I began to leave the shop when something caught my eye. A leather weapon belt, hanging overhead. It was the twin to the one I had possessed, the one my father had purchased for me when I began to fight at his side on the streets of Hereswith. The twin to the one Olivette had worn the other day.

My breath caught.

The resemblance was uncanny, undeniable. Papa must have bought it from this shop.

“Another question, Miss Neven?” the smith asked, noticing my rapt attention.

I wondered if this smith was Olivette’s father, remembering how she had told me that her father had made the weapon belt for her. And I opened my mouth to ask more about the belt, to tell him I knew Olivette, but something gave me pause. A warning, as if I had felt a draft. “No. Good day to you, sir.”

That afternoon, I began writing my exposé at Phelan’s desk. I used his ink and quill, and a blank journal I had purchased, and started listing the things I wanted to include:

—The countess buys art supplies (for herself?) and is a magician. Potential deviah?

—The countess poisoned her late husband, the count, because . . . ? (She was bored of him/she had a liaison with the duke/he had uncovered a secret of hers she wanted to keep buried.)

—Lennox and Phelan may or may not be the duke’s children.

—Phelan failed his entrance exams, holds no illumination, and would have never become a magician if it wasn’t for the duke’s influence.

“Miss Neven?” Mrs. Stirling opened the library door. It startled me so badly my quill shot across the page, and I hastened to close my journal. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but a visitor has come to borrow one of Mr. Vesper’s books.”

“Yes, give me one moment and then send them in, Mrs. Stirling.”

She nodded and left. I hurried to charm my journal so no one but me could read it before opening the enchanted safe, retrieving the purse with the red ribbon. It was swollen with coins, and I wondered what Phelan had set this sum aside for.

A creak sounded on the threshold.

I spun to greet the visitor, only to stiffen in shock. Words froze on my tongue as I stared at the girl from the art shop. Blythe.

She gave me a tentative smile, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but I’m here to borrow one of Mr. Vesper’s books. He said you could help me.”

I swallowed my shock, as well as the hope that she would remember me. I was in disguise, and I had nearly forgotten it.

“Y-yes, of course.” I walked to her and extended the coin purse.