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 ha
s 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.