My gown swishes against the floor as I walk to my room, eager to change into something less sequined. For today's tea lesson, Lady Avrilaya wanted us to dress in our most formal attire, though I'd consider the blue, flashing fluff as more kitschy than classy, not to mention that the tulle itches my skin. When I enter my room, I find a note on my bed.

Meet you in the forest. - Sigvard

I grapple behind my back to untie the laces—I'm not going to wait around to find Matilda. Then, I exchange the blue gown for a striped skirt and navy blouse.

Several minutes later, I find Sigvard and Benno in a tree. I leap to the lowest branch, then climb until I'm only a few branches below them. I settle into my spot, leaning against the dark brown bark. A breeze douses my face with chilled air, and I soak in the feeling of the outdoors.

"I'm stuck," Sigvard calls from above me.

Fatigue crashes through me, the weight of the investigation, the loose pieces that won't fall into place. I shut my eyes, so all I can see is the sun's glow against my eyelids. "Me too."

"No, I'm literally stuck." My eyes open, and I spot Sigvard, his foot caught between two branches. He wriggles it in place, but it doesn't budge. Benno chuckles as he bypasses Sigvard and reaches a branch near me.

"Take your shoe off," I say.

Sigvard slips his foot from his boot. "Great, now what?"

"Pull the shoe from the tree branches. I can't believe I have to spell this out for you."

Sigvard gives a mighty tug to his shoe. It releases, and Sigvard nearly flies backward. His right hand shoots to the nearest branch, wrapping around it before he plummets.

"That's what I was concerned about," he grumbles.

"At least your foot isn't stuck anymore."

Sigvard parks himself on a tree branch closer to me. "So you're as puzzled as I am."

"I have to admit, it makes me feel better knowing that my genius brother is stumped," I say. "But in all seriousness, what next? Evlyn appears to be guilty, but I feel like we need to know more."

"Check up on her whereabouts?" Benno suggests.

"No one follows her around, and she lives alone," I say.

"There's also the issue of the diaries," Sigvard says. "Seriously, not even one entry mentions the poisons. It's driving me crazy. How could the Royal Court lie so blatantly about evidence against her?

"Unless that was why the diaries were hidden," I say. "But still, someone could find out about them."

Someone like us.

"The Court can't just lie about evidence," I say. "Even if they wanted to frame her, they should at least create some fake entries to add to her journals."

Leaves rustle around us. Their voices mesh into one, staticky whisper, as if to taunt us with answers we'll never hear.

"Maybe they didn't lie," Benno says at last. "What if there are other entries we haven't found yet?"

"Where? We've already read her first and second journals," I say.

"Maybe there's a third. Her second journal ends three months before her execution. It's unlikely she would just stop her journals."

"But where would it be?" I wonder aloud. Sigvard stiffens at my words. "What did you just think of?"

"Nothing." His tree branch sways as he adjusts his position.

"Tell me. You're not helping Odeia by staying quiet."

"Well, there are a number of rooms we never checked."

"Such as?"

"We've never looked through every book in the Antique Room...or the Archives...but we're not going back in either. We don't want to get caught."

"If we played it safe, we wouldn't have nearly as much information."

"But I think there's a bigger issue here," Benno says. "You found her diary in the Antique Lounge and in the Royal Study, two separate rooms. Sounds to me like the Royal Court dispersed them throughout the house on purpose, in which case it doesn't make sense to recheck a room."

"So you're thinking the Archives?" Sigvard says.

I blow out a puff of air, resting my chin on my elbow. The weight presses my skin into the tree bark as if forcing me to think harder. A thought pops into my head.

"There's another possibility."

"Where?" The momentary light in Sigvard's eyes dissipates. "Wait, you're not about to suggest..."

"Odeia's old room?"

"Absolutely not."

"It's about time we searched it. The room's an information goldmine. Even if we don't find her journal, a search there won't be in vain."

"But—"

"And who goes in there? No one will even know."

Sigvard looks ill, face drawn on the sides and glassy-eyed. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

"You have a bad feeling about everything. But even if you won't go..." I face Benno. "You'll come, right?"

Benno's hand darts in and out of his pocket. A hairline piece of metal reflects sunlight between his fingers. "How else are you going to get in?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☀. :☆ﾟ｡･ ───

My heart thumps in my chest as we walk along the second floor, heading down the first hall from the stairs. I try to act casual. To any onlookers, it'd seem like I'm going to my room, perhaps so I can change shoes or tie my hair back with ribbon. The guys could be accompanying me since we plan to go outside together.

I cast a glance over my shoulder. A maid disappears into the Royal Wing of the Palace, but otherwise, no one's around. I veer to the second of three, widely-spaced doors. It's crazy to think that the last time I approached it was four years ago.

Benno whittles the wire into a key in less than a minute. I stay on lookout until the lock opens and we funnel inside. The setup is exactly as I remember—wardrobe on the left wall, desk in the center across from a window, queen-sized bed on the right.

"I'll take the wardrobe," I say.

"I'll look at the desk," Benno says.

"What about me?" Sigvard asks.

"The bed," I say.

Sigvard's nose shrivels into his face. "No."

My eyes land on a door by the wardrobe. "Fine, then the bathroom."

"What?"

"We can't waste time bickering." I shove him toward the ajar door.

I open the area for hung attire first, then each drawer, finishing with her shoe box. I run my hands over every inch of the smooth wood. There's nothing, not a scrap of paper nor a secret compartment. It's just a hollow shell, stripped of Odeia dresses, blouses, and skirts. I can't help but wonder where her old clothes went. Hopefully, they went to the maids or townspeople. Then again, people might feel uneasy wearing the clothes of a dead girl, one who was allegedly a murderer.

The wardrobe is flush with the wall and floor. Still, I feel obligated to look behind it. I push on one side, but it's too heavy for me alone.

"Benno, help me."

Benno hurries to my side, and together, we move the wardrobe several inches, enough to check the back. I only find one small cobweb, no journal. I head to Odeia's bed next, folding back the comforter, quilt, and sheets. The neat pile gets placed atop the wardrobe while I check her mattress. No sharp corners lurk in the pillow, so I remake her bed. This is probably the most care I've used on blankets.

In a final attempt, I slide under her bed, brushing against the mesh overhang. Far more cobwebs and crawling friends dwell here, so my search is brief and unsuccessful. I stand as Sigvard exits the bathroom.

"Any luck so far?" Sigvard asks. "There's nothing in the bathroom."

"Nothing here either. Unless I missed some kind of secret compartment. Help me with the wardrobe." Sigvard and I maneuver it in place. I wipe my hands on my skirt, realizing too late that it'll leave a grayish hue on the white fabric.

"Any luck, Benno?" I ask.

Benno glances up from the bottom desk drawer. It looks empty from where I stand. "Nope. Nothing." He wiggles it shut, and it hangs at a crooked angle.

Sigvard slumps to the ground. His head thumps against the wardrobe, and he lets out a muffled cry. I crouch down beside him, hugging my knees to my chest. Benno's checked her desk, I've checked the bed and dresser, Sigvard checked the bathroom. Where else could it be?

My gaze drifts to the ceiling. It's painted sky blue, dotted with misty clouds. Odeia must have had this room since she was a child. My eyes sweep over the paint until it reaches a grate in the corner of the room. I release my knees, rocking backward and landing on my behind.

"Could it be up there?" I point to the metal embedded above.

"Worth a try," Benno says. We cross the room diagonally to stand beneath the black hole.

"How do we get up there?" Sigvard asks. "And how do we get the vent off?"

I grab the chair from Odeia's desk. "Benno, stand on this. Then you can use the wire to unscrew the grate."

Benno stares at it. Slowly, he draws the thin wire from his pocket. "It might be too flimsy, but I'll try anyway."

Standing on a chair, he reaches the ceiling with ease. The wire contorts into various shapes, none of which win against the screw. Finally, Benno faces me.

"How badly do you want it open?"

"It's our last chance," I say. Otherwise, our efforts will have been for nothing. This can't be another dead end.

"Fine." Benno drops the wire inside his pocket. Then, in one swift motion, he rips a gold button off his jacket. Sigvard's jaw falls open.

"You didn't—"

Benno inserts the disk in the screw's divot, giving it several twists before it desticks. Little by little, it loosens until it drops into his palm. The grate hangs open on one side, and an object catches between it and the ceiling. Dust rains from above, and I cough into the crook of my arm. When I look again, gold pages glitter in the dim light, sending a spark of excitement through me. Did we do it? Is this Odeia's final journal?

Benno unscrews the grate's second side to remove the object—a black leather book. The dark color must have blended into the dark when we first noticed the spot. A plume of particles surrounds it, but I reach for it anyway.

Sigvard sneezes. "Jeez that's dusty."

"It's been up there for four years. I'd be more concerned if it didn't have dust," I say.

I swipe my hand over the cover, removing another thick layer of gray. It tickles my throat, and I suppress another coughing spell. My fingers peel back the front cover. Inside it says, "The Third Journal of Odeia Sophfeu."

"So she did have another one," Sigvard says, quieter than usual.

I turn to the next page to find a letter inside. Not hidden, just stashed between the yellowed pages. On the front of the envelope, it says "My Dearest Odeia." My heart nearly stops because I recognize that handwriting, the loops and curves, lines and crosses.

"Sigvard," I breathe.

Sigvard has gone still beside me. I can't be the only one who notices.

"It's Father's handwriting," he says.

My fingers tremble as they slip through the seal at the top. I slide out a sheet of crisp, cream-colored paper, royal paper from the king's official stationary. I unfold a page covered in swirled ink script.

A door opens and shuts down the hall. All three of our heads whip to the entrance. Voices and footsteps murmur outside.

"I'll dust the room today," a high pitched voice says.

The room—as in Odeia's room? I turn to Sigvard and Benno, and the horror on their faces shows they're thinking the same thing. I duck under the bed, Sigvard and Benno squeezing in after me. I remember a moment too late that the door is unlocked. My hand jostles Sigvard's shoulder. He glares at me as I mouth "the door." Irritation melts into wide-eyed panic, but it's too late. The hinges squeal open.

If the maid notices the unlocked door, she doesn't say anything about it. A swishing sound washes over the air, and I squint through the mesh to see her sweeping. I hold my breath when the broom nears the bed, the bristles inches from my face. But the maid seems wholly focused on her task, more specifically, doing it as quickly as possible. She moves on to the bureau and desk, running a feather duster over both. My blood pulses with every stroke. I can feel the pressure mounting in a vein in my temple.

The maid finishes by dusting the curtains and wiping the window. Her eyes sweep semi-nervously around the room before leaving. When the door finally closes behind her, I stay frozen for a beat. Then my lungs cave in, and I feel numb with relief. I crawl from the floor, coughing softly into my arm. Sigvard appears in front of me, his face pained.

"That was—"

"Way too close? Yes, we're all aware," I say.

"Please tell me we aren't sneaking into any more rooms?"

"Let's first get out of here," Benno says. He grabs the journal from the table and tucks it inside his jacket, folding his arms overtop so it doesn't fall.

I put my ear to the door. I don't hear any more maids, so I crack it open. The hall is empty, though the doors to Clemaina's and my rooms are open. Benno and Sigvard sneak out first, power-walking away. I lock the door from the inside and pull it shut. The snap of the latch is loud, but I hurry from the scene of the sneak-in. I have to find out what my father's letter says.

"Miss!"

My feet halt on instinct. No, not now! I don't want to turn around, to acknowledge that I heard my maid's concerned voice.

I face her anyway. "Yes?"

"What happened to your clothes?" The closer Matilda draws, the wider her eyes stretch. Dust, dirt, and cobwebs cling to it now. Even my navy blouse shows signs of soilage.

I shrug. "Just climbing around. Outside"

Matilda reaches a tentative hand to my sleeve. Her index finger returns coated in dust. "How old were these trees?"

"Oh, that." I force a laugh. "Sigvard thought it would be a funny prank to dump a dustpan over my head."

A scowl overtakes Matilda's face. "Kindly request that Prince Sigvard play less messy pranks. Come, let's get you washed up."