Sarah Prindle froze. Her mouth formed a perfect O before she cried, “Winnow? I’m glad you’re back! We weren’t expecting you home so soon!”
We? Iris thought with a shock down her spine, but she seamlessly hurried forward to take the packages from Sarah’s arms. They were heavy and warm—a fragrant dinner—and Iris set them on the kitchen table beside the typewriter before turning back around to hang up Sarah’s rain-dappled coat.
“Do you know when Forest will be home?” Iris tentatively asked, feeling uncertain of things, like she was a stranger in her own home.
Sarah picked up the fallen baguette before she removed her foggy glasses, wiping them on the edge of her skirt. “Should be home any minute. Usually he arrives before me, and—” She cut herself off with an awkward grimace. “I’m sorry, I know this must seem terribly odd.”
“It’s okay, Prindle,” Iris said. “Truly. I take it you and my brother are an item now?”
Sarah flushed scarlet. “No! I mean to say … maybe. If he asked me. But no. I honestly didn’t expect any of this to happen.”
The kettle began to whistle from the kitchen.
“Why don’t you sit and we can share a pot of tea,” Iris said, striding to shut off the cooker. “And you can tell me what happened while I was gone?”
Sarah nodded, but she went pale, like she was worried about what Iris might think. Iris, honestly, also wasn’t quite sure what she thought. But she was eager to hear what Sarah had to say as she carried over the tea tray, sitting down across from her.
“Erm,” Sarah began, wringing her fingers. “I’m sorry to catch you by surprise like this, Winnow.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Iris rushed to say. “Truly. I’m simply … surprised, but only because my brother has been very guarded and closed off since returning from the war front.”
“I know,” Sarah said with a sigh. “But it all began when I came by one evening to see if he had an update about you. When I knocked on the door, I assumed no one was home, because it seemed very quiet and empty. But then he opened the door and he just seemed … so sad. I realized he had been sitting alone in the dark.”
Iris felt a lump well in her throat. It killed her to imagine Forest like that, and guilt flooded her chest as if she had breathed in water. I shouldn’t have left him, she thought, but then realized if she had stayed home, Hawk Shire would have fallen. She wouldn’t have ever received Roman’s message about the assault, and Keegan and the last of Enva’s forces would have been pulverized.
Quietly, Iris poured the tea. She and Sarah added their cream and honey, and only then did Sarah clear her throat and continue.
“Forest didn’t really want to talk to me. And he said that he didn’t have any word from you yet. I decided I wouldn’t bother your brother again. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about him sitting alone in the dark, knowing he had been to war and back. I … well, I decided to take him dinner the next evening, to see again if he had an update on you. He thought you had set me up to do it, because he said, You can tell Iris I’m fine. But then he invited me inside—I think he felt a bit bad, for being so gruff—and we had dinner together. And I thought, Well, this will be it. But he said I could come by the next evening for an update about you, and that this time he would have dinner. To repay me, of course.”
Sarah glanced up to meet Iris’s gaze, her cheeks rosy.
“And that’s how it began. I find it easy to talk with him. Mainly because he is such a good listener, but he remembers everything I say and no one has ever really done that before.”
Iris couldn’t help but smile. She was about to express how thankful she was for Sarah when gunfire popped in the distance.
“What was that?” she demanded, rising from the table.
“It’s probably just a warning shot,” Sarah said, but her shoulders were hunched close to her ears.
“A warning shot?” Iris echoed, incredulous. “Shot by whom?”
“The Graveyard.”
“And who is that?”
“A guard for the city,” Sarah explained, but her voice was almost a whisper, as if the walls could hear.
“Is this the chancellor’s doing?”
“People say it is, but I honestly think that it’s not. To me? It looks the chancellor is losing control over the city. The Graveyard claims allegiance to no god, and they instated a curfew, without the chancellor’s approval. Only they can roam the streets at night as they hunt for Enva.”
Iris’s mind reeled with this new information. She had no idea something of this caliber had unfolded, and she wondered what else had changed while she had been away. And then it struck her: of course, Chancellor Verlice would keep Enva’s army at bay if the city was truly being commandeered by another militant group. If he had allowed Keegan and the troops to enter, then there would have been armed conflict and potential bloodshed.
“Who are these people?” Iris asked. “And why are they firing warning shots?”
“Not many of us know who they truly are,” Sarah said. “They keep their identities hidden. By day, they could be anyone. But by night, they patrol the streets with masks and rifles, and they fire warning shots when they find someone breaking curfew. They claim their watch is to keep us safe, but I think it’s about power.”
Masks and rifles.
Iris shuddered as those words evoked a memory. The night the girls had broken into the museum, and Iris had been dangling from the rope. Four people with masks had walked beneath her; she had thought another heist was about to unfold. She then remembered all the painted words on buildings—gods belong in their graves—and Iris realized this unrest had been brewing for some time.
She walked to the window, where darkness seeped through the curtains. Parting the drapes a sliver, Iris gazed out at the rain-smeared dusk. Not half a minute later, the front door blew open. It was Forest, drenched and panting, but his face was turned to the light. To the table, where Sarah stood.
“You’re here,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I heard a gunshot. I was worried…”
Iris stood frozen by the window. Relief softened her breath, to see that her brother was safely home. But it was eclipsed by the cold revelation that she was on the outside. A moon that had spun loose from its orbit.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Sarah said, hands pressed to her chest. “And so is your sister.”
Forest paused. But he must have sensed Iris’s gaze, or maybe he heard her wavering breaths. He spun and saw her, still positioned by the window.
“Hi,” Iris whispered.
Forest gaped at her, his shock tangible as the rain. But then he crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.
Iris couldn’t understand why she wanted to weep until she felt the joy radiating from her brother, warm as a furnace on the coldest night. It almost felt like the old days, long before the war. He had those he loved dearest safe and close. And what Iris would give to feel the same.
They ate dinner together at the table, and Iris noticed how Forest looked at Sarah.
It was soft and frequent and very attentive.
It reminded Iris of how Roman had once looked at her, and she felt both happy and sad. A strange, bittersweet medley that brought tears to her eyes.
She blinked them away, but her thoughts then quickly gathered to the war again, and the distance that now stretched between her and Roman. The danger he was in.
When Forest carried the dishes to the sink, Iris held Sarah back, speaking to her in a low tone.
“Do you remember what you told me about the person who delivers Roman’s articles to the Gazette?”
Sarah’s eyes widened. She glanced at Forest, whose back was turned to them as he scrubbed the dishes.
“Yes. But why do you ask?”
Iris leaned closer. “When does he come next to the office? And what time?”
“He’ll be arriving at nine sharp tomorrow morning,” Sarah replied. “You’re not thinking to confront him, are you? Please don’t! There’s something about him that feels very sinister.”
Iris shook her head. “No, he won’t see me. But do you think you could give me a signal?”
“A signal?”
“Yes.” Iris noticed the blue handkerchief knotted at Sarah’s neck. “Could you hold your handkerchief to the window as soon as he leaves the office tomorrow morning? So I can see it from the street below and know when he’s about to exit the building.”
“Yes, I can do that,” said Sarah. She pulled a loose thread from her cardigan. “But what do you intend to do?”
Iris chewed on her lip. Forest must have sensed their conspiratorial whispering, and he glanced over his shoulder, granting them an arched-brow look.
Iris only smiled at her brother until he returned his focus on the dishes. But she whispered to Sarah, “I need to find a magical door.”
At ten till nine the following morning, Iris found herself waiting in the shadow of the building she had once worked in, cutting her journalistic teeth on obituaries, classifieds, and advertisements. The place she had first met Roman. The Oath Gazette was on the fifth floor, and she knew the exact line of windows to watch.
She kept her attention on the shine of the glass now, waiting for Sarah’s signal. The street before her was busy, cars and wagons and pedestrians flowing from one place to the next.
It was a place where one could strangely feel both lonely and satisfied, surrounded by people who might acknowledge you or might not. By people who didn’t know your name or where you had come from but all the same shared the same air—the same moment in time—with you.
The clock struck nine.
Two minutes ticked by, two minutes that felt like years. But then Iris saw it. Sarah pressed her handkerchief to the windows.
Dacre’s man had just left the Gazette.
Iris shifted her gaze to the glass doors of the building, which were tall and trimmed in brass, a constant glimmer as people entered and exited. It would have been easy to miss someone slipping out amongst the activity, but Iris knew how slow the lift in that building was, and she intuitively knew when he should be departing.
She spotted him, a lithe figure in a cloak, the hood drawn up.
He descended the marble steps with ease, heading northwest.
Iris began to trail him.
She kept a safe distance, but a few times she was worried she would lose track of him in the crowd, and she drew as close as she dared. She paused when he did, her heart quickening in dread, but he was only stopping to purchase two papers from a newsboy. The Gazette and the Tribune.
He continued on his way with a brisk pace. Iris followed.
Eventually, he wound deeper into the northern ridge of the city, over the river to what was known as “the Crown.” This was the wealthier side of Oath, and Iris wasn’t familiar with these streets. She pulled her trench coat tighter around her, shivering when it began to mist.
At last, he arrived at a large iron gate, its finials shining with bronze pearls. It opened for him before shutting once more, latching with a metallic rattle.
Iris hung back to make it seem like she was casually walking by. But she paused long enough to take in the long cobbled drive beyond the gate. It led up to a grand estate on a verdant hill with a manicured yard, veiled by swirling mist.
Iris froze, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets.
Her eyes cut to the gate again, to the brick pillars. There was a name carved in a smooth piece of stone, eye level on the right column. A name that made her breath catch.
THE KITT ESTATE.
