“You are good with hair.”
“I am a woman of many skills.”
“Thank you,” Elena said. “All this—you didn’t have to.”
“To be honest, you’re doing me a favour. I’ve been painfully bored for days.”
The door opened, and in came someone with a breakfast tray. Lucia made her excuses and left, leaving Elena alone once more. She demolished the thick, fat buns and the creamy porridge, and drifted around the room as she waited for the tray to be collected, testing her strength.
She felt better than she had done in years, and now that she was up, she knew she’d soon be sent home. If she was ever going to become a spy, today was the day.
She waited until Susan came to check on her and inquired as to what most of the royals would be doing in the morning, and if Pip would be busy attending to them. It was a busy day—a meeting, followed by refreshments outside, then a demonstration over in the barracks, followed by lunch.
Elena estimated she had three hours. Three hours before anyone noticed she was missing.
“Do you need anything?” Susan asked before she departed. “I’m happy to stay with you—”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Elena assured her. “Thank you, Susan.”
It felt wrong to be lying to a woman who had shown her so much kindness, but Elena reminded herself she was doing this to save Susan’s own prince, and she would surely agree with her motivations, if not her methods, if she knew.
You could tell her,a voice inside suggested.
Elena would be lying if she said she didn’t want to. She wanted to tell Susan, and she wanted to tell Pip, and she was almost sure that neither of them would report her, that they’d want to help…
But the niggling doubt remained, the uncertainty of what they’d be willing to keep secret.
She wasn’t going to risk it. Shecouldn’t.
She took a deep breath, and stepped out of her room. She knew exactly where she was thanks to Pip’s tour a few days earlier. Unfortunately, she had no idea which room belonged to the Prince of Toulouse and, even if she did, she wasn’t sure what might be in his chambers that might help her protect him.
No, if she was looking for intel on anything political, there was only one place she might be able to access wheresomethinguseful might be kept.
General Bestiel’s bedroom.
She didn’t know which room was his, but unlike the guest wing, the contents offered quick clues once she reached the East Wing. She was thankful for the dress which made it easier for her to snoop in this part of the palace—she could easily pretend to be a guest—but she had no idea what to do if she was caught inside his chambers.
Well then,said a voice that sounded oddly like Snowdrop’s,just make sure you don’t get caught.
The first couple of rooms were filled with dresses and floral arrangements: likely the rooms belonging to Queen Mira’s ladies. Elena was almost certain that they’d have nothing to offer and it wasn’t worth the risk, although maybe if she came across Mira’s…
She was surprised by the lack of guards, but they were most likely being posted elsewhere given the recent riot.
Or perhaps there was nothing here to be found by nosy quests…
She shook the thought away. She’d come this far, after all. Her hand opened the door to the next room, and found it sparse and bare. Smiling to herself, she slipped inside and closed the door.
The General’s rooms were immaculate. Several of the furnishings closely resembled the ones in her room, but somehow the sparseness of everything else sucked the ornateness and colour from the space. There were no extra pillows on the bed, no frills and patterns, no vases of flowers or pretty trinkets. It looked even less lived-in than the guest chambers.
On one hand, it made the place easier to search. On the other hand, it looked like there was nothing to be found.
The main room housed nothing but a desk, dresser, side table and bed that had been placed in the corner almost like an afterthought. There were a couple of adjoining rooms; a private bathing space and a small seating area. Elena wondered if he’d set up the rooms this way because he almost never had guests; it did not look like a space for entertaining, and she supposed any political meetings would not be happening here.
She started with the dresser, taking everything out and replacing it as carefully as gears in an automaton. There was nothing squeezed into the clothes, no hidden compartments that she could discern, nothing rolled up in his fancy bottles of cologne. The bedside cabinet revealed nothing of interest either; a book, an empty notepad, a pen, a couple of brass buttons. He owned almost as little as she did.
She shook her head and went to the desk, cursing her stars that she hadn’t started there. There was a file on the surface. Elena thumbed through it, but there was nothing about the Prince of Toulouse or even Sparta—just a family by the name ofSato-Thorne.Simple things, their address in Toulouse, where they worked or went to school, nothing that seemed important or suspicious.
She rifled through his drawers. Pens, paperclips, a ruler, a compass—a couple of keys she didn’t dare remove. Neatly-stacked stationery, needles and thread, a few more buttons that had never made it where they were supposed to go.