“Both.” She took Ashyn’s drawing from her pocket. “I want to find out what this is.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. “I believe it’s a seal. In fact, it rather resembles the one from the letter, though it’s hard to tell. Someone should not trade her daggers for drawing pencils.”

“I’ll tell Ashyn that. She drew it for me.”

Another pause, and she wondered if he was about to apologize for the unintended insult to her sister. He simply said, “So you plan to research it.”

“Yes. Or ask the scholars.”

“And if I said you were wasting your time on frivolities . . .”

“I would say it was my time to waste.”

“Perhaps instead you would care to waste it in the training yard with me? Or touring the grounds? I know a few secret spots that might be of interest.” When she looked up, he shrugged. “You aren’t the only one going mad with boredom, Keeper. Either activity would be an acceptable excuse for you to be seen with your guard and escort.”

She hesitated and then looked down at the drawing. “Can we do it later?”

He paused, and she thought he’d say he wasn’t waiting on her convenience, but he merely murmured, “You are resolved to your research, then?”

“I am.”

When she looked up, his expression seemed odd. The lantern light, she decided.

“Of course you are,” he said.

“So we’ll meet afterward? I’d like to see these secret places you mentioned. In the meantime, since you need to eat and drink, you should pack us a picnic.”

“Should I?”

“Yes. We’ll ‘poke about,’ and we’ll have sweets and honey wine, and perhaps, if we don’t have too much wine, we’ll spar afterward. Does that sound like a good way to pass the time?”

“It sounds like a perfect way to pass the time.” His voice was strange, almost wistful, and she looked up sharply, but he only turned his face and bumped her shoulder. “Go on, then, Keeper. Look up your seal.”

Moria found the imperial library. It seemed the busiest place in the court at this time of evening. Or perhaps busy was not the right word. It was simply the most populated. There were six or seven scholars there deep in study, the room so silent that her footfalls echoed like thunder when she entered.

A man came hurrying out from behind stacks of books. He seemed only in his third decade but was already slightly stooped and graying, as if from a lifetime of poring over books. When he saw her, he stopped and smiled.

“Did you finish your book already, my lady?” he asked.

“That was my sister, Ashyn.”

He blinked. In Edgewood, it was rare even to be mistaken for each other—their manners, their stances, their speech, and even their style of dress was different.