His eyebrows rise and lips twitch. “If you’re right, maybe this saves the fifth. If you’re wrong, I need to keep an eye on him. Just in case.”
Izamal crosses his arms, but his handsome face is arranged to say,I’m mildly amused. It’s funny, in a way, how alike he and Dalca are. Both wear masks to hide their desperation. But where Dalca’s fueledby fear, Izamal’s driven by a dark rage. I don’t know which is more dangerous.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Let’s get back.”
I open the door and go in, Iz on my heels.
Dalca gives Cas a speaking glance. Cas lets out a dramatic sigh and hands the notebook to me, without a word.
“Vesper,” Dalca says pleasantly, “would you be so kind as to help?”
With an eye on Dalca and Casvian—in case Cas makes a lunge for it—I settle into a chair. I crack Pa’s notebook open, holding my breath. It’s different, this time—there’s no listening for footsteps in the hall, no propping a chair under the doorknob, nothing but Pa’s thoughts and me.
Sure, Dalca’s breathing down my neck, I’m stuck in the middle of round two of Iz and Cas’s legroom territorial dispute, and every so often a little voice reminds me that I’m on the verge of being an orphan, but there’s only so much despair a person can take. I decide to enjoy the little things, like Pa’s loopy handwriting and the little asides he writes about the people in his life.
Casvian Haveli, light of my life, disagrees with my enjoyment. “Here.” He yanks the book from my hands. “You should start here. That’s where the code changes.” He flips forward to a sheaf of slightly darker papers. The words are all gibberish. Readable, ordinary words, but arranged carefully to make absolutely no sense. Familiar marks line the edge of the pages. It’s not the same code as in the early sections—it’s a little more complex—but I think I can work it out.
“Are you going to let me do this my way?” I say, not to Casvian, but to Dalca, who sits with his head resting on folded arms.
“Cas is smarter than he looks,” Dalca says with a tired grin. Casvian scowls. “That said, do what you need to do. He’s just here to help. We all are.”
“Thank you.” I tug the notebook out of Casvian’s vise grip.
“What am I, decoration?”
“Yes, dear,” Izamal says. “Just sit there and look pretty.”
Cas gives him a withering look. “If this is a waste of time—”
“I’ll find it. Just give me a moment.”
At first glance, it’s a looping, paranoid mess, until I figure out the structure underneath. My name makes an appearance as the key for one section; a sentimental touch that makes my eyes prickle. All those years of watching Pa, hoping he’d let me in to his inner world, pay off here. It takes me several hours to unravel Pa’s code.
I make my face still, to keep from letting on that I’ve figured it out. Slowly, laboriously, I decode it in my head, glancing up at the others every so often. Casvian’s lost in his own research into some of the new ikons the ikonomancers have gleaned from Pa’s journal, and Izamal copies down ikons, with his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. He’s not very good; every so often, something starts smoking under his fingers and he hurries to correct it. Dalca has succumbed to his exhaustion. His long legs dangle over his armrest, the rest of his body folded into a position that makes my neck hurt just looking at him.
The pages Casvian pointed out are mottled and wrinkled, covered in careless watermarks. Pa kept a detailed account of his hunt for the mark, albeit a meandering one, his theories dotted with his hopes, his ideas, and his fears.
The Regia is more than a ruler, more than a figurehead, morethan a leader: the Regia must be a source of balance. The question is, a balance between what? Good and evil? Man and animal? Order and chaos? Our Regia is no source of goodness. All I can guarantee is that he is, indeed, a man.
I skim ahead.
The people love her. In her eyes I see the depth of her passion for them. I don’t dare compare that passion to her love for me, for I fear I won’t like what I find. I know her. She is courageous and kind, but she is no fool. She knows what we’re up against, and she knows how to give them hope. She knows how to use them. I do not doubt that she would make a good leader. Why does becoming a leader mean she must also become the Regia?
Ma. He’s talking about Ma. He never spoke of her, not to me. Reading about her is like walking through an old, familiar home and finding a new door.
Ma, a just and fair woman who wanted to become the Regia. Kind and courageous. Who walked into the Storm and was lost.
“What are you doing?” Casvian says.
“Looking for a clue.”
“Looked like you were reading.”
“Iamreading. How else do you expect me to find a clue?” For pages Pa goes on, outlining what amounts to a treason plot. Unless the Regia gives Pa a pardon, this is damning. I mean, Pa’s already in a tough spot, but what if I’m facing a future where we save the Regia only so she’s hale and hearty for Pa’s execution?
Casvian’s eyes darken, something vicious drawing to the surface. “I may not have asextensivea catalogue of inventions as your father, but I am rather inventive in my own right. I know an inversion ikon,which, when applied to a man’s arm, will turn his skin inside out. I know a rather inoffensive warming ikon, which, when applied to a man’s tongue, will cook him from the inside.”