Page 50 of A Steeping of Blood
She folded up her map and notes. These she would keep with her, tucking them into her satchel, but she couldn’t tote the ledger around too.
She wrapped the book in a swath of cloth, then in the weatherproof sleeve Arthie had made her store it in, and with a wince, Flick began digging into the dirt, moss, and loam and deteriorating twigs clinging to her fingers and finding a home beneath her nails—a sight she’d never seen, or felt for that matter, before. She grimaced. She tucked the ledger into the dirt and covered it back up again, patting the soil tight and layering as much of the salvaged moss back over it.
Dusting off her hands, Flick hurried from the grove to White Roaring Square, almost forgetting her predicament and the need to keep her head low until she dunked her hands into the fountain and scrubbed away the dirt.There. That was better.
“Penny for a paper, miss?” called a newsboy as she crossed the street. Even the newsboys were different since that night. Jittery and skittish. They jumped at every carriage that turned their way, fearful they were next to be kidnapped. Eyes that were once eager for coin now darted for danger.
Flick shook her head at him, heart in her throat as she rushed for cover when a group of Horned Guard turned their way. She didn’t want to read another newspaper flaunting the Ram’s plans to protect Ettenians from the ever-growing dangers around them. The members of the press who were on Arthie’s side, the ones who were truly interested in the truth, were dead. Now the printers ran for the highest bidder, and there was no question who that bidder was.
What are you planning, Mother?
The sketches burned bright in Flick’s mind, along with Arthie’s disapproval, but Flick would be careful. Shehadto be careful when she had both the Horned Guard and the Ram’s private black-clad army to worry about. She hailed a cab to shield herself from prying eyes and watchful guards. The timid driver ushered her inside, and Flick was only happy to oblige as the crowds shouted and stomped their feet not far from them.
With the curtains closed and her hands fisted in her lap, Flick struggled to breathe as the cab trundled through the street, wishing she could silence the mayhem out there. How could her mother let this continue?
The salt of the sea was barely a lick in the air as the carriage took Flick closer and closer to the palace. She didn’t have to glance out the window to know where they were as they passed the Athereum and the ruckus surrounding its walls rang loud.
Eventually, the streets turned quiet as they left the thick of the capital and only the clip of the horses’ hooves echoed as they passed over the bridge and the river whispered down below. After a few more turns, the carriage came to a halt.
The cab driver opened the door. He looked concerned. “Here, miss?”
Flick peered out at the empty road. The palace loomed in the distance, the Horned Guard headquarters not far to its left. It was past business hours, and there were no people here. His horses snorted in the quiet. The sun was inching below the horizon, and only a few gaslights had been lit.
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” she said.
With another look to see if she was going to meet someone, perhaps, the cab driver nodded, climbed back on and drove away.
The skies were clear here, free from the roiling gray of the smokestacks, the air fresher. The last of the sunlight glinted off the palace up ahead, washing the beige stone in gold. Flick kept to the shadows as she turned up the street. The houses here were towering, sprawling with turrets and large windows, with frills and gilded lines beautifying them further. Each had a sign posted out front—they were offices, she realized, each one standing on a meticulously trimmed, vast lawn.
She drew her coat tighter around her and glanced at her map again. She hadn’t wanted the cab driver to take her too close to the location. It was near the palace, and there was every possibility that it was guarded and protected; she didn’t need clomping horses to give her away.
Goodness, am I really doing this?
Voices rose in the quiet, and Flick froze. They were heading toward her. She ducked her head and tiptoed backwards until she was tucked beneath the cover of a skeletal rosebush. Horned Guard. A squad of them—were they headed in the same direction as Flick? Or back to their headquarters?
Instead of turning left, toward the place her mother had drawn in her ledger, they kept going forward, in the direction of the palace. Of course. The Horned Guard wouldn’t be privy to a secret location described in the Ram’s ledger. It was her mother’s black-clad men whohad chased Flick, the black-clad men who had stormed the Athereum meeting hall and murdered the reporters that night. They worked for the Ram alone—a private group of mercenaries for hire, if Flick were to guess—and while the Horned Guard worked for the Ram too, they did so because they worked for the good of Ettenia first.
When the guards disappeared, she ventured out of the shadows and hurried across the street, slowing her footsteps as she neared the bend where the place would be. A house? A storeroom? A warehouse? Flick didn’t know, and the anticipation had her heart in her throat. She wasn’t far from the palace now either. The sun had disappeared, the quiet deepening as she rushed onward. Why were the locations so close together? It was just beyond the brick wall up ahead. She held her breath and stepped past it, her footsteps light on the leaf-littered cobblestones, and froze.
Nothing.
There was nothing.
That couldn’t be. Flick glanced back down at her map, then at her sketches. This was where it should have been. The building, the house,whateverthe place her mother had drawn. Instead, all that stood before her was a sea of trimmed and manicured grass. Up ahead, the palace wall rose, threatening in the darkness. She could hear the chatter of Horned Guards patrolling its perimeter.
No, she was missing something. She had studied the ledger, she had scoured its pages for hours,days, and then studied her notes after. The truth was here.Somethinghad to be here, or her mother wouldn’t have drawn it to begin with.
That was when she heard it: footsteps. Behind her.
Always trust your instincts, Jin’s voice echoed in her head from days ago, and with an overwhelming sense of calm, Flick knew it wasn’t the Horned Guard or a lady and lord out for a stroll.
Don’t let them know when you know,Jin had also said.Always keep your composure.
Flick resisted the urge to reach for her satchel. The ledger wasn’t there, she reminded herself. It was safe. She couldn’t call out to the guards. By the time they got to her, she’d be dead. She exhaled slowly, moving her hand as casually as she could to her pocket, where her brass knuckles sat. The weight in her pocket was a semblance of comfort. As if Jin was beside her, his umbrella rapping along their path, punctuating his every bold statement.
But he wasn’t.
She pulled her hat off her head, suddenly warm, and sucked in a breath as black-clad figures converged from her surroundings. The Ram’s men. And this time, Flick didn’t think she was getting away.
