiting for your Finn to have a weakness, but you bring all the tender compassion of a woman to the bargaining table.
I have recently had disturbing reports of violent rebellious rumblings on the island of Melei. Whole stacks of reports, written and sealed by the ministry of defense. I can think of no option but to brutally smash this rebellion and all associated with it. I fear no one will escape unscathed by the demands of restoring order.
The letter commanding the occupying soldiers to show no mercy in burning the village at the epicenter—I believe it is the same village you are from—will be posted tomorrow.
Unless you deliver to me what I need: a book of Hallin magic. You do have a flair for returning books to me. I hope for the sake of those poor, primitive colony rats that you do not fail.
As a friendly gesture, I may even be inclined to find evidence clearing your Finn’s name. Make me happy, little rabbit. Many lives depend upon it.
Tender regards,
L. D.
“No,” I whisper.
“What’s wrong? You look as though someone has died. Oh, no, someone has, haven’t they?”