Page 69 of To Catch A Rogue

Blade didn't look surprised, and Charlie's mind started racing. "I could have sworn when I burst into the room where she was fighting the leader of the Black Wolves, that she was speaking Russian. Not just mangling it the way I do, but speaking almost fluently."

"Was she."

Charlie sat up straight. "Youknowsomething. What the hell is going on here?"

Suspicions were starting to coalesce.

Blade should never have been on this mission. He had a wife and a daughter at home, and an entire rookery to run. And he'd already admitted he hadn't come for Charlie's sake, though he didn't doubt Blade was keeping an eye on him too.

"Is she in trouble?"

Blade ignored him. "D'you know... the servants 'ere 'ave mostly 'ad their tongues removed or their vocal cords cut."

"I don't see what the...."

He slammed to a halt as a half dozen facts hit him at once.

Tin Man had lost his tongue at some point. He'd been the one who taught both he and Lark how to sign.

Lark spoke Russian.

She'd been two seconds away from walking out in that coffeehouse before he offhandedly spoke a Russian word, and then she'd changed her mind.

Nobody knew where she'd come from. It wasn't some big secret, but it was simply that everyone in the Warren assumed Lark didn't know.

What if she did?

What if there was a reason she'd been so upset this morning?

Blade tapped the side of his nose. "Ain't a lot I can tell you, Charlie, without breakin' certain confidences. But if you were to ask the right questions of the right person...."

"She'd clam up tighter than a miser's purse," he growled, knowing Lark too well.

"Mebbe. Just remember.... 'Ow do we stalk a cat?"

It was a game Blade had taught them in the rookeries as children, when he'd been testing whether they were ready to join the crew on jobs. If you couldn't take Puss unawares, then you weren't ready for housebreaking.

"Patiently," Charlie said, pushing to his feet. "And quietly. You don't ever let them know you're stalking them."

"Good luck."

* * *

A brief rapcame at Lark's bedroom door.

She'd slept for most of the morning, then awoken to find Nadezhda quietly placing a tray on her vanity. Sleep had eluded her after that. She kept thinking of the stranger in Grigoriev Palace, and the family portrait featuring Dmitri.

No matter how many times she turned the memories over in her mind, she was no closer to an answer. She'd been a little girl when she left Russia, and while she remembered the color of Dima's hair, and the way he'd roll his eyes when she and Katya squabbled, she couldn't quite recall the precise details of his face. Everything seemed washed out and diluted.

There'd been no point remaining in bed, so she'd dressed and settled at the vanity to sip her bloodied tea and tidy her hair. Tin Man used to do it for her when she was upset, and nothing settled her nerves like a brush gliding through her hair.

"Are you awake?" Charlie called through the door.

"Yes."

"Are you decent?"

Lark slanted a glance toward him. "Perhaps you should open the door and find out?"