Valentine went preternaturally still at her pronouncement before nearly shoving past the maid and letting out a roar of fury when he yanked the counterpane all the way off. She wasn’t there because she was never in bed at all. Damn it! He wanted to tear into the pillows that he had foolishly assumed had been her. He’d fallen for an old childhood trick foisted upon unsuspecting parents. It was already hours later. She could be anywhere. He knew for a fact she wasn’t hiding on the ship—why would she be? No, she was gone.

Still, he had to be sure.

He ran out of the room and down the corridor. His first stop was the captain’s quarters. Attempting to draw his rage under control, he breathed in through his nose, striving for calm when the man’s eyes rounded with surprise and fear. “I need all of the crew supervisors on duty immediately.”

Seeing his expression, the captain made no bones about giving the directive to a nearby crewman, and within short order, a small crowd had gathered, including Lisbeth and Rawley. He met the man’s concerned stare.

“What’s the matter?” Rawley asked, drawing him aside.

“She’s bloody gone,” Valentine bit out, searching the other man’s eyes for any possible sign that he’d known about the bird’s overnight flight. “Lady Bronwyn.”

Lisbeth let out a small gasp from where she stood. Rawley’s gaze narrowed when he shook his head. “No, she was ill and in bed. I checked last night and again earlier this morning when I brought her a tincture for her headache. She was still asleep.”

Valentine exhaled. “It’s not her. Pillows, not a body. She’s gone. Fooled us all.” God, he could barely form the words through his clenched jaw, but at least, he knew that Rawley looked as surprised as he’d been by the news.

“Where would she go?” Rawley muttered. “Why would she leave in the first place?”

Because she’s under arrest, Valentine nearly shouted. And she’s the Kestrel, a notorious operative I’ve been tracking for weeks. Not that Rawley, or anyone beyond Lisbeth, would know that. He was likely sent here by Ashvale to keep an eye on his sister, without having any clue of her secret, illicit identity.

Valentine stared at the gathered men. “Did anyone leave the ship last night?”

“The footbridge was up, Your Grace,” one of the men said. “Captain’s orders. No one but workers checking on the boiler can leave. The checks were completed and we were due to leave port this morning.”

“I need every room on this ship searched,” he commanded.

“Your Grace!” the captain spluttered, but Valentine’s glare shushed him.