Chapter 15
Despite her late night, Una found herself drawn to the garden at first light the next morning.
Her heart was still singing at the discovery of cocoa being safe, and at the anticipation of discovering more foods she could enjoy.
And the fact that the discovery was delivered by the deepest pair of brown eyes, flecked with Lameran gold, had nothing to do with the lightness in her step.
Una laughed at herself. It had everything to do with it, and she knew it.
She knelt at the back of the garden with her sleeves rolled up past her elbow, her hands deep in the dry, clay-caked dirt. The vegetables grew better when the dirt was loose, so she had taken to breaking up the stiff clumps that formed during the hottest days of summer.
But she kept looking down at her arms in disbelief. They were clear. Beautifully, calmly, un-itchingly, unbelievably clear. The cocoa was truly safe.
She gently dug around the scraggly root of the costmary. The dirt was dry as far down as she could reach. These plants needed water before the sun peeked over the hedge.
As she stood to fetch a bucket, she caught herself humming. A wandering, contented melody that she was making up as she went. She stopped, almost embarrassed, and then—because no one was there to see—let herself start again.
There was that new lightness she had noticed, bubbling over. And she did not want to stop it.
A familiar ruffle of wings sounded above her, and she turned, smiling before she had even found him.
Sable sat on the low branch of the apple tree, head cocked, watching her with one glassy black eye. But he was not waiting at the food nook. He had landed on the branch that was nearest to her, deeper in the garden where she now was. She smiled at that, he was trusting her more and more.
"Good morning," she said softly. "I've nothing for you yet, I didn't stop in the bakehouse on my way here. But I can go find you some crusts."
The crow hopped along the branch, moving away from her toward the bench. He was carrying something in his beak. A small, pale, folded square. He bobbed his head, sidled closer, and—with a deliberateness that stopped her breath—dropped it onto the seat of the wrought-iron bench.
Then he looked at her, tilting his head to the side in that endearing way of his. Waiting.
Una's hand rose to her mouth. Had he brought her a gift?
In all these weeks, Sable had only ever taken from her, he had never once brought anything back.
Moving slowly, Una abandoned her quest for water and stepped toward the bench, eager to see what Sable had deemed the right gift for her.
Sable did not startle as she sat on the edge of the bench. He watched her, bobbing his head as though quite proud of himself as he waited for her to receive his offering.
She lifted the folded paper. It was soft and weathered, and the creases where it had been folded were tearing.
A broken disc of shimmering gold wax was still affixed to the flap.
It had been stamped with the familiar royal wheat seal.
That was probably what his little bird eyes had been attracted to, the shiny golden wax.
"You clever bird," Una said, looking back at the pleased crow. "Thank you."
He had probably stolen it from some windowsill in the palace. And she should probably return it to its rightful owner, though she desperately wanted to keep it. It was the first gift from her crow friend, but hopefully there would be many more.
She unfolded the letter to see whom it belonged to.
Her father's hand looked back at her from the page.
She knew it instantly. She had grown up tracing those letters, falling asleep beside notebooks filled with them, learning to read off the margins of his recipes before she could properly read at all.
The long, leaning L. The way he closed his a with a small flourish—a flourish that she now copied in her writing.
Renaud Lavelle's hand. The hand that wrote the names of the masters into the back of the codex.
Headmaster Pavard,
It is my honor to present to you for consideration in the newest class of flouriers, a highly skilled young man from Kanask, Matthias Fischer.
I have watched his hand these last few years throughout my travels.
His technique is exquisite, a little rough to be sure, but ready to be refined under your tutelage.
He keeps a meticulous notebook as every good apprentice should, and he has the makings of a master.
I give you my wholehearted recommendation for his sponsorship.
And below, the great looping signature she had watched her father set to a hundred documents. But the signature was repeated several times below the note itself, as though her father was practicing writing his own name, the way a child might.
For one breathless moment the world tilted, because it was impossible—her father had never been to Kanask, had never laid eyes on Matthias before presentation day. Perhaps he had, as he often visited the academy, but surely he had never known Matthias before he had entered the academy.
Then, her stomach twisted as she realized what she was holding.
Her father had not written this letter.
Someone had counterfeited him. Someone had sat alone with a borrowed pen and copied the long leaning L and the little tipped-hat a until they were near enough to pass. And then they had carved or stolen the Lameran seal, and stamped it into sparkling wax to gain entry into the academy.
And now that she was looking—now that the first shock had cracked—she could see the places where the hand was wrong.
Where her father's careless speed had been replaced by a forger's careful patience.
Where the letters had been drawn rather than written.
A second hand, hiding inside her father's, holding the pen too tightly.
She studied that second hand more closely, not wanting to admit what she already knew. There was only one person at the palace who would have taken such lengths to get into the academy. And she had seen his hand, just last night, as he'd written carefully thought-out lists in his notebook.
"There you are." Matthias’ voice from across the garden startled her.
Una jumped up, instinct telling her to hide the letter as though she had done something wrong. At the same time, her racing, traitorous heart seemed to leap for joy at the small half-smile on Matthias’ face.
Just the sight of him made her happy.
In one hand, he held his notebook, and in the other he had a small bundle of cloth. Una recognized it as the cloth he had wrapped around the wheat bite last night. He had come to feed Sable, like he said he would.
Again, her traitorous heart pounded in her chest. The kindness of it was almost unbearable.
"Oh, good," he said as he crossed the garden. "Sable is here. I brought him something—Una?" He stopped short.
She held out the letter, pinching the corner of it between her fingertips as though she wanted to avoid touching it.