We leaned together as he unrolled the papers. He looked up at me as we touched, his gaze furtively searching my face before he quickly looked back down.
“We’ve got a lot of evidence implicating Warren Doyle, including one of the confessions. But this letter’s in Lorandian, and I didn’t have time to find a translator.” He flipped through the pages, and I saw familiar names—the ones Abraham Miller had misspelled. This writer had corrected Skarbrow to Scarborough, Madisin to Madison, and Cortmansh to Courtemanche. Grant settled on the last page and pointed. “Here. What’s this say about Warren Doyle?”
The letter was actually in Lorandian—not Balanquan disguised as Lorandian—and I was able to parse the paragraphs after a bit of puzzling. “It says Warren will be sending his next shipment of gold in late summer when . . .” I paused. “I think that’s ‘settlers.’ Yes, when his settlers have paid their taxes. He’ll deliver the promised . . . eh, cut of them to a Lorandian messenger. Or proportion of them. Something like that.”
Grant slapped the paper and stalked away in triumph. “That’s it! That’s it, Mirabel. Exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Embezzling from his own colony. The last piece in the cage that’s about to slam down on Warren Doyle. We’ve got him.”
Excitement burned in me, along with some well-deserved fury for Warren. He’d made my friends suffer, but now, as a confirmed traitor, he’d be the one paying. “Is he the big financial backer?”
Grant’s victorious air wavered a little. “No. He’s a backer. Looks like Courtemanche is the one with deep pockets, but we probably won’t get him. Word’s already been getting around about the ring unraveling, and a bunch have fled. Wish I knew which Balanquan helped him decipher that code. It’s not Aiana or me, so there must—”
Sudden shouts drew us both to the window. Below, people gathered in excited clusters and started hurrying down the street. Grant pushed the glass open a little, and we could better hear what had everyone so worked up.
“They’re going to hang the heretic!”
“Hurry, or we won’t get a spot!”
“Damn it,” Grant said, backing up with a scowl. “I knew they’d have a verdict early, but I thought there’d be time for Silas to bring all the evidence beforehand. Don’t worry—there’s no way they’ll carry out the sentence so soon.”
“They will! You saw those people. And I heard yesterday that Governor Doyle intended to act right away.” I clutched his hand. “Grant, we have to—”
“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry. We can still do something. It takes time to set up a proper gallows. I’m sorry,” he added, seeing me flinch. “But it’s not too late. I’ll get Silas so he can go to the courthouse. He’s got enough clout with the governor to delay things.”
“Why isn’t he there already?”
“He escorted some of the arrested traitors to the fort. He didn’t want them in the city’s jail with all the other madness going on.”
“Why delay? Can’t you just go straight to the governor?” A flash of guilt on his face answered me. “You don’t want to expose your cover.”
“We’ve got the time,” he insisted. “You have to know I wouldn’t let someone innocent die for my own gain. And this’ll have more impact coming from Silas anyway. No, wait.”
He put his hand on my arm as I moved toward the door, and I shrugged away from him. “They want to hang Cedric! I have to be there for Adelaide.”
“You will be. But first, I need you to go to Silas’s.” Grant fished a key from his pocket. “The Balanquan letter and all the other documents are there. If the verdict’s in, we’ll save time if Silas and I can go straight to the courthouse and you meet us there with the evidence.”
“But I have to stop them if you can’t!” I wanted to scream in frustration. “Grant—”
“Mirabel. Brave, beautiful Mirabel.” He took my hands and kissed my forehead. “I know you want to lash out at the monsters of the world, but this isn’t the time for swords and heroics. Information is real power, remember? These pages are how we stop Doyle.”
I swallowed back my rage, knowing he was right. Cedric’s and Warren’s fates were mired in legal intricacies. Words, not weapons, were what we needed. I tried not to think of Adelaide, alone, fearing the man she loved was about to be executed . . .
“I’ll go, but Grant, you can’t let them hang Cedric! You can’t. He doesn’t deserve it . . . and it’ll destroy her! Whatever happens with Warren, just don’t let Cedric die. Not after everything we’ve all been through.” I squeezed his hands and met his eyes without blinking. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll save him. You have to.”
Grant leaned close and brushed a kiss against my lips. “Mirabel, I will do everything in my power to make sure he stays alive. I promise. He’ll get out of this. We all will.”
I let out a long breath. “Then let’s finish this.”
We split off in opposite directions outside, with only one last look as a goodbye. I’d just barely gotten him back after a long week of worry, and now we were parting again. I don’t like you, Grant. I love you.
I moved toward Silas’s at a brisk pace, my heart ready to burst. A momentary panic seized me when I stepped into his office and saw that messy desk, but the papers I needed were stacked neatly and prominently on top. My translated letter was first, followed by a map and an array of documents that Grant must have been gathering over the last week. Some were coded and marked up with translations. Others bore the acrid smell of reagents. He really had been busy.
And then it was back to the streets of Cape Triumph. Snatches of conversation about heretics and hangings reached me as I hurried past, and I hoped Grant was right about having enough time. Otherwise, this would all—
“Miss Viana?”
I came to a halt and turned around at the unexpected sound of Rupert Chambers’s voice. He strolled forward, leaning on his cane, and gave me one of his gentle smiles. Beside him, two servants and a very subdued Cornelius carried bundles and crates.
“Mister Chambers. I didn’t expect to run into you here. It’s a delight, as always.”
He bobbed his head. “Likewise. And it’s lucky. I’d been hoping to catch a word with you.”
I shifted from foot to foot. The papers itched in my hands. “I’d like that very much, but I really can’t spare the time right now.”
“I understand. But before you go, I want to see Cornelius apologize to you.” Rupert’s features hardened as he glared at his son.
Cornelius seemed to shrink in upon himself. “I-I’m very sorry for all the pressure I’ve put on you recently.”
His father gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s the best you can do? Well, nonetheless, I’m sorry too, my dear.”
Despite my impatience, curiosity held me a moment. “For . . . what?”
“For you getting caught up in this scheme of his and Lavinia’s. They’ve been burning through my money to support her ridiculous lifestyle and wanted to send me off with a distracting new bride so that they’d be able to manage the assets here. Since I still legally control everything, I’ve put an end to this, and Cornelius is being very accommodating about returning some of their garish nonsense. Mostly because he’s afraid I’ll cut him out of the will.” Rupert sighed again. “Most of it can’t be returned because he bought it on the black market, so now we have to sell it. The wretches he bought it from don’t want it back. They’re only dealing in gold.”
“Well, there’s been no harm done, so . . .” My words trailed off as I saw the cloth slip off from Cornelius’s burden. Silvery black stone shone in the early sunlight. “That’s a Balanquan sculpture.”
Cornelius turned hopeful. “You want to buy it off us?”
“No. Where’d you get it?” But of course I already knew.
“I don’t know exactly where it comes from. I mean, it’s the same person I buy from, but I always deal with h
is go-between. He’s always turning up rare and beautiful things. Those of us in the know are always ready to jump at anything he gets. His goods are pricey—but almost impossible to get anywhere else.”
“Don’t talk about him like he’s an art connoisseur,” scolded Rupert. “He’s just some common thief.”
It was another unexpected twist in the weird world that was my life lately. But it was a twist to be marveled at some other day. “I wish you the best of luck in rectifying everything, but I have to go.” I began backing away, hoping the message was clear.
“Oh, we’ll fix it all,” said Rupert. “And I’m not broke yet. Which is why, when you do have time, we’ll talk about paying off your contract. Not for marriage. We’ve always known I’m too old for you. It’s just something I’d like to do as a gift and an apology—”
I stopped walking again, but not because of those extraordinary, impossible words. It was a series of shouts and screams that froze me up. People were running toward us, the opposite direction they’d headed earlier for the hanging. It’s over, I thought frantically. I should’ve run to Silas’s. I should’ve ignored Rupert’s greeting. The execution is over. Cedric is dead.
But no. This wasn’t an enthusiastic crowd. They weren’t high off the drama of watching a heretic die. These people were afraid. They were fleeing for their lives.
“There’s an Icori army coming! They’re invading the city!”
CHAPTER 33
THE ICORI?
That wasn’t possible. Not in Denham. The Icori still shared uneasy borders with the outer colonies, but they’d been pushed out of this region for some time. The treaties created with Denham and its neighboring colonies had held peacefully. And anyway, how could an Icori army have made it all the way to Cape Triumph without anyone noticing until now?
Improbable or not, the panic ramping up around us was very real. Without another word to the Chambers men, I took off at a run, moving against the flow of the frantic crowd. It gave me an eerie flashback to Sirminica, when I’d seen the same kind of hysteria seize mobs who became obsessed only with their own self-preservation. I fought my way through the crush of bodies, often getting shoved and bumped. At one point, I stumbled into a man who helped keep me from falling. He and a few others were running in the same direction as I was. “Where are the Icori?” I called, keeping pace with them.
One glanced over at me. “Over by the northwest highway.”
The northwest highway. After the entrance by the fort, that highway was the next most common way into the city. It was also near the courthouse. Near my friends.
I took note of my companions’ guns and knives. “Do you have an extra weapon?”
“Don’t be foolish, girl,” one barked back.
I split off from them when we reached Aiana’s block and nearly tripped over my skirts while sprinting up the stairs to her loft. Inside, I grabbed the crossbow from its spot on the wall and wavered on whether to burn time searching for weapons I felt more comfortable with. No. Better to go into a fight with this than to miss the fight altogether.
And I was ready for a fight, ready to do whatever it took to protect my friends. Whether it was Warren Doyle’s machinations or an invading army, I would face it. As I returned toward the door, I noticed a small leather bag with a long strap. I snatched it up too and hung it over me, across my chest. It gave me a place to store the precious papers while leaving my hands free for the crossbow.
Out in the street, a few others had rallied and taken up arms to face the Icori. I joined a small group and charged forward, determination obliterating all traces of my sleepless night. But when the courthouse finally came into view, that fierce resolve faltered, and I staggered to a halt. Those beside me did too.
The scene before us looked more like some elaborate theatrical production than real life. The gallows sat atop a high platform that allowed for a good view, except the audience was no longer made of Denham residents. They’d fled. Instead, a mass of riders filled the space. Icori riders.
I’d never actually seen Icori before, outside of sketches in Osfridian books. They all wore cloaks and wraps of brightly patterned plaid and stripes, a custom they’d maintained long after being driven out of Osfrid and over the sea two hundred years ago. All that color made it difficult to gauge numbers, as did the fact that most of them had blond and red hair. Maybe forty or fifty? From where I was standing, I couldn’t get an accurate view.
But I could see their weapons clearly and sense the tension crackling through them and the danger they presented, even though they made no threatening moves. No one attacked them either, but really, who could? Part of Cape Triumph’s regiment had recently been called to the outer borders, and the fort held only a skeleton regiment. The present militia were outnumbered, and a few looked ready to bolt.
Only one thing could draw my attention from this strange spectacle. Cedric, Adelaide, and a lawyer they knew stood at the end of the gallows platform. Warren Doyle did as well, and he had a gun pointed at my friends. Governor Doyle stood farther down from them and seemed to be in conversation with the Icori. He either didn’t notice or care about his son’s actions just then. Maybe he thought he had bigger problems.
He probably did, but my sights were on Adelaide, Cedric, and that gun. Warren had a desperate, almost crazed look on his face, and I wanted to run right up there and do something, anything, to stop him. Too many people blocked my way, and I didn’t know what Warren would do if he suddenly felt threatened.
“You’ve had no wrongs done to you,” the governor was saying. “We’ve all agreed to the treaties. We’ve all obeyed them. You have your land, we have ours.”
A deep male voice responded from the Icori, somewhere near the front. His Osfridian was good, even with the heavy brogue that still lingered in the far reaches of Osfrid. “Soldiers are moving into our land and attacking our villages—soldiers from the place you call Lorandy,” he said. “And your own people are aiding them and letting them cross your territories.”
“Impossible!” the governor exclaimed. “Lorandians moving into your lands means they would flank ours. No man among us would allow such a thing.”
“Your own son would.”
For one moment, my world froze. That response came from a woman. And I would’ve recognized her voice anywhere.
I pushed forward through a wall of petrified bystanders and tried to get a better vantage. It was Tamsin, it had to be, but she was too obscured for me to see. A handful of militiamen had hunkered down behind an overturned wagon, and I scrambled to its top, ignoring their protest.
“Your son and other traitors are working with the Lorandians to stir up discord and draw Osfrid’s army out of the central colonies—so that Hadisen and others can rebel against the crown,” Tamsin continued.
Tamsin. Alive and well. With the Icori.
“It’s a lie, Father!” Warren turned to the governor, moving the gun away from my friends. “There’s no telling what they’ve brainwashed this girl into believing. What proof does she have for this absurdity?”
“The proof of being thrown off a boat in the middle of a storm when I discovered your plans,” Tamsin shot back.
“Lies! This girl is delusional!” Warren swung the gun uncertainly toward the audience and then back toward Adelaide and Cedric.
I knew that kind of panic could make a man rash and unpredictable. I stood up and prepped a bolt in the crossbow, uncertain if I could make the shot. Even though I was in range, Warren made a small target from this distance and wasn’t standing still. My hands shook. I’d only had half a dozen lessons with Aiana.
Suddenly, a man jumped onto the platform’s stairs and made his way to the gallows. He came to a stop by Adelaide and Cedric, but his focus was on Governor Doyle. I could feel those piercing eyes even from this far away.
Grant.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said. H
e wasn’t the wry Grant or the tender Grant, not even the eager Grant chasing clues. This was Grant at his fiercest, hard-edged and unwavering in a volatile situation. “There are stacks of correspondence. Witnesses who’ll testify.”
Warren stared at Grant with wide eyes. “Elliott? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I think you know.” Grant’s attention shifted to Warren. “About Courtemanche. About the heretic couriers.”
Warren also knew his situation was deteriorating. It was written in his face and body language. After a quick threat assessment, he turned the gun on Grant. I aimed the crossbow but wasn’t fast enough. Adelaide hurled herself at Grant just as Warren fired. Her save knocked her and Grant out of the bullet’s path, but Warren’s gun was one that held two shots. He immediately aimed at her.
I didn’t even think as I pulled back and released. The bolt sprang from the crossbow with a thwack, and I momentarily lost sight of it as it sped through the air. A second later, I saw it again. Sticking out of Warren’s leg.
He shrieked and collapsed, and Grant was on him in seconds. Confusion and terror doubled in the crowd. Heads turned, trying to figure out what had just happened. More people ran. The Icori looked a little confused at seeing their dramatic confrontation upstaged. Adelaide’s eyes scanned the area and rested on me. Her face filled with shock, and then slowly, she began to smile.
I jumped down and wound my way past the lingering militia. Moments later, I was up the platform stairs and in Adelaide’s arms. Cedric, smiling, watched us from nearby, and I pulled him into the hug.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” I said. I couldn’t keep the emotion in. Tears pricked my eyes. “Both of you. You’re safe now.”
At those words, Cedric and Adelaide turned. Farther down the platform, a flabbergasted Governor Doyle stood with Grant. Warren lay between them, tied up. “Who are you? Why do you think you have any right to seize my son?”
“Because we have a mountain of evidence indicting him for treason. We’ve been collecting it for months.”
Midnight Jewel Page 38