Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(64)

“The Graveyard.”

“And who is that?”

“A guard for the city,” Sarah explained, but her voice was almost a whisper, as if the walls could hear.

“Is this the chancellor’s doing?”

“People say it is, but I honestly think that it’s not. To me? It looks the chancellor is losing control over the city. The Graveyard claims allegiance to no god, and they instated a curfew, without the chancellor’s approval. Only they can roam the streets at night as they hunt for Enva.”

Iris’s mind reeled with this new information. She had no idea something of this caliber had unfolded, and she wondered what else had changed while she had been away. And then it struck her: of course, Chancellor Verlice would keep Enva’s army at bay if the city was truly being commandeered by another militant group. If he had allowed Keegan and the troops to enter, then there would have been armed conflict and potential bloodshed.

“Who are these people?” Iris asked. “And why are they firing warning shots?”

“Not many of us know who they truly are,” Sarah said. “They keep their identities hidden. By day, they could be anyone. But by night, they patrol the streets with masks and rifles, and they fire warning shots when they find someone breaking curfew. They claim their watch is to keep us safe, but I think it’s about power.”

Masks and rifles.

Iris shuddered as those words evoked a memory. The night the girls had broken into the museum, and Iris had been dangling from the rope. Four people with masks had walked beneath her; she had thought another heist was about to unfold. She then remembered all the painted words on buildings—gods belong in their graves—and Iris realized this unrest had been brewing for some time.

She walked to the window, where darkness seeped through the curtains. Parting the drapes a sliver, Iris gazed out at the rain-smeared dusk. Not half a minute later, the front door blew open. It was Forest, drenched and panting, but his face was turned to the light. To the table, where Sarah stood.

“You’re here,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I heard a gunshot. I was worried…”

Iris stood frozen by the window. Relief softened her breath, to see that her brother was safely home. But it was eclipsed by the cold revelation that she was on the outside. A moon that had spun loose from its orbit.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Sarah said, hands pressed to her chest. “And so is your sister.”

Forest paused. But he must have sensed Iris’s gaze, or maybe he heard her wavering breaths. He spun and saw her, still positioned by the window.

“Hi,” Iris whispered.

Forest gaped at her, his shock tangible as the rain. But then he crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground.

Iris couldn’t understand why she wanted to weep until she felt the joy radiating from her brother, warm as a furnace on the coldest night. It almost felt like the old days, long before the war. He had those he loved dearest safe and close. And what Iris would give to feel the same.



* * *



They ate dinner together at the table, and Iris noticed how Forest looked at Sarah.

It was soft and frequent and very attentive.

It reminded Iris of how Roman had once looked at her, and she felt both happy and sad. A strange, bittersweet medley that brought tears to her eyes.

She blinked them away, but her thoughts then quickly gathered to the war again, and the distance that now stretched between her and Roman. The danger he was in.

When Forest carried the dishes to the sink, Iris held Sarah back, speaking to her in a low tone.

“Do you remember what you told me about the person who delivers Roman’s articles to the Gazette?”

Sarah’s eyes widened. She glanced at Forest, whose back was turned to them as he scrubbed the dishes.

“Yes. But why do you ask?”

Iris leaned closer. “When does he come next to the office? And what time?”

“He’ll be arriving at nine sharp tomorrow morning,” Sarah replied. “You’re not thinking to confront him, are you? Please don’t! There’s something about him that feels very sinister.”

Iris shook her head. “No, he won’t see me. But do you think you could give me a signal?”

“A signal?”

“Yes.” Iris noticed the blue handkerchief knotted at Sarah’s neck. “Could you hold your handkerchief to the window as soon as he leaves the office tomorrow morning? So I can see it from the street below and know when he’s about to exit the building.”

“Yes, I can do that,” said Sarah. She pulled a loose thread from her cardigan. “But what do you intend to do?”

Iris chewed on her lip. Forest must have sensed their conspiratorial whispering, and he glanced over his shoulder, granting them an arched-brow look.

Iris only smiled at her brother until he returned his focus on the dishes. But she whispered to Sarah, “I need to find a magical door.”



* * *



At ten till nine the following morning, Iris found herself waiting in the shadow of the building she had once worked in, cutting her journalistic teeth on obituaries, classifieds, and advertisements. The place she had first met Roman. The Oath Gazette was on the fifth floor, and she knew the exact line of windows to watch.