Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(69)

I blinked out of my dreary thoughts to find Cedric leaning against the staircase’s bannister. Everyone had returned from the evening’s social affairs, and I was the last one to come inside from my group. I stifled a yawn and paused at the bottom of the steps. He was as dashing and impeccably dressed as ever, but an obvious gloom hung over him.

“You look pretty down yourself,” I said. “What’s your excuse? Too much dancing and small talk? That’s what’s worn me out.”

His expression stayed dark. “I wish that’s what it was. Did you hear about the Alanzans who were taken?”

“What? No . . .” But then I remembered Grant mentioning how Warren Doyle’s patrols had succeeded in arresting their first batch of heretics. I hadn’t known what sect they’d captured. I peered around, verifying we were alone. “Were you there when they came?”

“I got away. I was one of the lucky ones.”

“If you were recognized—”

“I wasn’t.”

I repressed the urge to chastise him about the dangers of worshipping with others of his faith. I’d been around enough Alanzans in my life, however, to realize the futility of that argument. Their principles were too strong. “What will happen to them?”

“They’re being held in a city jail right now. Tomorrow, they’ll get split up. Some will be locked away at the prison in Archerwood. Others have been sentenced to penal servitude. Do you know what that is?”

“Unfortunately.” I felt sickened, thinking of those poor prisoners’ fates and the abuses of the system. In my head, those Alanzans wore the faces of Pablo, Fernanda, and countless other friends.

“And there’s nothing I can do about it.” He gave me a wan smile. “I wish I could be like your father. He wouldn’t let them sit there. I wish I had the courage—and skill—to march up there and set them free. But I’d probably just get myself arrested. Or killed.”

I patted his arm. “Don’t do something reckless or blame yourself. You show your courage in other ways.”

He looked skeptical of that and bid me good night. But as he retreated, I felt my heart start to race. Cedric was right about one thing. My father wouldn’t let those Alanzans suffer in prison or forced servitude. He wouldn’t prance around in jewels and finery while they awaited grim fates. He would take action. He would march up there and set the Alanzans free. He would call me selfish for standing to the side. He would call me a coward . . . again.

But I wasn’t my father, no matter how much I wanted to be sometimes. The desire to help the Alanzans burned in my chest. I needed to act, to strike out and save the innocent. But I couldn’t break into a jail. I didn’t command a network of freedom fighters.

Or did I?

I sprinted to my room and lifted my mattress, retrieving the coin Tom had given me. I squeezed it in my hand. I commanded one freedom fighter. Well, maybe “commanded” wasn’t the right word. But he did owe me a favor. What was that favor worth?

It was time to find out.




I made my usual escape, and along the woodsy trail, I noted that the ground was softening even more as the weather warmed. I wore pretty kid leather shoes tonight, which were an upgrade from dance slippers, but they still sank deep in the mud. I’d have to scrub them before Mistress Culpepper saw.

In Cape Triumph proper, I had to ask for directions a few times before locating the Dancing Bull Tavern. Inside, I found it just as packed as the tavern Grant and I had hid in, but it didn’t have the same sleazy edge. It was more brightly lit too. Sure, there were made-up women there—women whose intentions were obvious. But they moved about discreetly, with no vulgar public displays. Only two women were roughly dressed, like me. They sat at their tables and drank with hardened eyes, giving the impression that anyone who harassed them would soon regret it.

The rest of the patrons were men. Many wore masks. Some huddled in corners, furtive expressions on their faces. Others, more boisterous, played cards and dice in large groups. Attire ran the full range of common work clothes to the showier looks of the pirates. Some of that pirate attire appeared well-worn, but a number of men displayed the excessively flamboyant, impractical look of pirate pretenders. A man in a white apron scurried around to keep everyone’s ale filled, and a woman working the bar made sure there was plenty on hand.

I didn’t see Tom anywhere.

Suddenly doubting myself, I lingered just inside the door and contemplated my next move. Tom hadn’t provided detailed instructions. A few men eyed me curiously, and I realized I needed to do something decisive before I attracted unwanted attention. I walked over to the bartender.

“Excuse me,” I told her in the Belsian accent, “I need to see Tom Shortsleeves.”

She was an older woman and didn’t look up until she’d finished pouring ale into a wooden mug. When she spoke, her voice was harsh. “You and everyone else. Get in line.”

I pulled his coin from my pocket and held it up. “Will this get me to the front of it?”

She grimaced as she studied it and then gave a swift nod. “Jenks,” she yelled across the room. “Get over here.”

A giant of a man rose from a card table. He wore a mask and had haphazardly shoved it up over his forehead. “Whatcha need?”

“This one’s looking for Tom,” she said.