Page 47 of His Noble Ruin

Graham pointed to himself, then down at the opening in the platform. I opened my mouth to argue, but I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“I’ll take this crime to the Academy!” the poet called.

“Meet me outside,” Graham whispered in my ringing ear. Then he cautiously took hold of the ladder and went down.

There was a brief delay, then the sound of his feet landing on the lower platform.

“Sir Brennin?” The man’s smooth rhythm fell away, leaving his voice tinged with nervousness.

“Please, Laureate,” said Graham. I imagined him bowing, though I couldn’t see him. “I humbly apologize for the disturbance. I simply needed a quiet, peaceful place, and your church provided me that.”

“Oh!” said the Laureate. “Forgive me, sir!” He cleared his throat and regained his composure. “You are most welcome here at any time.”

I rolled my eyes. No other citizen would get off that easily. The Poet Laureate must have been too polite to ask if Graham was alone, or maybe he just hadn’t thought of a way to put it into poetic phrasing. But he had to wonder why the heir was laughing at the top of a tower.

“Thank you. I’d love to see more of your chapel if you wouldn’t mind giving me a tour.”

“I would be very much obliged, good sir.”

Their footsteps triggered metallic vibrations through the iron staircase, and the door to the chapel clicked shut as they left. This was my cue. Graham would have to keep him occupied long enough for me to sneak out. I wouldn’t get away with trespassing like he had.

I climbed to the ground and pulled open the chapel door in time to see Graham disappear through a curtained alcove. The robed Laureate followed after him, gesturing dramatically with his wide sleeves and bowing his tasseled hat.

The chapel was empty. I crept past the pews to the front doors, taking a deep breath before pulling them open and stepping into the busy street. I leaned against the stone exterior of the church, waiting for Graham to come out.

Maybe I’d finally get him out of this city.

I noticed a little too late that the street was filled with too many black and white uniforms. Enforcers seemed to peer from each corner and scrutinize every citizen. I held my bag behind me. As I watched the church doors with rising anxiety, an Enforcer looked my way, staring me straight in the face.

Shifting along the chapel wall, I rounded the corner of the building. I slid into the alleyway, preparing to run, when two Enforcers closed off the opposite end. I shot back the way I’d come, only to find myself face to face with the first Enforcer who’d spotted me.

I swore under my breath and kept my face neutral.

“Hand over your bag,” said the tall bearded man in front of me. He put his hand on the pistol in his belt.

I reached for my bag, but I doubted I could get past all three of them. Even if I did, they’d send more Enforcers after me.

“Your little knife won’t help you this time,” said a nasal voice behind me.

ChapterSeventeen

A familiar andvery short Enforcer walked into view.

My spirits sank so low at the sight of him that I lost the enthusiasm to respond with the insult on the tip of my tongue.

The Enforcers ripped the bag from my shoulder, but not before I grabbed a knife. I held it to my side, hidden under my wrist.

They opened the bag and took out my remaining weapons.

“Three knives,” said the bearded Enforcer. He dug through the bag again but came up empty-handed. “And no rank card.”

I tightened my grip on the knife in my hand, ready to use it if they came even one step closer.

“Well, well.” The tall man looked me up and down. “It seems the old librarian sent us after the right girl.”

I clenched my jaw. Mrs. Whitting was my new least favorite person.

“She’s definitely our suspect,” said the short Enforcer.

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