“It’s not too late,” she said. “We can call an ambush. Lord Montagov remains yet in the vicinity.”
By now Roma had to have long left. An opportunity was an opportunity.
“Darling daughter”—Lord Cai pinched the bridge of his nose—“get in the car please.”
“Father,” Juliette shot back, “I crave violence.”
“Get in the car. Now.”
Juliette huffed again, then pushed off the car hood. “They are the enemy,” she snapped when she slammed the passenger door after herself. A loose bit of hair blew into her eyes, and she yanked it back. “If they have suggested a seemingly great idea, it is obviously with an ulterior motive, so why are we playing along—”
“The blood feud is a thoughtless notion, Juliette,” Lord Cai cut in, adjusting the rearview mirrors. “What have I taught you?”
Juliette drummed her fingers against her knee. She wished he wouldn’t make some lesson out of this now, when the boundaries were evidently black and white. Once, she would have been rather pleased to see a lessened hatred for the White Flowers, but at present it didn’t seem like her father was ignoring the blood feud. It seemed like . . . like he didn’t care. Like something else was more important.
“We hate those who harm us,” Juliette said, an echo of the words her father had given her long ago. “We do not hate senselessly.” She shook her head. “It is a pretty idea, but the White Flowers do want to hurt us.”
“Needs and desires change as fast as the breeze.” Lord Cai rolled down a window, and the cold flooded in. She was starting to think he had gotten too accustomed to the biting temperatures of his office. “So long as we do not lose face, if the leadership of the White Flowers requests a quiet cooperation so that both gangs survive a second monster reckoning, what is the issue?”
There was more to it. It could not be that simple, because her father was not that easily swayed.
“What are we getting out of it?” she asked directly.
Lord Cai’s response was to start the engine. Slowly, they reversed from the alleyway, merging back into the pandemonium that rumbled ever constant in the hub of the city. Through the open window, the aroma of deep-fried street food wafted in, a decent companion to the frigid cold.
Minutes later, when they stopped at the signal of a police officer running traffic control, Lord Cai said: “Keep them distracted.”
Juliette blinked. A rickshaw halted to a stop outside her window, and from the corner of her eye, she watched the runner of the rickshaw let go of the poles, mop his forehead free of sweat, and eat a whole meat bun—all within seconds.
The officer signaled for them to move. The car crept forward.
“Distracted?” Juliette repeated. You have a spy. One of ours has infiltrated your inner circle. And whoever it is has talked your father into this. “From what?”
But Lord Cai only drove onward, giving a nod to the officer as they passed. It was another bout of silence, entirely typical for her father, before he said, “Some things you do not yet understand. Tīng huà. Do as you’re told.”
Juliette could hardly argue.
Nine
When the last of the maids closed their doors to retire for the night, Juliette slipped out from her bedroom, clutching her basket to her chest. She made good time tiptoeing down the hallway—her mind singularly focused on making it out of the house—only then she passed Rosalind’s bedroom and noted the glow of light underneath the door.
Juliette paused. This was strange. “Rosalind?”
A rustling came from within the room. “Juliette? Is that you? You can come in.”
Juliette set her basket down against the wall and opened Rosalind’s door before her cousin could change her mind, letting the gold light of the bedroom flood out into the hallway. When Juliette remained at the threshold for a long moment, taking in the scene, Rosalind looked up from her desk, her thin brow arching smoothly. Her face was still made up despite the late hour. The curtains of her windows were left undrawn, the half-peeking moon shining through the clouds and upon the bed.
“It’s so late,” Juliette said. “You haven’t retired yet?”
Rosalind set her pen down. “I could say the same to you. Your hair is still done up as neatly as mine.”
“Yes, well . . .” Juliette did not quite know how to finish that sentence. She hardly wanted to say it was because she was on her way out. Instead, she zeroed in on Rosalind’s desk and changed the subject. “What has your attention?”