Partway through the hall, I passed a darkened doorway, and a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. I stared in shock as Grant gestured for me to come inside. I followed him, too stunned to protest.

   He shut the door, and we retreated to the far side of the room, to a corner that held what I could barely discern as a piano. I set the cup on top of it. Only a little of the rum had sloshed out. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

   “Getting ready to meet Barton Scarborough and some of the others after the party. I’m pretty sure he’s using the heretic patrols as a cover to deliver messages and contraband. He sends them out pretty far sometimes.”

   “Well, then what are you doing in here? The party’s not over, and I doubt he told you to come inside.” Very faint light edged the curtained windows, a combination of moonlight and outside lanterns. That and a little brightness peeking under the main door gave the room its only illumination. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Grant lean against the piano.

   “I was looking for you. I needed to tell you something.”

   My heart nearly stopped. Despite all the mental arguments I had with myself about why I was better off without him, despite all the excitement of the pirates . . . I was suddenly filled with hope and anticipation. An explanation at last.

   “Silas pulled strings over at the customs office,” Grant began, completely knocking my hopes down. But before I could feel too frustrated, he continued, “And we found your Lonzo Borges. Sort of.”

   I gaped. “What? How?”

   “His bond was resold to another broker when he arrived, and they all headed south to look for work. That was all we knew, but at least there was a paper trail. You got lucky. That doesn’t usually happen. When I found out one of our agents was going to be in that area last week, I had him make a few inquiries. He just got back today.”

   “And?”

   “An engineering firm bought Borges’s bond, and there was confirmation he’s currently draining swamps outside Williamston. Our man didn’t get a chance to go to him in person, but he’s headed back tomorrow for another visit. If you get a letter to me by noon, I could have him deliver it.”

   The world swam around me. Lonzo. Was it possible? Had I gotten this lucky so quickly? Williamston was a coastal city at the southernmost part of Osfrid’s Adorian holdings. There were no official colony lines drawn there yet, but the territory was firmly in Osfrid’s grip. Though rich in resources, most of that region was swampy and rugged. Few wanted to fight for it.

   Lonzo is alive.

   I wrapped my arms around myself. “I . . . I didn’t even know you were looking for him.”

   “I said I would.”

   “Thank you. Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

   “I’m glad. I was hoping I could do something, seeing as you’ve been hating me for the last week.” I tried to picture the expression on his face as he said that. More sardonic than contrite, I suspected.

   “I haven’t been hating—” I stopped. “Well. Not all the time.”

   “I deserved it.” And just like that, he actually did sound apologetic. “Hopefully we can just let this go and move on to what’s important.”

   The subtext that I was not important promptly killed any credit he might have gained for that flash of earnestness. “Let it go? Like you let me go?”

   He groaned. “Mirabel . . .”

   “I realize I did something wrong, and I’m sorry about that, but you could at least—”

   “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me, not you.”

   “Don’t dodge this by brushing me off. Obviously, I played some part! I know you’re touchy about your past, but if I’d had any idea how much asking about it would kill your interest—”

   “Damn it,” he interrupted again. “Why is everything such a battle? It wasn’t that you asked! It was the way you looked when you—” I recognized one of those rare moments when he got so worked up, he slipped and revealed more than he intended. He caught himself now. “Look, just let it—”

   The door slowly creaked open, spilling light into the front part of the room. The darkness still obscured us, but Grant took my hand and we crawled under the piano. We crammed ourselves into the corner behind it—no easy feat in my full dress—and went perfectly still. He didn’t let go of me.

   Two men entered the room, shutting the door behind them. One lit a small candle, and Grant and I shrank back even farther.

   “I got a message from White,” the man who’d come in first said. “He wants to know where the shipment is. I’d like to know too. The accounts don’t match.”

   “Everything’s fine,” said the other. “Sandler got delayed, but he’ll bring it to my place just before dawn. The militia stumbled onto their job, so they wanted to lay low a while. I’ll take them to Burleigh the day after tomorrow.”

   “Well, make a count before you go. I don’t want to find out they’re skimming too.”

   “Thieves stealing from thieves, eh?” asked the first man. He gave a harsh laugh. “I’ll take care of it. You just make sure the money’s ready.”

   “I will. Hey, do you smell rum?”

   “I wish. I hate that pretentious port they’re serving.”

   One of them snuffed the candle, and they returned to the party. Grant and I stayed put for a few more minutes until we were certain they wouldn’t come back. We let go of each other’s hands, and I had to unkink my fingers after how tightly we’d been gripping each other.

   “That was Abraham Miller,” I murmured. Even alone now, I still felt the need for secrecy. “I don’t know the other. I’ve never heard anyone talk like him.”

   “That’s a North Joyce accent. I’ll have to find out who was on the guest list. That was definitely conspiracy talk. If I can identify him, maybe we’ll figure out who Sandler is. That’s a new player. Now I’ve got to hurry to get this to Silas and still be back to meet the patrol.”