I help push the chair back into place. It's gained another shoe outline, but I'm hoping no one will read too carefully into it. My gaze now falls on the door. That's when I realize we have a problem.

"How are we going to get out?" I whisper.

"No clue. I thought you had that figured out."

At least Sigvard isn't here. He'd throw a tantrum, and that's the last thing we need. Right now, we need innovation.

"The guards are probably on the other side of the door. I suppose we should've figured out a distraction that would occupy them longer."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. They wouldn't leave the door unguarded for long, no matter what emergency we come up with."

"True." I lean against the windowsill, arms crossed over the journal. An idea pops into my head. "We can leave through the window."

Benno's eyes flick between me and the curtains covering the glass. He pushes the mesh aside, a crease forming in his brow. "That's a two story plummet to the ground below. It may actually be safer if we're discovered."

I twist the lock and open the window to poke my head out. An overhang runs along the roof all the way to a tree at the palace's corner.

"If we walk our hands along the overhang, we can lower ourselves into a collection of bushes near the front gardens," I say.

Slowly, Benno nods. "It's worth a try."

I start to climb out the window when I hear voices on the other side of the door. The lock scrapes open, and Benno yanks me to the ground. I crawl under the desk, squeezing past the massive chair. I press myself against the wood, hugging my knees and the journal to my hammering chest.

"You say the ledger is gone?" It's the hushed voice of Duke Von Stein, one of the leading members of the Royal Court.

"Nowhere," Uncle Rothbart says. "I've looked for it all week. All the palace finances are gone."

I glance at Benno, who's squished beside me. Only his eyebrows move, pulled taught on his forehead.

"It can't just disappear into thin air," the duke says. "It should be in here." Papers and books rustle above. From where I'm hidden, I see brown boots approach the bookcase. I hold my breath.

Don't look down.

"What about this?"

"No," Uncle Rothbart says. "It's a brown, leather bound book with the Sar on the cover." The Sar, meaning the symbol of the kingdom's currency.

A set of black boots pace behind the desk. My face freezes in a cringe. More papers flip, just like my stomach.

"Has anything else gone missing?" the duke asks. He's still by the bookcase. Every so often, I hear the thump of a book being thrust into the wall.

The papers hesitate overhead. "No," uncle says.

Benno's face suddenly scrunches up. My heartbeat quickens to a million miles an hour. He's going to sneeze. His head tilts back, eyes closing, mouth parting, inhaling a deep breath...

His face jolts to his elbow in a silent sneeze. I exhale, practically crumpling with relief. I don't know how he managed to quiet the noise, and frankly, I don't care.

"What is that draft?" Uncle Rothbart asks. The black boots step to the window, and the glass clatters as my uncle closes it. "This is the second time I've found that window open."

"Perhaps it's the servants," the duke says.

"I've already asked them. They said that they always kept it closed, as per orders."

"When was it open?"

Several seconds pass before Uncle Rothbart says, "The night of the festival."

The pounding halts in my chest. A dull thrum pulses through my head as I try to process his words. It wasn't just the night of the festival. It was also the night my father died.

Duke Von Stein must have had the same thought as me, for all rustling ceases. Uncle Rothbart clears his throat.

"I have a feeling we won't find the ledger here."

Duke Von Stein inhales audibly. "Where else would he have put it?"

"I've already checked the Throne Room and his private chambers. I can't imagine where else he would take it."

"We must search the entire Royal Wing. Access by servants and other officials must be restricted until things are more under control. We don't want people tampering."

The boots retreat to the door. It opens and closes, followed by a twist of the lock. I wait a beat before emerging from under the desk. Benno leans against the wall, a hand buried in his hair.

"I—what just happened?" he says.

"I don't know." My brain hasn't fully caught up with what they had said, or what they hadn't verbally expressed. Missing ledgers, open windows, the stain on the chair—someone was in here the night our father died. Our number one priority is to get out before anyone else comes along. I start for the window when purple catches in my peripheral. A glossy ribbon lays crumpled to the left of the window. I tuck it inside the journal, then open the window again.

"I'll go first." My eyes go to the journal. I need both hands to traverse the roof. After a moment's hesitation, I tuck it into my corset laces. It's a good thing my maids haven't tied them as tightly the past few days. My waist sucks in from the compression, but I'm used to taking tiny breaths.

I lift the hem of my charcoal-colored dress to climb out the window. My hands clasp the awning overhead, all my weight resting on my arms. I dangle there for several seconds, garnering the strength to move forward. Muscles flexed, I reach my left hand a little bit away, then move my right hand. Sweat pricks my palms. They feel sticky from touching the shingles, which are coated in pollen and dirt. I focus on my breaths, exhaling when I move my hands, inhaling between exertions.

Once I'm halfway to the tree, Benno starts out the window. He's faster than I, the product of intensive training. I push myself to move faster. Left, right. Left, right. My arms burn, and the dress I'm wearing doesn't help.

Finally, I reach the corner of the house. I grasp a thick branch that extends to me from the main trunk, wrapping myself around its sturdy bark. My arms drop on either side while my legs hold on. It feels so good to take the pressure off them.

Benno nears, and I force myself to continue down the tree, pushing past the strain in my biceps. At least I have something to stand on, which helps share my weight between my arms and legs. I use up my remaining strength by dangling from the last branch, then dropping several feet to the ground. My arms tingle and feel like foam, but it's totally worth it. We need this journal.

"And just what were you doing up there?"

My gaze snaps to the bushes, and I grit my teeth. Two people step around the hedge, two people I really don't want to see right now. Clemaina twirls a yellow lace parasol over her shoulder, quite the contrast to her black gown. She squints at me for a second. "Is it my imagination, or did I see something stuck in your corset?"

"Of course not," I say. I muster my most innocent smile.

She scans me with her brown eyes. "Turn around."

I cross my arms. "You're not my boss." I hope she doesn't take the statement to be suspicious. It's normal for me to challenge Clemaina, right?

Benno leaps from the tree to stand beside me. I feel the pressure around my torso release. He must have slipped the journal out, though I doubt he has a better hiding place for it.

Sewale clears his throat. "How long have you been up there?"

I shrug. "Who knows."

"Turn around," Clemaina repeats.

"Fine." I spin around. Clemaina's eyes narrow, but she turns back to the flowers. Benno and I hurry toward the back courtyard before she notices the black book in his hand.

I almost walk past Sigvard in the forest. He's crouched under a tree, and his black attire blends into the shadows cast by the surrounding shrubbery. He wouldn't have noticed us, either, since a book holds his attention captive.

"Sigvard, we found it," I say.

My brother jolts, nearly dropping the book. When he spots us approaching, his face drops to a scowl and he stands. "Glad one of us had some luck."

"No need to be sarcastic. Here, add this to your book collection." I place the journal onto the thick paper mass in his hands. "Tell me, is that million page book supposed to strengthen your brain or your scrawny arms?"

"Neither. It's an official dictionary for the Noga language. I thought it'd help me read the letter, but most of the words don't match up."

"Huh, weird. Perhaps it's some sort of code."

I slide the letter from under the new journal, scanning the page once again. Then, I open the journal to the back cover. My finger slides along the binding until it finds a slit to wiggle my finger inside. Again, I brush a piece of paper, and it takes a minute of maneuvering to pull it out. I unfold the paper to another series of inked lines. It's unreadable, similar to the previous. But this time, I recognize a few more, written in English.

Sigvard peers over my shoulder. "Another letter?"

"Convict, prison, investigate, crime," I read out. I glance at the two guys. "Those words are in English. Then night and death are written in Noga. The rest is foreign."

Benno gently pulls the first letter from my hand and places it by the second. "I think it's the same letter, a second page."

I think he's right. The pages match, it's the same color of ink, a similar handwriting and odd language. And the first page has Odeia's name at the top, the second is signed with a fancy, capital "E."

"Is it possible that Odeia had a secret admirer?" I say. Benno and I lock gazes, and an uncomfortable silence passes.

"Maybe," he says. "Whoever it is has a first or last name that begins with the letter E."

"Not necessarily," I say. "It could be some sort of nickname."

"That narrows things down," Sigvard grumbles.

"It's something to go on. For one thing, the person needs to have access to the Royal Court."

"Like a Duke or Duchess?"

"Or the son of a Duke or Duchess," Benno says.

"Or a servant who ease-drops," I add.

Sigvard throws his head back. "Ugh, this is impossible."

"What's impossible? We're not doing anything," I say. "We're just throwing out suggestions."

"I mean that figuring out who's behind the letters is impossible."

"Who said we were figuring out who's behind the letters?" When Sigvard doesn't respond, I say, "Are we figuring out who's behind the letters?"

There's a long pause before Benno clears his throat. "I'm off from my duties for the next few weeks."

"Why not?" Sigvard sighs.

I grin. "That's what I'm thinking. So where do we begin? Should we delegate tasks?"

"Where can we find servant logs and lists of members from the royal court?" Benno asks.

"Probably the study..." I begin.

Sigvard deadpans. "Uh-uh. We are not sneaking back in there. That's impulsive and reckless."

"If we hadn't been reckless and impulsive, we would've missed a very important conversation," I fire back.

"What?"

"Uncle Rothbart and Duke Von Stein entered the royal study right as we were trying to leave, and—"

"You almost got caught!" If Sigvard's eyes widen any more, I fear he'll rip something.

"Quit interrupting. We hid under the desk and overheard their conversation. Apparently, they're missing a ledger of all the palace finances. It seems to have gone missing the night of the festival. They also found the study's window open that night." I inhale breath and continue. "I guess you were right. Perhaps Father's death wasn't an accident."

Leaves swishing in the wind fill the silence between us. No one knows what to make of what I just said, especially not me. My eyes drop to the ground, onto the purple ribbon from the study. It must have fallen from the journal when I opened it. I pick it up, dusting off specks of dirt.

"What's that?" Sigvard asks.

"I found it in the study," I say.

"Why'd you take it?"

"I don't know. Things have been so weird, and I... I guess I thought it could come in handy."

Sigvard takes it, turning it over his hands. "Looks like one of Clemaina's."

"That's what I thought, too."

"Why would Clemaina's ribbon be the king's study?" Benno asks.

Sigvard and I shrug in unison.

"For now, we must focus on looking for a list of servants at the time of Odeia's conviction. Maybe one will jog a memory."

"Or, by some miracle, only one person will have a name beginning with 'e,'" Sigvard says sarcastically.

"What about the missing ledger?" Benno asks.

"We can keep our eyes open for that as well."

I take one more peek at the letter. It's harder to see than before, and I realize that the sun streaming overhead has waned since our meeting began. We probably ought to return to the palace now. Otherwise, a search party might go looking for us. Besides, hunger has started to pang in my stomach.

"Who's keeping the journals?" I ask.

"I will," Sigvard says. "I have a place no one will find them."