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Edmund’s gaze flicked over her face, studying her. “Female reporters do have a tough time of it. It would not be so odd that you would come begging to the Sentinel for a job. But…” Edmund shook his head. “You are a princess of a foreign kingdom. You don’t have any legal jurisdiction to join the investigation. Any evidence you obtained wouldn’t be admissible in an Escarlish court.”

“Oh.” She had not thought of that. She had gotten so caught up in all of this that she had forgotten that pesky detail. It was one thing to investigate with Edmund. It was another to have a go of it on her own.

“But it was a good idea.” Edmund grinned and held out his arm to her again. “We’ll make a spy out of you yet.”

That should not have warmed her all the way to her still frozen toes. After this little jaunt in Escarland, she would finally pick an elf lord, marry him in a ceremony that was all pomp to hide the fact that there was no love, settle down with him in some estate deep within Tarenhiel, and never set foot anywhere near Escarland ever again. If she ever came to Escarland, it would be as an official ambassador who would never walk these grimy back streets.

Why did that future feel so…empty? It would not be as bleak as it seemed now. Surely she could simply choose to love whatever elf lord she picked and choose to fall out of love with Edmund. It would be fine.

Then why did her heart ache so much? Why did she feel far more alive now while wearing rags and smelling like a sewer than she had while dressed in silk in Ellonahshinel trying to pick her husband?

Chapter Eighteen

Edmund held his breath as Essie strode down the gangplank from the steamboat, the elven princess Jalissa behind her. Would Jalissa recognize him? Would she put everything together?

He smoothed a hand over his face, checking that the gritty feel of the cosmetics was gone. When he touched his ear, he felt only his human-shaped ear, no remnants of the fake points remaining. He had been rushed, rowing across the Hydalla during the night, getting cleaned up, catching the royal train at the nearest coal and water stop, then arriving at the outpost at dawn as if he had been in Aldon this entire time.

When Jalissa’s gaze focused on him, no spark flared in her eyes. Her gaze remained cold, her expression hard and official. The mask of a princess sent as an ambassador and facing a prince she had never met before.

If he played his role right and didn’t give away how familiar he was with elves and their customs, she would never realize that the loud Escarlish prince had been the shy, bookish elven servant she had once fallen for.

Still, he didn’t think he could resist flirting with her. Just a little harmless flirting. Nothing more.

Edmund hunched over his desk in the Intelligence Office, papers spread over his desk.

Something was seriously off with the Sentinel. But the proof was turning out to be elusive.

The Sentinel sprang out of nowhere two and a half years ago with seemingly endless monetary resources. Overnight, they had turned themselves into competitors with the more well-established newspapers.

Yet, the tax office had done several audits back then and found nothing they deemed suspicious. The money had come from an anonymous grant, but all the proper paperwork had been filed. Too bad the Sentinel didn’t have to disclose the source of the donation.

Edmund now had the tax reports from all the Escarlish nobility who had expressed dissatisfaction with the monarchy or the treaty with the elves over the past couple of years spread across his desk. Lord Bletchly’s finances—particularly well-documented thanks to the investigation after he was revealed to be a traitor—lay on top.

General Bloam halted by Edmund’s desk. “Any progress to report?”

Edmund tapped the paper in front of him. “I’ve found several small donations to the Sentinel in the tax records of many of these nobles, though there is no indication of who brokered the donations that were later consolidated to the large grant.”

“I’ll have it sent over to the tax office.” General Bloam made a note on the clipboard he carried. “They can send their people out for interviews and audits. It will be less suspicious coming from them.”

“The strange thing is that the donations don’t add up to the full amount.” Edmund grimaced and gestured at the piles of tax records. “I’ve gone over these multiple times, and every time I only get about half of the amount listed in the Sentinel’s file.”

“There’s another source of money not documented in these tax records.” General Bloam sighed and made another note. “Any thoughts on where to look?”

“The Sentinel is owned by a group of their editors. Could they have each chipped in their personal fortunes to cover the difference?” Edmund glanced past General Bloam to where agents analyzed the public records of the owners and employees of the Sentinel.

“Not that we can tell. None of them are from noble families. They moved here from various small towns all across the kingdom around three years ago.” General Bloam’s voice had a peculiar note to it. Though, as was his way, he did not spell it out for Edmund, waiting for him to put the pieces together to make sure their hunches lined up.

Edmund stared off into space, turning that information over in his mind. “It’s rather suspicious that a group of people from small towns so scattered that they couldn’t possibly know each other would decide to move to Aldon around the same time to start a business together.”

“Our thoughts exactly.” General Bloam scowled down at his clipboard. “It’s the kind of cover this office has set up too often not to recognize the tactics. We’re trying to contact clerks in the towns to get confirmation that these people were citizens there in the past, but I don’t hold out much hope.”

Edmund stared down at the files on his desk. It was a common ploy in the spy game, to claim to be from a small town where it would be difficult to check someone’s story unless an agent was physically sent there to question the local townsfolk. It obscured a spy simply popping into existence. “So who are they, really?”

“That’s what we need to find out, and fast.” General Bloam’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

They didn’t have enough information yet to start making educated guesses there. The tactics were those of spies, but were they foreign spies? If so, from where?

Or they could be Escarlish citizens who had gone underground like this for their own scheme. Perhaps anti-monarchists who were trying to undermine Averett. That was certainly the most likely scenario, given the stirrings of discontent last year. Perhaps they had even secretly been behind Lord Bletchly’s and Mark Hadley’s betrayal, encouraging them from the shadows while keeping their presence so secretive that they hadn’t been uncovered during the investigation.