Page 15

Chapter 12

Nora

“I have a question for you.” Nora handed August the second glass of champagne she had plucked up on their journey across the garden.

“Usually questions are my job.” August took the glass. He at least looked more presentable than he had in a rumpled shirt in the Bullhorn offices this morning. And once the sun set, people might not notice the tuxedo didn’t quite fit.

“How many cops are in the pockets of the Grims?”

The question had been preying on her all afternoon as she had crafted the charm to make her incandescent dress. As she worked, she pictured it over and over again in her mind: the police officer outside her grandmother’s house simply stepping aside for the man in the wolf mask.

And now another police officer was involved in faking her mother’s mugging.

Nora was not na?ve. She knew there were cops on the payroll of the city’s criminals. But unlike the Grims, those criminals had money. Which could only mean that if there were cops aiding Isengrim, they were in it for the cause, not the cash.

“If I was taking a guess?” August took a swig of his drink as they skirted the edges of the party. “Not nearly as many as those in your family’s pockets.”

Nora scoffed. “Holtzfall tax money pays police salaries, if that’s what you mean.”

As they walked, the charms attached to Nora’s shoes kept her high heels from puncturing the lawn. Lamps floated in thin air, dotted through the garden of the Holtzfall mansion. But here at the borders of the garden, the lights fought against the long shadows cast by the ancient woods.

August raised a shoulder in an infuriating shrug. “If you’ve already decided that the Grims are responsible for your mother’s death, why are you talking to me instead of…” He waved his glass at the general crowd. The same gaggle of wealthy people who had been around her whole life. All she’d done for sixteen years was talk to them.

“Because I want to prove they did it. And then I want to take Isengrim down. And his entire Grim operation.”

The Grims liked to blame the Holtzfalls for every tiny thing. If Isengrim got a splinter, there would probably be a soliloquy in the Bullhorn about how it was the Holtzfalls’ fault. How they didn’t pay the carpenter a decent wage to sand the wood down.

But more and more the Grims weren’t just talking; they were taking action. And the only thing, generation after generation, that had ever truly threatened the Holtzfalls was the lack of a successor. A dead Heiress had Isengrim written all over it.

“You work for the Bullhorn .”

“Well remembered.”

“Your paper obviously knows how to contact Isengrim. You publish those Letters to the People he sends in every week.” The letters were sloppily written, lie-riddled tirades that the Bullhorn had the gall to publish as news. Nora had never cared about them before, but a man who wrote letters was a man who could be found. Isengrim had eluded capture until now, but he hadn’t had Nora hunting him.

“He doesn’t exactly drop into the paper for coffee and cake,” August said. “As far as I know, those letters turn up on my editor’s desk, and he slaps them straight on the front of the paper.”

“That would explain why they’re riddled with spelling mistakes.”

“Let’s say Isengrim did order your mother’s murder,” August said, leaning back against a tree. “Why wouldn’t the Grims have taken credit by now? Why wouldn’t Isengrim have bragged in his letters that he’d struck a blow against the Holtzfalls?” They were close to the edge of the woods, and for a second, Nora thought she saw something behind him in the trees. Anticipation was building under Nora’s skin. Soon the sun would set, and when it was gone entirely, the trials would begin. She should be mingling, reminding everyone of who the once and future Heiress was. But for some reason, she couldn’t pull herself away from this conversation. And this irritating journalist with his irritating logic.

“The Grims playact at bravado. They know that if our attention turned fully toward them, we could end them.” Nora’s argument was rickety. The Grims had come for her in full daylight this morning. It had only been wine, but if they’d wanted to take a real shot at her, they could’ve. Which begged the question of why they hadn’t. It could have been a knife in her sternum, not just a bad vintage.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Who do you think it is if it’s not the Grims?”

August didn’t answer immediately, as if considering whether he could trust her with what he thought. Nora felt a spike of annoyance. “Then don’t tell me. I don’t actually care what you think.” She made as if to turn away, to fold herself back into the crowd.

“Lukas Schuld didn’t have your mother’s ring.” August’s words made her stop. She glanced over one shoulder at him. “I looked back over the police report.” August seemed serious for once. “When they arrested Lukas Schuld, they said he had your mother’s necklace and bracelet. That was the evidence against him. Now we know he never had those until the cops planted them to frame him. But there’s been no mention of the ring she was wearing in that picture.”

“You think the cop who framed him pocketed the ring? Why would he risk that?”

August let out a short laugh, then seemed to realize Nora wasn’t joking. “To sell it, obviously. Holtzfalls might pay cop salaries, but do you actually know how much a police officer makes in Walstad? Especially the ones in the lower circles.” Nora ought to know that answer. Once a week since she was ten years old, she had been meeting her grandmother in her office for a lesson on the heirship. She had seen valuations for every property they owned in the city. Pages of records for rents and debts owed to them. She might even have seen salaries at some point. But Nora’s mind was bright, not photographic. And it hadn’t mattered at the time.

“So you think the cop who framed Lukas Schuld skimmed a little to make ends meet.”

“I think that ring would more than make ends meet.” August shrugged. “I might not know how to get to Isengrim, but I do know where cops take stolen jewelry to fence it.”

Nora considered him. “So we find my mother’s ring, track it back to the cop who took it, and ask a few questions about why he’d stage a murder to look like a mugging.”

“What’s this ‘we’?” August asked. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

So. He was going to make her do this the hard way.

“Do I need a formal invitation to trawl pawnshops?” Nora pretended to adjust her diamond earring with a sigh. It was the easiest thing in the world for her to pull the stud out of her ear without August noticing.

“You’re conspicuous in the first circle,” August said. “What do you think you’ll be below the tenth?”

Nora bent down under the pretense of adjusting her shoe, the diamond earring in her hand. “I think I’ll be in disguise.”

“This isn’t a costume party.”

“No.” Nora’s voice gained an edge in spite of herself as she straightened again, the diamond earring gone from her hand. “It’s my mother’s murder. And I’m going to find the person responsible.” Nora’s game with journalists was a careful balancing act she had learned as soon as she could speak. She showed them what she wanted them to see and only that. Never her true feelings. Never real anger or sorrow or joy. And never how clever she was. But August had already seen more than she’d intended him to. And for once, Nora wanted someone to see how angry she was. “And then I am going to destroy them.”

The last time Nora had seen her mother, they had been crossing in their apartment on Silver Street like ships in the dusk. Verity coming back in from a meeting with Mercy. Nora headed out to…She couldn’t remember what now. She also couldn’t remember the last time her mother had stopped to tell her about her meetings with her grandmother. When Nora was younger, and her father was still alive, Nora would lie with her head on her mother’s lap while she combed fingers through her hair, listening to her talk about the things that she would do when she was head of the family. Schools she would build. Artists she would sponsor…But that day, Nora’s mother had kissed her and tried to push her hair out of her face, on the edge of saying something. And Nora had waved her off and vanished into the night.

“There are other people with something to gain from your mother’s death, you know,” August said, drawing her back to the present. To the party that was being thrown because her mother was dead. “People with the kind of money to bribe a police officer. People in your own family.”

The music of the party seemed distant from where they stood in the shadows at the edge of the woods.

He meant Aunt Patience or Uncle Prosper.

The thought would never have crossed Nora’s mind. But as soon as he said it, she understood. Aunt Patience and Uncle Prosper had lost their own trials to her mother. Lost their chance at ruling over all this. Verity’s death gave them another shot at what they had lost, through their children.

“You’re sure you want to accuse a Holtzfall of murder?” Nora felt the words, low and dangerous. There were certain people in her family she might not have the greatest affection for, but they were still her family.

“Are you sure Isengrim is guilty?” August shrugged calmly, taking another swig of champagne.

She had caught him on the back foot this morning, in the darkroom, looking disheveled and sleep-deprived. But he was standing his ground now. And though she hated to admit it, he did actually seem to know what he was talking about. He’d already started the work while she was off charming dresses made out of light.

This time, when she turned back to the crowd, it was to assess them.

Modesty. She roamed the party with her carefully trained smile and a waist-cinching green-and-gold dress, Aunt Patience hovering behind her like a shadow cast by her daughter’s light. She had proven herself in the trials to lack many virtues. But true to her name, Aunt Patience had been able to play the long game elsewhere. With Modesty’s career. With small investments of her Holtzfall allowance. Was it possible her aunt had been biding her time all these years, patiently waiting to snatch away her sister’s prize?

Clemency and Constance. They were dressed like a matched set in pale cream gowns, their gloved hands flitted through the air anxiously as they spoke. Uncle Prosper stood with them, his avarice on full display in the gold of his buttons and silk of his necktie.

Aunt Grace was the only Holtzfall with no stake in this race. No daughter to give her a second chance at what she had lost. She alone, in the heavy atmosphere of anticipation, looked bored. Aunt Grace had come close to winning her own trials. It had come down to Grace and Verity in the end.

Both had won passage into the woods.

Verity had come out with the ax.

And yet even on that fateful day seventeen years ago, Grace had seemed as happy in the photographs as Verity was. And as her favorite aunt’s gaze lazed over the crowd, it landed for just a moment on Nora. In that fraction of a second, Aunt Grace smiled and offered Nora a swift wink, like they were in on a secret together. And Nora felt the tightness in her chest ease. She had an ally in this still.

“Your theory would only hold water if any of my cousins had even the smallest chance at beating me in these trials. And that would be a very foolish gamble.”