We lost a day of searches. Yesterday, Sigvard and I attended our father's memorial service. It was hosted in the town square. It's weird how much the atmosphere can change. I'm used to it being a place of laughter, haggling, dancing, and joyous songs. Yesterday, it was somber and still, while a band dragged out long, sad chords to snatch up the slightest hint of energy. I choked down two dry meatballs for lunch and an unseasoned lamb chop for dinner. No grills or vendors, no sweets or frivolous drinks. There's only one other time that I've seen the square in such a state—a time equally distressing for the people, for me.

I wish they hadn't used the town square for the memorial. It isn't right to pollute the atmosphere with sorrow. But I suppose the whole kingdom is polluted, for the whole kingdom is in sorrow over their lost king. At least, they should be.

And with time, the open wounds will close, and the marketplace, ravaged by grief, will grow into the flourishing oasis it once was, just like last time.

Last time, I think bitterly. It should've been the last time this happened.

But it isn't. Another death—maybe even murder—has occured.

The door to the Throne Room opens, jostling me from my thoughts. I lean forward on the couch I'm sitting on next to Benno and Sigvard, though I still can barely see the court officials passing by at the end of the hallway. Their quiet conversations spill into the palace. I hope none decide to chat in the sitting area we occupy. Everyone must clear out before we can check the Throne Room for servant records.

Several minutes later, the last footsteps retreat, and silence returns to the Imperial Palace Wing. Slowly, I rise from my seat. The three of us make our way to the giant, iron Throne Room door.

"Uh-uh," Benno mumbles. "No way."

"Where are the guards?" Sigvard asks.

"What do you mean by no way?" I turn to my friend, who just shakes his head as he stares at the door. My gaze drifts to the wire in his hand, and then I understand. It's too flimsy to be of use.

"I think we need an actual key..." His voice trails off at the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. I dart behind the corner, Sigvard and Benno on my heels. Keys jangle in the keyhole, and shoes click on the ground, coming toward us. I cringe as Uncle Rothbart rounds the corner. He stops beside Sigvard, glancing us over.

"Oh, hello. Anything I can do for you?" he asks, though his eyes shift quickly around the walls, like he isn't really paying attention.

"No, we're just... getting some exercise," I say.

"Very good. Walking is good, healthy." There's a short pause before he continues. "Ah, well. I must be off." He strides down the corridor and soon disappears from sight.

I deflate. To think the door was open as we stood there. We could've walked right into the Throne Room, though I suppose we would've been caught by my uncle.

"Come on," Sigvard says. He hurries back to the door, a grin edging onto his face. He holds up a giant key on an equally-sized keyring.

"How'd you do it?" I gasp.

"I'm lucky he stuck it in his right pocket," Sigvard replies. He twists the key, and the lock clangs open. We hurry inside, locking the door behind us.

Rows upon rows of chairs line the courtroom, cut by three narrow aisles on the sides and in the middle. At the front, four chairs sit on a platform, and on the sides of it are two wooden tables.

"I don't know when the next court meeting is, so we better hurry in our search," I say.

"There isn't much to look through," Sigvard says. "I'll take the left desk."

"I'll take the right."

Benno searches the room with his eyes. "I'll look under the chairs?"

"Good idea."

I jog down the narrow route to the desk. Several, thick volumes are stacked beside neat piles of papers and envelopes. A few pens are collected in a cup in the corner. I open the first volume. It's the transcript from today's session. I scan the pages until my eyes catch on something.

Ambassador Bonshire: When will the Queen be crowned?

Duke Rothbart: At this moment, we do not have a date set. But I assure you, we will do our best to expedite this process.

Ambassador Bonshire: But should it not be done as soon as possible?

Duke Rothbart: Some matters must be tidied up before the next Queen takes office. We must ensure that all matters are stabilized.

Ambassador Lu: What matters are unstable?

Duke Rothbart: Nothing is unstable at the moment. However, we have many important projects to manage, such as taxation and inter-country relations. If even the slightest details are not considered, we could end up with a crisis. Once all is most assuredly in order, we will proceed in crowning the next Queen.

Baron Prellenaur : I must admit that I agree with your assessment. Princess Clemaina is not trained for a sudden transition of power. Even if all matters are in order, I'm not sure how she will handle her position.

Duke Von Stein: I'm sure the King, may his soul forever rest in peace, knows what is best for the kingdom.

Ambassador Fletkernetch: Will the wedding occur before or after the Coronation?

Duke Rothbart: We are unsure of such details at the moment. However, I think for the good of the country and to honor the next Queen, we shouldn't taint a time of grieving with joviality, and the dawn of a new leader with sorrow.

Ambassador Moawwe: The Kingdom of Ulmaya wants to negotiate a new term of trade for the upcoming season. Who will be acting on the Queen's behalf?

Duke Rothbart: Until the next Queen is crowned, I will fulfill all duties of the head of state.

"Sigvard!" I hiss. But my brother is too far away to hear me. I wonder what he's found, if anything. It doesn't matter, since we've already found enough information to make the break-in worthwhile. I skim the remaining pages, which are discussions about inter-kingdom policies. When I look up, Sigvard is heading toward me. Benno has reached the stage and looks over the chairs.

"Find anything?" I ask my brother.

"Later." He flicks his head to the door, and after Benno casts one more glance over the platform, the three of us run to the door. Sigvard locks it once we're outside, and the clanging metal seems to drift through the halls like a ghost, summoning a guard or my uncle.

Benno, Sigvard, and I form a line as we walk through the Imperial Wing. A few court officials pass us, all with acknowledging nods or a quick "Your Highnesses."

An arched doorway brings us to the foyer. Four servants and a couple of guards linger in the open space, mopping, tidying, and in the case of the guards, guarding. It feels a little more normal, but their expressions hold more creases, like they are concentrating too hard on their work, the bags under their eyes sag a hair lower, their shoulders droop with a fatigue not entirely from work.

This place is a morgue. My father's light has been buried under the castle or behind wallpaper, or embedded in the carpeted and tiled floors. No one can fill his place, no one can replace his kind heart, which on its own, could fill the entire palace. Clemaina won't come close, in fact, she'll suffocate the life remaining in Saursi—from morgue to six feet under.

Sigvard, Benno, and I climb two flights of stairs to the third floor. My eyes shift to the doors lining the walls. They outnumber the amount I normally see in the West Wing. There are so many court officials to house, opposed to the three royal children living on the second floor. All the more opportunities to be caught. It's not that we're not allowed to be up here. The problem is that we're normally elsewhere, so our presence would be noted.

The Executive's room is on the right-most end of the Residency Wing, secluded from other officials. I press my ear to the door, though I catch Sigvard rolling his eyes. It doesn't matter what he thinks; I know this is the best judge of whether we should enter now or wait. The other side is silent, so I nod to Benno. He wittles the wire into proper form and opens the door.

Simple living quarters reside inside—a bed across from a bookcase and desk, one cushioned chair by the drawn drapes. Sigvard heads to the wardrobe in the corner, pulling out the Royal jacket he wore earlier. As the king's executive, Uncle Rothbart must wear special attire to court meetings. He usually changes right after, since, in his words, "the costume is stiff and scratchy." Such is the way of tradition, I suppose.

I wander over to Uncle Rothbart's desk. A ceramic vase holds his pen collection, and among them are the ones I gave him. The other quills center around the red and silver gifts. Only one black quill lies on the desk atop a closed journal. Besides that, the desk is clear except for several volumes stacked upright in the desk's corner.

The glittering script catches my eye. I lean closer to read the titles. Most are war or related to foreign affairs. My eyes return to the journal on the desk, and for some reason, curiosity begins to nag at my fingers. Slowly, I raise the edge of the journal and peek inside. A letter rests atop a crisp sheet of paper. The handwriting looks more like a series of lines and curves than words, but I think I make our Uncle Rothbart's name. What's that in the top right corner? Maybe a D and an F, or maybe R makes more sense for "Dr." Beside it is a G, maybe "rizgzan?" Or Grizgzen? None of those sound right.

"Aylo, you coming?" Benno whispers. He and Sigvard stand by the door.

"Yeah."

We hurry out of the room and into the passages winding around the third floor.

"They did an autopsy," Sigvard murmurs. My gaze flicks to him, eyes wide in surprise. "The tests were ordered to be done quickly so they could bury him. They didn't want to drag things out, like what happened with the Queen."

"So maybe that's what they need to tidy up," I say, partially to them, partly to myself. "I read the court transcripts from today's meeting, and apparently, Clemaina won't be crowned Queen for a while. Uncle Rothbart said things needed to stabilize."

"Thank goodness," Sigvard says. "Can you imagine Clemaina at a time like this? She'd run our kingdom straight into the dirt."

I can't say I disagree.

"You think the king's autopsy affected their decision?" Benno asks.

"Maybe," I say. "They need to act quickly, especially if foul play was involved, which is possible given the circumstances..." I glance at the others. "Do you... agree?"

"Definitely possible," Sigvard says. Benno nods.

"In which case, a switch in leadership could be chaotic and hinder progress," I finish.

We start down the stairs. I peer around us again, but no one's in sight. Hopefully, that also means no one's in earshot.

"Did you find the servant records?" Sigvard asks. "I only found a week's worth of court transcripts."

"Old letters and transcripts," I reply. "All recent. Where else can we look?"

"I don't know," Sigvard admits.

A servant polishes the banister at the bottom of the stairs. She curtsies as we walk past, into the Salon of the West Wing. Two plates piled with cookies sit on the table. Sigvard snags one with a cinnamon swirl.

"Snack break," he says with his mouth full. "Time to refill the brain cells."

I feel a yawn tug at my lips. "And I could use a nap. Break until tomorrow?"

Reluctantly, the other two nod. I grab a flower-shaped cookie, biting into a sweet, almond shortbread, before retiring to my room. It's only three in the afternoon, but I've been dragging more than usual. My sleep rhythm is off, waking up at odd times, lying in bed for hours thinking about my parents. They're all dead, and I can't help the sense that there's a reason.