Alright, I’ll admit it—following Evelyn around was a bore. I thought she’d cheer me up, but no, it was all sigh, sigh, mencholy, sigh. So how about we switch things up? What do you say we spend some time with Felicity instead?

  Now that girl would’ve been my best friend in another life.

  I caught up with her that afternoon as she made her way home. She lived on top of a very steep hill, the kind of steep where carriages had to consider their life choices before attempting the climb. Every time she rode up, she’d clutch the walls of the carriage like it was her st moment on earth. The sheer terror on her face made me chuckle every single time. What a goof. What a little ol’ funny gal.

  When she finally made it inside, the house servant greeted her with a well-rehearsed smile.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Felicity. Lunch will be served in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you, Dolores. I’ll be in my room until then.”

  “Absolutely, ma’am.”

  She started toward the stairs but hesitated, turning back. “Dolores, do you know if the locals have been saying anything… strange tely?”

  Dolores blinked. “Strange, ma’am?”

  “Yes. Unease in the city? Whispers of unrest?” Smooth, Felicity. Real smooth.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “Oh. Well. Never mind, then. Don’t trouble yourself over it.” She waved a hand dismissively.

  Dolores gave a polite nod and disappeared toward the kitchen. Felicity, on the other hand, sighed and dragged herself up the stairs toward her room.

  Now, if she just did something dumb—something ridiculous, something thoroughly Felicity—I’d be entertained. Come on, girl, spirits need amusement too!

  Instead, she flopped onto her bed. Ugh.

  A knock at the door. “Felicity? Are you home?” It was her father’s voice.

  Felicity jolted upright. “Father? Yes! I—I didn’t have csses this afternoon, so I came home for lunch.” She quickly straightened herself and opened the door.

  “We were looking for you this morning,” he said, eyeing her. “Where were you?”

  “Oh, Evelyn asked me to accompany her. She had something she wanted to talk about.”

  Her father nodded, though he didn’t seem particurly interested in Evelyn. “I see. I wanted to ask about something Father Maxim mentioned the other day.”

  “Yes?”

  “He said you had… a disagreement with your former fiancé?”

  Felicity stiffened. “Oh. Joseph. Yes. I was going to tell you about it ter.”

  “I see. Do you need any help?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy with my coursework. It’s been keeping me occupied.”

  “That’s good. I know you’ve been doing well with your studies.” He gave her an approving nod. “I also wanted to congratute you.”

  “Of course.” She waved a hand as if it was nothing. “I’ve been reading more than I expected, but I’m focused on finishing my—uh, my report.”

  “Good, good. I’ll be speaking with Dolores—do you need anything?”

  “Tell her to make more of that milk candy. It was lovely.”

  “Of course.”

  Her father left, and Felicity shut the door, her expression immediately twisting into an irritated scowl. With a huff, she sat back at her desk and returned to her writing.

  Now, don’t ask me what she was writing about—I wasn’t interested. But I did peek at the books and notes scattered around. Theology, mostly. Some drivel about Xenothropides. Honestly, I stopped paying attention the moment I saw the word doctrine.

  Eventually, lunch was ready, but instead of eating with her family, Felicity insisted on having it brought to her room. Her mother protested, calling it improper, but Felicity argued she needed to focus on her report.

  Dolores, ever dutiful, arrived with the tray. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am?”

  Felicity took a sip of her wine, then frowned. “What year is this?”

  “That one is from st year’s harvest, ma’am.”

  “Bring me one from 9887.”

  Dolores hesitated. “From ‘87? Are you sure, ma’am?”

  Oh, she was sure. She was definitely avoiding eye contact. What are you hiding, Felicity?

  “Yes, why do you ask, Dolores?”

  “Well, it’s an eleven-year-old wine, ma’am. Your father told me that one was only for special occasions.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If he says anything, I’ll talk to him directly.”

  “If you say so. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Could you bring me Alfonzo, please?”

  Dolores hesitated. “Oh, Alfonzo is speaking with your father in the study, ma’am. I can send him to you once he’s free?”

  “Yes, please. I have something rather delicate to discuss with him.”

  “Understood. I’ll take my leave.”

  “Thank you, Dolores.”

  Five minutes ter, her mother arrived. Felicity kept her eyes on her report, pretending to work, as if that would somehow make this conversation go away.

  “Felicity, I heard you say you needed to speak with Alfonzo about something sensitive?”

  Felicity’s grip on her pen tightened. Of course Dolores had talked.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Can you tell me what for?”

  Felicity turned to face her, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Evelyn and I are worried.”

  Her mother frowned. “I rarely see you worried about anything. What’s going on?”

  Felicity hesitated, looking away. The st thing she wanted was her mother’s gaze pinning her down like an insect. “Do you think the Dominion will hold onto this country much longer?”

  Her mother tilted her head. “Felicity, I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

  “Well,” she stalled, searching for the right words. “There was a fight at a business in the north of the city.”

  “A fight?”

  “Yes. Two Lucianans asked to borrow a longcase clock from a Basilian shopkeeper for a dinner they were hosting, but the owner refused.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened. “I see… but I don’t understand why that would concern you.”

  “I know. It just… seems like things have been uneasy tely.”

  “And that’s why you want to speak to Alfonzo?”

  “Yes, I just—I need him to look into something for me.”

  Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What for? I don’t see the need for that.”

  “It’s just to give me peace of mind,” Felicity insisted. “Nothing serious.”

  “Hmm. If you say so.”

  Felicity nodded and turned back to her report, but her gaze drifted to the small drawer where she kept the letter. The thought of it made a knot form in her head—or something like that. Look, I’m not a doctor. Whatever it was, it was unpleasant.

  She sighed and gnced out her window. There it was—the city, vast and unfeeling.

  With slow, deliberate movements, she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. Around her neck hung a delicate chain with a key. She slipped it into the lock, turned it, and retrieved a worn, wrinkled letter from inside.

  She didn’t read it. She just looked at it, running her fingers along the creases. Every so often, her eyes flicked back to the window, her thoughts circling the request she had just made.

  But while she hesitated, I didn’t. I took the opportunity to read it myself.

  "I must thank you for your kind comprehension in these poor times for my wife and myself. After we lost Maria, Carmen couldn’t eat or sleep—I thought I would lose her too. And if I lost her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. I had already seen the horrors of tuberculosis within my family, through a cousin I had long ago. It is not something I wanted to relive, but if that’s Divinity’s will… then somehow, we will have to accept it. The mole below her left eye reminds us of Maria too, so we think this is the one. We appreciate your help with this matter in particur, Father, and we thank your parish as well. If the parents of this little child are long gone from this world, we will do our best to take care of her as if she were our own. You can be sure that no matter if she comes from Lucianan parents, we will raise her as a Basilian girl."

  The letter was old, dusty, and full of crossed-out words, the kind of thing you write when you’re trying too hard to sound respectable. It had been buried in a box in Felicity’s father’s office, stuffed between household expense records and business notes. A draft, no doubt—the cleaned-up final version probably sent off to someone important.

  Felicity set the letter down. She wasn’t reading it anymore, just looking at it, her fingers running over the creases. Then she sighed, opened the window for some fresh air, and—

  Whoosh.

  The letter took off like a bird freed from a cage.

  “Seriously?” she muttered, gring at the piece of paper as it fluttered outside, where it nded just out of reach in the dirt.

  She stood, already irritated, and made her way downstairs, weaving past furniture and tapestries like an obstacle course.

  Oh, right. I hadn’t described the house, had I? A proper estate, built of solid concrete instead of the wood and adobe you saw elsewhere. Pompous but sturdy, painted in pastel colors, with ceramic tile floors that gleamed under the light. Cozy, if you liked that sort of thing. The front yard, however, was just dirt. Nothing grew there. The family had chosen the location for the view, not the ndscaping.

  Felicity was nearly outside when—

  “Felicity.”

  Her father intercepted her in the living room.

  She froze, eyes darting toward the door. Letter still there. Wind picking up. Clock ticking.

  “Yes?”

  “I heard you had another party st week?”

  “Oh? Yes, it was Javier’s birthday.” She smiled, shifting her weight toward the exit. “He was turning eighteen. Naturally, we wanted to celebrate properly.”

  “Did it really have to be at Ibarra’s Coffeehouse?”

  She flinched.

  Damn it.

  “What coffeehouse?” she asked, feigning ignorance as she gnced outside again. The letter twitched in the breeze, taunting her.

  “Ibarra’s. That pce is expensive.”

  “I mean, I know what you’ve said, but—”

  “We’ve discussed this before.” His tone was clipped. “Have you seen the bill we received?”

  “Father, please. I wouldn’t have done it this way if it weren’t for a special friend.”

  “Special friend?” His expression darkened. “Did you even discuss this with your fiancé?”

  “My fiancé?”

  “Yes. I heard the two of you had a disagreement st week. Was any of this reted?”

  And just as Felicity opened her mouth, preparing to weave together some elegant excuse—

  The letter lifted off the ground.

  Her heart stopped.

  But just before the wind could snatch it away for good, a hand caught it midair.

  Alfonzo.

  Thank Divinity.

  “Excuse me, Father,” she said quickly, “I need to speak with Alfonzo. It’s important.”

  She slipped past her father and stepped outside.

  “Alfonzo,” she exhaled, snatching the letter from his hands.

  “My dy.” He gave a small bow, then grinned. “What a privilege it is to y eyes on such beauty once more.”

  She sighed, relieved. At least he hadn’t read it.

  Alfonzo had been with the family forever, one of those men who did everything—odd jobs, field work, city errands, whatever was needed. He was past fifty, but he had a charm that made you trust him, even if he was rough around the edges. He wore a high-colred shirt under a poncho, knee-high boots, and a machete at his belt. A practical man. And one of the few people Felicity knew she could rely on.

  “I appreciate it,” she said, folding the letter and tucking it away. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  “For me?” He raised an eyebrow. “What does my dy need of me?”

  “Well… remember what I asked you about Emilio?”

  Alfonzo’s expression darkened. “Yes. Is he giving you trouble again?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. We had a fight, but that’s not why I needed you.” She lowered her voice. “This is about Mr. Periwinkle.”

  “Mr. Periwinkle?” He hesitated. “So you have heard.”

  Felicity blinked. “Heard what?”

  Alfonzo sighed, scratching his chin. “I don’t like spreading gossip, my dy, but… word is, he’s been paranoid tely. People say he’s working with smugglers down at the port.”

  “Smugglers…”

  “That’s the rumor, anyway. I haven’t confirmed it myself.”

  Felicity frowned. Smuggling? That wasn’t exactly a crime unheard of, but if Mr. Periwinkle had turned to it, something had to be seriously wrong with the family finances.

  “Well,” she said, filing the thought away for ter. “Do you think Marzipan could help us out again?”

  Alfonzo let out a low whistle. “Marzipan… I think he’s in the city, but he won’t be cheap. Espionage is a death sentence these days, what with all the murmurs of rebellion.”

  Felicity stiffened.

  “What murmurs?”

  “Oh, my dy. Haven’t you heard? People say an insurrection might be coming.”

  A chill ran down her spine.

  “I see.”

  “Oh, but you shouldn’t worry yourself over it,” Alfonzo said lightly. “I doubt it will trouble you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your parents always said you were a blessing. That mole under your left eye—when you were born, they believed it was a sign of good fortune.” He chuckled. “As my mother used to say, ‘Trust, and the ones above shall provide.’”

  Felicity’s lips pressed into a thin line. She gnced back at the house, then at him.

  “Are you going into town now?” she asked. “I’d like to speak with you on the way.”

  “If you wish, my dy. Whatever you say, I shall obey.”

  She nodded. “And don’t worry about the cost. This is important.”

  The two of them walked toward the carriage. Felicity held the letter tightly all the way down the hill.