Chapter Twelve
Leather on my cheek, breath on my skin, and I open my eyes.
Roze looks down at me, his hands holding my face, his expression almost panicked.
He pulls back immediately, like I might bite, and sweeps his hand over his hair.
“Fuck the Saints, Sinclair.” He takes a deep breath, watching me with wary eyes. “You weren’t breathing.”
I lift myself gingerly into a sitting position.
“What happened? Did you have a vision?”
I close my eyes, the image of the boy’s bloody face flashing in my mind, the feeling of his cold hand around my heart …
I can’t tell him.
He would hate me if he knew the truth.
“No.”
“It’s all right,” he says, smoothing his hair back again. But I can tell it isn’t. We’re not making any progress, and it’s bothering him as much as it is me.
While he stares at the floor, I watch him, studying that tattoo on his neck—the one that matches the tattoo Ed has on his wrist. This organization he and his friends are a part of …
whatever they do that’s so dangerous, whatever his father did as a student as well …
There has to be something there. I can imagine a dozen reasons certain nobles might want a ruler like Alexandre dead if he didn’t support the war.
Maybe they even blame him for the Mists.
I’m on the verge of discovery. I can feel it—I just need to learn more about this, even if Roze wants me to stay away. If he won’t be cooperative … Well, I’ll find a way around that.
“I think I need to lie down,” I say, making my voice sound weak.
Roze looks back at me, examining my face. “Right. Of course.” Though I can tell he’s disappointed. He wants to keep trying to solve his father’s murder. We’re both feeling the constraints of time, which will be further cut short this evening with the fete.
“Let me take you back to your room,” he says, getting to his feet and offering me a hand.
If Roze won’t talk, I’ll go to someone who will, and I know just where to find him.
Bosc House is far more ostentatious than Berlaise. Its common room is decked in green-and-black banners celebrating the accolades of its former members. High-back chairs are arranged around long tables as though its students are expected to always study with straight backs and perfect posture.
I find Ed flouting these expectations with one leg propped on a table and the other crooked over the arm of his chair. His nose is deep in a book titled Economy and Society: The Necessity of the Noble Class. I wrinkle my nose at the book, resisting the urge to gag.
“Hello,” I say, falling into a seat beside him.
He jumps. “Saints.” He takes a moment to register me and pulls his expression into a charming grin. “Princess, what a surprise. Where’s His Surliness?”
I wave dismissively. “Prince duties. But I had some free time, and I thought I’d come find you.”
“Oh?” he says. “Roze leaves you alone for a few minutes, and you’re already pining for my company? I have to warn you, I don’t recommend betraying someone like Roze. Not that I can blame you.”
I roll my eyes. “Merciless flirt.”
“Always,” he says with a grin. “But really, what brings you here?” He sets his book aside.
“Well …” I’m winging this conversation. I think the best way to get information from Ed, who seems far more loose-lipped than Roze, will be to act as though I already have it. “Roze told me a bit about your … organization, and I’m fascinated. I’d really love to hear more.”
He chuckles casually, but I can see a note of apprehension in his eyes. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, for example, if I wanted to join, how would I do that?”
He keeps the smile on his face, but his eyes flicker away from mine before answering. “We’ve never had a female member, I’m afraid.”
My own pleasant expression turns sour. “How very enlightened of you.”
“Don’t think I’m sexist, love. It’s not me who wants the females out—it’s tradition. If you ask me, it’s high time it changed.”
“Wonderful to hear,” I reply flatly. “So what would I need to do?”
Ed looks taken aback. “Well—I— You’d have to be sure you want to dedicate yourself to it. It’s a lifelong commitment, and not one to be taken lightly.” He eyes me carefully. “How much has Roze told you?”
“Enough.”
He makes a noncommittal grunt in his throat.
Maybe this is going to be harder than I thought. “Listen, Roze and I are working on something really important, and I think you and your friends, whoever you are, could help.”
“Help how?”
I offer him a version of the information I have, sanitized of magic, the thorn tattoo, and the Queen’s call for my head on a proverbial platter. We need to know about the King’s death, and the King’s death is linked to this secret society that Roze and Ed are a part of.
“You and Roze are investigating the King’s death? Damn, you’re as devious as he is.” Ed taps his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “We don’t talk about this, Princess.”
“I understand.”
He shakes his head. “No, you don’t. What we do—” He sighs and leans in close. “If a word of this were to get out … You have to swear to me on your life that you will take this secret to the grave.”
Ice fills my veins, but I nod. It’s entirely disconcerting to see someone normally as cheerful and foolish as Ed be this sober about something.
His jaw tightens. “We’re called the Grimmstone Society. We collect and guard knowledge—histories, lore, old science, artifacts—the sort of stuff certain people don’t want lying around. And that guardianship is more essential, and frankly, more dangerous, than you can imagine.”
My heart flutters as my mind flies immediately to the Book of Odds. I’m practically salivating at the prospect. This is exactly the sort of information that someone would kill for, and if King Alexandre was at the center of it, that’s certainly a motive for killing him.
“What sort of knowledge?”
“That’s as specific as I’m going to get with someone on the outside, as much as I like you, Princess.”
I bite my lip. “Are there books in ancient Aragoise?”
Ed stares at me, saying nothing. But the silence is enough confirmation for me—of course there are books in ancient Aragoise. “Are there books with Hivernian runes?” I whisper.
The slightest twitch of his lip makes my breath hitch.
“You know how good I am with translation. I can help.”
“No one except members get access.”
“So let me join!”
Ed works his jaw for a moment, considering. “Roze would never approve.”
As if I need Roze’s approval for everything. “Let me deal with Roze.”
“You don’t want to cross him. Besides the fact that he’s head of the Grimmstones, he’s dead scary.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” I say, realizing that it’s at least partly true.
Sometime in the past few days, my fear of Roze has dissipated.
“Think of all that I might be able to do if I just knew what information the Grimmstones had, what secrets you yourselves don’t even know you possess, just because you don’t have a good translator.
” I smile at him. Ed is loyal to Roze, but I’m guessing there’s something stronger than his loyalty to (and slight fear of) him—his desire to help him.
“I’m not crossing him. He wants to find out who or what killed his father, and access to the Grimmstones’ knowledge is what I need to help him do that. ”
Ed frowns. “He’s terrified of something happening to you.
I was serious when I said joining the Grimmstone Society is a lifelong commitment.
It’s also a lifelong target on your back.
After the war, the Crown had all information on certain subjects—Castelle, magic—removed from public access.
The Grimmstones saved as much of it as they could, hid it away where only we could find it.
If anyone were to learn who we are and what we’ve done, every last one of us would hang.
The Grimmstones guard that knowledge with our lives.
I’m risking all our lives by even telling you that much.
” He rotates his shoulders and looks away from me.
“After school, it only becomes more dangerous to be one of us. Vandenberghe Grimmstones are the guardians of that sacred knowledge. But alumni are the hunters of it. They find secrets, and they hide them so that they never fall into the wrong hands.”
My breath shallows. “What sort of secrets?”
“Any sort,” he says, turning back to me, his eyes stony. “Political, historical, scientific—you name it. We guard knowledge until the time is right for the world to know it. Sometimes it never is.”
I stare down at my hands in my lap. Is this why Roze was so secretive? It didn’t make sense to me before, to avoid danger when death already looms over my head. But this is different. If I live through the next four days, would I want to live the rest of my life hunted, the way I am now?
My heart pounds against my ribs as I look up into Ed’s eyes. They’re so dark, so grim, that I know I’m already in this too deep. This life of danger, of secrets—these boys will live with an axe upon their necks the rest of their lives.
But that knowledge, that mission … even with the threat of death, it’s like a beacon calling to me. And after two days of study and investigation, I know this is the only way forward, the only way to find out what Alexandre was a part of, what he knew.
“Please, Ed,” I say. “I understand the risks. I want to do this. Let me help you. Let me help Roze.”
Ed sighs and looks down at his shoes. “Damn it.” His eyes swing up to mine. “Promise me you’ll keep Roze from killing me for involving you in this.”
I smile, feeling devious indeed.
One doesn’t grow up in the caverns without picking up a few handy tricks—pickpocketing, how to evade the royal guard, and most usefully today, lockpicking.
Ed will help me pledge myself to the Grimmstone Society at their meeting tonight, disguised so that Roze won’t realize it’s me until it’s too late.
In the meantime, there are still hours before the fete, so I’ve decided to search for the professor again.
I wouldn’t normally consider breaking into Professor Borges’s office, but she’s still not responding to knocks on her door, and time is slipping through my fingers.
The lock gives way after some persuading from a hairpin, and I inch the door open.
The room is dark. Misty gray windows near the ceiling provide barely enough light to see by.
There’s been no sign of the professor, but perhaps there’s some indication of where she’s gone in her office.
I’m far past caring about the invasion of privacy as I slink into the room.
I need to find out where she’s gone now.
A strange collection of skulls watch overhead as I approach the professor’s desk.
She’s always kept it in a constant state of chaos—stacks of papers, books, and copies of ancient manuscripts strewn about.
Many of them contain Hivernian runes, ones that she and I have struggled to decipher together.
I shuffle through them but don’t see any of the runes embossed on the cover of the book she gave me.
I open her drawers one by one, not even sure what I’m looking for, pulled along by a hunch more than anything.
I move a scroll of parchment aside, and my hand freezes.
Beneath my fingertips is a long, metal object like a stake.
It’s an odd thing to keep in a drawer, but no more peculiar than anything else in her office.
What has my breath freezing in my lungs is not the object, but a small shape carved into it—a spiraled dragon closely resembling the one on the cover of the book.
“Funny, I remember leaving you in your room.”
I jump and slam the drawer shut. Roze is standing casually in the doorframe, so silent I didn’t even hear him approach. How does he do that?
“I’m—I’m feeling better,” I stutter.
He glares darkly. “Didn’t I warn you not to go wandering off alone? Or did you just forget that the Queen wants you dead?”
I clench my jaw. “We made a deal with her. And I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t want to waste time when I could be investigating.” I eye him suspiciously. “How did you know I’d be here? Have you been following me?”
He snorts. “No. Should I be?”
I ignore that. “Then how did you find me?”
“I didn’t. I’m here for the same reason I assume you are. I was looking for Professor Borges to question her about the book.”
I’m annoyed by how much sense that makes. “Well, she isn’t here.”
“Obviously.” We stare each other down for a long moment before he sighs and turns back toward the hall. “Come on, Sinclair. I’ll chaperone you back to Berlaise, since you clearly can’t be trusted. It’s time to get ready for the party.”