“Yes, Commander.”
He held his breath as Dacre and Captain Landis strode past where he stood awkwardly against the wall. But he felt that cold, stone-moss air hit his face the moment the wardrobe door creaked open.
He waited until they were gone, the door closed in their wake.
Alone, Roman let his guard drop. He gasped, a shudder wracking his spine. It was ridiculous that he didn’t realize how much something meant to him until it was nearly taken. He remembered how, just the other day, he had been willing to give Dacre her first letter, and now he was desperate to hide them.
He could hardly explain it. But perhaps he didn’t need words.
Roman lifted his boot and picked Elizabeth’s letter up off the floor.
Dear Elizabeth,
（Or should I call you E. now?）
Your letter was almost discovered tonight by someone who would seek to come between us. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but you are my secret. I have kept you to myself; no one knows of you but me. No one knows of our connection and I want to keep it that way.
We must be careful.
—R.
Dear R.,
You’re right. I’m terribly sorry for putting you at risk. Perhaps we might establish a routine? Should you write to me first when you are safe to do so? And should we send a test message first?
—E.
P.S. Yes, maybe do call me “E.” from now on. It seems to suit me better.
Dear E.,
The problem is … I want to hear from you at all hours. I want to read your words. I am greedy for them. I am hungry for them.
You say you are moving locations day by day. Don’t answer if you don’t feel like it’s safe or right to do so. But I cannot help but ask … which direction are you heading?
Yours,
R.
Dear R.,
Let me be your secret, then. Tuck my words into your pocket. Let them be your armor.
I am heading westward.
Love,
E.
Roman held Elizabeth’s letter in his hands, staring at the one word that made him ache. Westward.
She must be fighting for the other side. For Enva.
She was moving toward danger.
Toward him.
{15}
Strike Bars E and R
“Do you think I should send it to Helena?” Iris asked the next morning. She and Attie were sitting at Lonnie Fielding’s kitchen table, waiting for breakfast to be served. Tobias was outside, cranking the roadster’s engine. He was about to leave for Oath, and Iris had spent most of the night preparing articles for the Inkridden Tribune.
Attie set the papers down. Her lips were pursed, her left brow cocked. Iris knew that meant she was deep in thought.
“I think you should, Iris,” Attie finally said, pouring herself a second cup of tea. Steam rose in the air, fragranced with bergamot and lavender. “At the very least, Helena will want to see it, even if she doesn’t publish it in the paper.”
Iris nodded, staring at her pages. It was nothing like the original myth Roman had once found and sent to her, but it was close enough. The doomed love story of Dacre and Enva. How he used his hounds and his eithrals to terrify mortals above until Enva had agreed to live below with him.
“The only thing I wonder…” Iris trailed off, grimacing. “Should I include the second half when Enva sang him to weep, then laugh, then sleep?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Attie asked.
“I don’t know. But I have this feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“A warning, maybe. Like this knowledge shouldn’t be broadcast in the paper.”
“That Enva’s music controlled him when she played underground?” Attie reached for the pitcher of milk. “But what if it was widely known? Maybe people’s opinions on music wouldn’t be so severe.”
“Or maybe they would only worsen,” Iris said. “Maybe people like the chancellor already know of this myth, and that is why he outlawed stringed instruments. That is why this story has been torn away from all the tomes about divinities and why it was never taught to us in school. Because it’s dangerous.”
Attie didn’t have a chance to reply. The back door opened and Tobias stepped into the kitchen, his trench coat beaded with mist.
“Are your articles ready?” he asked them.
“Good morning to you, too,” Attie said wryly. “Shouldn’t you eat breakfast before you depart?”
“No. A storm’s blowing in from the west. I need to outrun it.”
“Can we have Mr. Fielding pack you a lunch, at least?” Iris said. “He’s cooking right now.”