Page 27 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

The skies were clear here, free from the roiling gray of the smokestacks, the air fresher.

The last of the sunlight glinted off the palace up ahead, washing the beige stone in gold.

Flick kept to the shadows as she turned up the street.

The houses here were towering, sprawling with turrets and large windows, with frills and gilded lines beautifying them further.

Each had a sign posted out front—they were offices, she realized, each one standing on a meticulously trimmed, vast lawn.

She drew her coat tighter around her and glanced at her map again. She hadn’t wanted the cab driver to take her too close to the location. It was near the palace, and there was every possibility that it was guarded and protected; she didn’t need clomping horses to give her away.

Goodness, am I really doing this?

Voices rose in the quiet, and Flick froze. They were heading toward her. She ducked her head and tiptoed backwards until she was tucked beneath the cover of a skeletal rosebush. Horned Guard. A squad of them—were they headed in the same direction as Flick? Or back to their headquarters?

Instead of turning left, toward the place her mother had drawn in her ledger, they kept going forward, in the direction of the palace.

Of course. The Horned Guard wouldn’t be privy to a secret location described in the Ram’s ledger.

It was her mother’s black-clad men who had chased Flick, the black-clad men who had stormed the Athereum meeting hall and murdered the reporters that night.

They worked for the Ram alone—a private group of mercenaries for hire, if Flick were to guess—and while the Horned Guard worked for the Ram too, they did so because they worked for the good of Ettenia first.

When the guards disappeared, she ventured out of the shadows and hurried across the street, slowing her footsteps as she neared the bend where the place would be.

A house? A storeroom? A warehouse? Flick didn’t know, and the anticipation had her heart in her throat.

She wasn’t far from the palace now either.

The sun had disappeared, the quiet deepening as she rushed onward.

Why were the locations so close together?

It was just beyond the brick wall up ahead.

She held her breath and stepped past it, her footsteps light on the leaf-littered cobblestones, and froze.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

That couldn’t be. Flick glanced back down at her map, then at her sketches.

This was where it should have been. The building, the house, whatever the place her mother had drawn.

Instead, all that stood before her was a sea of trimmed and manicured grass.

Up ahead, the palace wall rose, threatening in the darkness.

She could hear the chatter of Horned Guards patrolling its perimeter.

No, she was missing something. She had studied the ledger, she had scoured its pages for hours, days , and then studied her notes after. The truth was here. Something had to be here, or her mother wouldn’t have drawn it to begin with.

That was when she heard it: footsteps. Behind her.

Always trust your instincts , Jin’s voice echoed in her head from days ago, and with an overwhelming sense of calm, Flick knew it wasn’t the Horned Guard or a lady and lord out for a stroll.

Don’t let them know when you know, Jin had also said. Always keep your composure.

Flick resisted the urge to reach for her satchel.

The ledger wasn’t there, she reminded herself.

It was safe. She couldn’t call out to the guards.

By the time they got to her, she’d be dead.

She exhaled slowly, moving her hand as casually as she could to her pocket, where her brass knuckles sat.

The weight in her pocket was a semblance of comfort.

As if Jin was beside her, his umbrella rapping along their path, punctuating his every bold statement.

But he wasn’t.

She pulled her hat off her head, suddenly warm, and sucked in a breath as black-clad figures converged from her surroundings. The Ram’s men. And this time, Flick didn’t think she was getting away.

Her breath clouded in the air. She didn’t know how many there were, only that her vision was starting to blur.

She tried to feel a sense of pride for hiding the ledger away.

For doing as a Casimir would. Fight, love.

Her fist tightened around the brass knuckles, but what good would it do?

She could give one of them a bloody lip or a bloody nose, only to get her weapon ripped away.

No, if she was going to be taken away, she was going to remain armed.

Flick straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “What do you want with me?”

Did they know who she was? Was she going to be snatched away like the other unsuspecting humans who had disappeared over the past week and been taken who knows where? Or were they here for the ledger?

“The ledger, and you can go free,” one of the men said.

There was her answer.

Flick didn’t believe them one bit.

Good girl , Jin said in her head.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The men looked among themselves, and the one closest to her mimicked her shrug. “Is that right?”

Flick swallowed the fear rising up her throat, refusing to give in even as he strode closer. She took a step back, only to bump into another man behind her. She tried to duck away, then attempted to make a run for it.

But they held her fast, their gloved hands rough and unyielding.

And pulled a sack over her head.

No, no, no. She needed to find out what the tribute would truly be about. She needed to forge invites. She needed to meet Willard in the morning, to keep the ruse of the missing ship going for as long as she could. For Jin’s sake. For Arthie’s sake. For Matteo.

“We’ll jog your memory, worry not,” the same man promised.

The cloth was rough and musty, pulling her hair tight against her head and over her brow.

Flick suddenly imagined others being apprehended the same way, girls like her, boys, women, men.

Kidnapped for her mother to stoke false fear into the hearts of her people, and then possibly killed after.

It was getting harder to breathe. To stay awake.

Flick was prodded forward, half dragged. She had the sense they were leading her away from here, but not far enough that they had to hail a carriage. What would Arthie do in this moment? Thank them for saving her the time, really.

Flick couldn’t say the words, but she tried her best to feel them.