Rather than speak, Simon brings one hand up to my face. Slowly, he leans lower, until his blond curls brush my hairline. “I know I can trust you,” he whispers. “You’re the only one in all this with nothing to hide.”
Those words flood me with guilt, but I shove it aside in favor of what I want in this moment. I want him to lift my chin, aligning my mouth with his. I want to taste the mint I can smell on his warm breath.
I want to let him know I’ll think of him every day he’s gone.
“Simon?” Juliane’s voice echoes up the stairwell. His head snaps up, looking behind me, but she’s on the floor below.
The stairs creak as she begins to ascend, and Simon puts a finger to his lips and pulls me quietly back into the room. Inside, he gestures for me to put the bench upright and heads to the wardrobe in the corner.
“In here, Juliane,” he calls, then opens the cabinet door and leans inside, hiding his flushed face from view.
I’ve just resettled the bench when she appears in the doorway, looking much better than she had when I left yesterday. “The palfrey is saddled and ready. Are you packed?”
“Almost.” Simon’s voice is muffled by the wardrobe.
Juliane notices me and frowns. “I didn’t know you were here, Cat.”
“Just saying goodbye.” I wonder how Juliane feels aboutSimon going to Mesanus, given that she doesn’t know the reason he’s confident nothing will happen while he’s gone.
“Spread the word that I’ll return in two weeks.” Simon steps away from the cabinet, his face calm and detached, and tosses a satchel on the table, scattering his neat stack. “But expect me in no more than ten days.”
Juliane purses her lips, a move that makes me pull my own between my teeth self-consciously. “What should we do in that time?” she asks. “You said you had a task for us.”
Simon hadn’t told me anything about that, but I hope that’s because we got distracted more than anything else. Though I’m privy to Simon’s darkest conclusions, I feel a pang of jealousy that Juliane knows something I don’t. To hide my expression, I busy myself gathering the sketches back together, though not in the order I’m sure he wanted.
“Yes.” Simon pulls another bag from the wardrobe and shakes it out, inspecting it for holes. “I want you to look into possible victims before Perrete.”
He’s mentioned the idea before. “Where do we start?” I ask.
“My father’s records,” says Juliane confidently. “They’re at the Palace of Justice.”
I frown. At the grain merchant’s trial, we all saw how little information was recorded about the murders of the past two weeks—only who died and where and one word on how. “Stabbing” or “bleeding” leaves much to the imagination, and the women’s occupation was never listed. “Do you think there will be enough details to determine that?”
“Just note everything that has possibility, and ask around.” Satisfied with the bag’s condition, Simon begins stuffing items of clothing inside. Knowing how few people wanted to talk to us about the night Perrete died, I’m not sure that will garner muchinformation. “But don’t involve Lambert yet,” he adds. “I don’t think he’ll be able to hide anything from my uncle. And commit nothing to paper.”
He means Juliane should memorize what we learn. I don’t think she’s able to do otherwise—she only writes things down for the rest of us. No doubt she could do everything alone.
That suspicion seems correct when Juliane turns to me. “It will be faster if I go through the records by myself.” Before I can object, she smiles and adds, “I’ll come to your house tomorrow morning, and we can get started. I’m glad we’ll be working together.”
It feels sincere. “I as well, Lady Juliane.”
Simon ties his packed bag closed and sets it on the table. I’m holding all of his drawings, one of Perrete’s nearly exposed body on top. As he gathers pencils, a quill, and a bottle of ink, I wait to hand the pages to him, wishing desperately that Juliane would leave and give us another few moments alone. Perhaps he wants the same thing, because he pauses to address her. “Do you happen to know where my cloak is?”
“Hanging in the kitchen,” she answers, turning back to the door. “I’ll fetch it while you finish saying goodbye to Cat.”
I could have sworn she smiled a little.
When she’s gone, my heart quickens, hoping Simon might intend to finish what was interrupted, but he focuses on packing the satchel. “Thank you for agreeing to help Juliane while I’m gone.”
Disappointment makes me clutch the pages harder. “I don’t think she needs me at all.”
“She does.” He throws the strap over his head and shoulder so the bag rests across his front. “Juliane can collect and hold the pieces of this puzzle, but it’s you who puts them together.”
I don’t care about Juliane right now. I want to talk about what’sbetween us and whether it’s the beginning of something—or the end. “Simon, I—”
“Catrin,” he interrupts. Then he sighs. “I don’t know.” He smiles tentatively. “But I’ll miss you.”
I look down. “And I you.”