“Is that secure?” I ask, keeping my voice as quiet as possible. “Couldn’t other Strategia intercept messages that way?”

“Yes, it’s secure, and yes, they could intercept messages,” Ash admits, putting on his gloves. “But they don’t. It’s like the study rooms in the library at the Academy—everyone respects everyone else’s privacy because not respecting it would invite retaliation. And if someone was caught breaching another Family’s correspondence, not only would that person be punished, but their entire Family would lose the ability to use the libraries. It’s not worth it.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever understand the dichotomous nature of Strategia—chaotic and orderly, deceptive and respectful. “And the message you just read?” I say, leaving the question open-ended.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ash says, and immediately changes the subject. “Let’s grab a coffee and some food before we get back on the road. There’s a café on this block where J. K. Rowling used to work on Harry Potter. And the view of Edinburgh Castle isn’t bad, either.” Ash smiles, but his eyes don’t. Which tells me I was right to be suspicious; something is definitely bothering him.

“Okay, Ash, what’s going on?”

We cross the street and stop in front of a café with a bright red storefront.

“You mean besides a coffee and a deadly blacksmith stalker?” he says, and pushes the door open for me, temporarily halting our conversation.

Wintry garlands are strewn around chalkboards, and white lights twinkle along the glass displays filled with mouthwatering pastries. Everything smells of cinnamon and nutmeg. Normally I would be soaking in every second of this winter-themed bliss, but all I can think about is what Ash isn’t telling me.

I quickly order and we take a seat at a table by the far wall.

I slip out of my coat and lean forward, looking Ash straight in the eye. “Despite the risk of being followed,” I say, quietly picking up our conversation, “you randomly took a detour to the library. And now you’re doing everything to distract me from hearing what you found other than balancing a seal on your head. While dancing.”

He raises an eyebrow at the seal comment, like he doesn’t know where I come up with this stuff.

“A desperate need for a coffee or not,” I say, “don’t tell me it’s nothing if it’s something. And it’s clearly something.”

Ash sighs. “I’m not avoiding telling you,” he says carefully. “It’s just that I only got a piece of the message and I’m not sure what it all means yet.”

I look at him sideways. “What do you mean, you only got a piece of it?”