Our spies on this side of the water have continued investigating the conspiracy you and I communicated about last fall. Evidence suggests there’s still dissent brewing among some colonials. What makes them more dangerous is that they’re now receiving aid from the Lorandians in the form of supplies, both smuggled from the continent and stolen locally. Guns and rations can turn grumblers and whiners into a serious army. Lorandy has always eyed our territory; we can’t let this situation give them a foothold.

   Cutting off the rebels’ resources is now our main objective. It will set back any other treasonous plans, and then we can chase those down as well. The attached list contains the names of individuals who are in positions capable of aiding the conspiracy, men with power or critical jobs. We also believe there is a Lorandian nobleman at work in the colonies who’s directly giving a substantial amount of gold to the traitors. Tracing that money will help find them.

   Your protégé can fill you in on the rest of the mission’s details, as well as a unique opportunity. He’s also in possession of the Adorian McGraw branch’s annual stipend. This matter is of such urgency that His Majesty is offering an additional five-hundred-gold reward if the conspiracy can be stamped out by autumn. You may distribute that bonus as you like, either among your agents or perhaps to move your office out of a tailor’s shop.

   Sincerely yours,

   Sir Ronald Aspen

   I had to steady my trembling hands as I read the letter again. The McGraw Agency! It was almost like something from the heroic stories I loved to read. Everyone knew about the McGraw Agency in Osfro, but few people knew anyone in the agency. They worked in law enforcement but not in the way the soldiers or watches did. Their cases were bigger. Osfrid’s elite hired them to investigate private matters. And the crown hired them for matters of national security. Some agents worked openly while conducting investigations and gathering intelligence. But others worked in secret, without anyone knowing their identities. Shadowmen, I’d once heard them called. That was where their mystique came from—that and alleged stories of death-defying heroics.

   A rattling of the cabin’s door handle jerked me from my daydreams and brought me to my feet. I offered a prayer to any number of angels—six or twelve—that Cedric would walk through. He didn’t.

   Grant moved faster than I could’ve imagined. He slammed the door and closed the distance between us in moments. In one swift motion, he grabbed hold of me and pushed me against the wall.

   “What are you doing in here?” he demanded. “Who sent you?”

   His hands gripped my wrists tightly, and his face was inches from mine. But even after a year of disuse, all of the old defense lessons tumbled back into my brain.

   Avoid a fight if you can, my father would say. And if you can’t, then you put everything you’ve got into it. And then Lonzo: Don’t let their size fool you. The bigger they are, the easier of a target.

   I kneed Grant in the leg, not enough to make him fall, but it surprised him so much that he eased up his hold. I yanked my arms free, swiped at his face with my nails, and then, when he took a step back, I followed through with an upward jab to the side of his neck. Heads are hard, little sister. Go for the stomach. Go for the neck.

   Grant made a startled choking sound, and I sprang away, heading for the door. I made it halfway across the cabin before he tackled me from behind. I landed stomach first, the fall knocking the wind out of me. He threw himself onto my back, pinning me in place with his greater weight.

   “Let me go!” I yelled, trying to crane my neck and look up at him.

   “Hush, I don’t want to hurt you!”

   “You slammed me against the wall!”

   “I restrained you so I could find out why you’re robbing me! Who sent you?”

   “No one sent me! I was trying to find out why you were stalking my best friend.”

   That gave him pause, but he didn’t let up on me. “Stalking her?”

   “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

   Another pause. “We need to talk. If I let you go, are you going to run? Or claw up what’s left of my face?”

   “What are my alternatives? Enjoying your pleasant company?”

   “I want you to explain yourself. If you aren’t here to rob me, why are you here?”

   “I’m the one who has to explain myself?” I struggled, hoping I could maybe get in an elbow jab. No luck.

   “Fine. We’ll both explain. And I mean it, I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t hurt you. I’ll swear it by your favorite angel.”

   Blood pounded through me, battle rage squashing my fear. “I’ll stay if I can stand by the door.”

   “Fair enough.”

   He stood up, and I scrambled to the door, putting one hand on its knob. He held up his palms and backed up to the cabin’s other side. I really had scratched up his face. His rugged good looks were now very rugged.

   The polite, pleasant façade he showed in public was gone. Even the sardonic persona from the deck had vanished. Someone sharp and deadly now stood before me. “So. Let’s talk. Why are—” He did a double take, suddenly noticing now that the trunk’s false bottom was out. “How did you open that?”

   I held up the lock pick kit from a pocket in my dress’s skirt. “With your assistance.”

   His incredulity grew. “I was an idiot to give you that! Next time I try to help someone, I’ll have to remember to ask if she’s a spy first.”

   “I’m not a spy.” I slipped the picks back into the pocket where I kept my knife and wrapped my hand around the hilt.

   Grant pointed at the open journal, its words plain to see. “Then how did you know to do that?”

   “My father taught me. He was . . .”

   “Don’t tell me. A spy?”