I woke before dawn and began to scheme.

  My existence had been reduced to lying and plotting to survive and hopefully be free from my family's influence.

  After writing my list, I realized the library outing was the perfect stage to start tackling most of the issues at once.

  The plan was... rather simple. I smiled sardonically.

  All that mattered was to follow it flawlessly. And timing.

  Best case scenario, I'd have a potential new ally in this place.

  And if things took a sour turn... I'd have eradicated a spy.

  "Mely," I called the woman before she could exit my room, my half eaten breakfast plate in her hands. "The young maid who helped you do my hair for the prime minister's gala, have her come to my room in one hour."

  The only sign of surprise was a second of silence before she muttered a quick "yes, my lady," and left.

  I was fully dressed and preened by the time Cilia was standing in front of me, her eyes round in either expectation or weariness.

  "You called for me, Lady Velmire?"

  "Yes," I urgently motioned for her to come closer, the pearls adorning my wrists catching the light with each movement. "Do you remember you offered your help if I ever needed it? Does that offer still stand?"

  "Yes, of course, my lady. Is this about Hana?" My stomach tightened at the mention of my only friend.

  I smiled and diverted my eyes to the side for a second. "Well, no. To be honest this request is a bit more... personal."

  Understanding crossed her eyes. She nodded. "Of course."

  "Thank you Cilia. I could not ask this to anyone beside you. The request per se is very simple, but I need it to be handled as discreetly as possible."

  Her eyebrows rose before she nodded. "I won't tell a soul."

  I relaxed, letting relief seep slowly into my features. "Very well. I'd be very thankful if you could brew me calming valerian and lotus infusion without anyone knowing. I'd hate for it to arouse questions."

  The maid, looking like she did, indeed, have questions, only nodded before assuring me she'd handle the task far from curious eyes.

  I inclined my head once, dismissing her with the soft authority expected of me. The door closed without a sound.

  I allowed precisely two breaths to pass before my shoulders lowered.

  Now I wait.

  Cilia returned sooner than I anticipated, a small silver tray balanced carefully between her palms. Steam curled delicately from the cup, carrying the faint sweetness of lotus beneath the sharper scent of valerian.

  She set it before me and stepped back.

  "I made sure no one saw," she said quietly.

  "I knew you would."

  That seemed to please her.

  I wrapped my fingers around the porcelain and brought it to my lips. I did not need calming herbs, but appearances were as powerful as truth.

  I took a slow sip. Then another.

  And let my gaze drift.

  Cilia lingered. I could tell she was curious.

  I allowed my fingers to tremble just slightly as I set the cup down.

  "My lady..." she began hesitantly. "Is something troubling you?"

  There it was.

  I kept my eyes on the steam rising from the cup.

  "It is nothing," I lied gently.

  She shifted her weight. "If there is something I can help with..."

  I hesitated just long enough.

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  "This is... foolish," I murmured, lowering my voice. "I should not even speak of it."

  Her eyes sharpened with concern. "You can trust me."

  Trust.

  Such a fragile currency.

  "I am to visit the library this morning," I said carefully. "And I... may be meeting someone there."

  Her eyebrows shot upward.

  "Someone?" she repeated.

  "Yes." I exhaled slowly. "Someone important."

  I lifted my gaze to hers then, allowing vulnerability to color it.

  "It must not reach my father. Do you understand?"

  The words settled heavily between us. That information, although not complete, let the implications of my actions be clear.

  Cilia straightened at once. "Of course not, my lady."

  "I am trusting you," I added quietly. "Hana speaks well of you. She says you are her friend."

  The mention of Hana softened her completely.

  "I would never betray her trust," she said firmly. "Or yours."

  I studied her face for the slightest fracture.

  Nothing.

  Either she was loyal... or very well trained.

  "I know," I said, offering her a faint smile. "That is why I asked you."

  She bowed her head slightly, reassured by my apparent dependence, and withdrew without another word.

  The latch clicked shut.

  I counted five.

  Then I stood.

  The pearls slipped from my wrists and returned to their velvet-lined case. The half-drunk infusion followed, emptied discreetly into the wash basin.

  My reflection in the mirror was composed.

  If my father heard I intended to meet someone at the library, the information would reach him too late to stop me.

  And if he sent someone to observe me like I suspected he would, he would see nothing.

  I left my chambers without haste.

  Rodrick was already waiting beside the carriage as promised by father.

  I sat upright on the leather seat, hands folded neatly in my lap. My eyes fell, unfocused on the forest that flanked the main road to the heart of Belaria.

  If Cilia spoke, my father would know before the end of the day.

  If she did not...

  I would have gained something far more valuable than tea.

  The Lumerian Grand Library rose from the center of the high quarters like a temple of knowledge—marble columns reaching skyward, a vast glass dome catching the sun in a thousand fractured reflections.

  Inside, the air smelled of paper and wood.

  Rodrick positioned himself near one of the interior columns. Close enough to observe, far enough to pretend discretion.

  I made no effort to escape his line of sight.

  In fact, I welcomed it.

  Let him witness every step.

  Let him recount every movement.

  If accusations arose later, I would require testimony.

  With the first stage already in motion, I turned toward the second.

  I walked toward the librarian's desk.

  The art inquiry must now be witnessed.

  I approached with measured steps.

  "Excuse me," I said, lowering my voice into mild embarrassment. "I was hoping to consult materials regarding recent graduates of the Royal Academy of Art in Virelia."

  The archivist's expression brightened.

  "Ah, Caelestis Valore?"

  I allowed surprise to flicker across my features.

  "Yes. I understand he has become... rather discussed."

  "Oh, immensely," she replied. "His work has been circulating among the noblest patrons."

  Perfect.

  She gestured for an assistant to retrieve a slim catalog volume.

  I made certain Rodrick saw it.

  Saw the ledger opened and witnessed the harmless transaction recorded.

  If Father had been warned I intended to meet someone, he would expect secrecy.

  Instead, he would hear of art.

  Brushstrokes.

  Graduation honors.

  I took the catalog and returned to a table directly beneath the dome, sunlight spilling over its pages.

  I rose a few times to gather more books on contemporary art. After the third trip around the shelves, Rodrick's eyes no longer followed me as intently as before.

  The Periodical Archive Wing curved beneath the eastern side of the dome, bound volumes arranged in meticulous chronological order.

  I traced my fingers along the gilded spines until I found yesterday's date.

  I slipped between two books and carried it back to my table.

  Well within view, if not for the small book mountain I had gathered.

  I opened the volume to page thirteen.

  The paper was thinner than I remembered.

  Or perhaps my patience was.

  Pages nineteen and twenty-seven followed.

  All present.

  Only my copy did not present them.

  I smoothed the page flat and began to read.

  The article was not large. It occupied the lower half of the column, bordered by advertisements for winter imports and an announcement regarding an upcoming canal permit reform.

  It would have been easy to miss.

  "Agricultural Adjustments in the Eastern Lowlands Meet Resistance"

  The Ministry of Sustenance had introduced revised measures intended to improve soil retention and crop resilience. Preliminary data, the article claimed, was promising.

  However, "a small group of farmers" had protested the implementation process, claiming that seven individuals had sustained injuries caused by the new measures.

  No names were provided.

  No detailed account of the injuries.

  Only that the situation had been "swiftly contained by the Prefecture of Order" and that further resistance was "unlikely."

  The word contained buzzed in my mind.

  The canal reforms were mentioned briefly—necessary for "long-term compatibility of magical environments."

  The rural lowlands, where non-magical laborers outnumbered mages more than forty to one.

  The east, where the southern land bridge reclaimed by mages less than two centuries ago had cut access to independent unbound trade.

  Where irrigation depended on the upper canal.

  No mention of whether the injuries were from miscalibration.

  Or enforcement.

  I closed the volume halfway, my trembling finger marking the page.

  So that is what Father thought I should not see.

  Which I assumed meant one of two things: either the measures were more severe than printed, or the protests were spreading.

  I lifted my gaze.

  Rodrick stood exactly where I expected him to be--posture straight, eyes occasionally sweeping the hall and then returning to me.

  I returned the volume to its place and brushed my fingers against the shelves as if the act meant nothing.

  I felt restless as I returned to my seat. Too overwhelmed to continue pretending to read the books in front of me.

  I did not expect to find serenity at home.

  If Cilia had spoken, Father would react.

  He would not stay quiet. Not with the meeting with the Oraphers so close.

  Seven farmers in the east. A household in the west that believed I should not read about them.

  Belaria was fracturing.

  Just like a sheet of ice under too much pressure.