Page 46 of His Noble Ruin

“Graham—”

He looked up at me with surprise and I realized I’d called him by his first name. I was about to apologize, but by the look on his face, he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned toward me, listening intently.

“Graham,” I repeated, “there’s a reason I’m telling you all this.”

“Why? What could I do about it?”

“You could speak to them.”

“To the outlaws?” Graham said, his tone flat. “How?”

“You’ve read my book. It tells you how to get there. How to sail. How to navigate. You have everything you need to get to them.”

His brows furrowed and he shook his head. “I couldn’tgoanywhere. It feels treasonous to even consider.”

“Why?”

“I have duties to fulfill. Countless expectations are resting on me—from my father, my mother, the citizens, my ancestors—”

“Your ancestors are dead,” I said. “But your citizens are very much alive. What higher duty do you have than to protect them?”

Graham stared hard at me. “How do you know all this? If it’s true, I’ll have to tell—”

“No!” I sat up straight. “If you tell anyone, the Academy will gather every Enforcer in Cambria and wipe out the outlaws without even giving them a chance. But if you go—if you offer them an alliance—you’ll save thousands of lives, you’ll gain the gratitude of the citizens, and you’ll have something your mother won’t.”

Graham pulled back, the shock clear on his face. “You think I should compete with my mother for the throne?”

“I think you should do what’s right.”

“I want to help. I truly do, but . . .” his voice trailed off into confused silence.

“Then do it.”

“You think it’s that simple? That I should just do what Iwant?”

I nodded firmly. “Yes.”

He looked out the window, his gaze landing on the distant wall. “Even if I went, why would they listen to me? If they hate my family so much, they’d kill me.”

“That’s why you won’t be alone.”

He turned back to me. “You—”

A deafening ring from the bell above our heads cut off his words.

I slammed my hands over my ears, but it hardly made a difference. Graham did the same, gritting his teeth with every peal. Finally, after an unbearably long time, the bell came to a stop.

“Why did it have to be twelve?” Graham’s voice came to me muffled and distorted.

“I should’ve waited an hour to rescue you.” I rubbed my ears and braced myself against the start of a splitting headache.

His laugh echoed in my ringing ears.

“What soul doth dare invade this solemn church?” a deep voice called from below.

I held a finger to my lips. Graham covered his mouth, stifling the laugh, but it was too late.

“Come down! Descend at once and show your face!” the man shouted. We’d been caught by the Poet Laureate at the head of this chapel, judging by his fondness for iambic pentameter.

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