“By all. It might be a law of the empire,” he said. “Where would that be?”
She circled the shelves, letting her fingertip glide over the spines of the books. And finally she found the collection. It filled three shelves and there were multiple editions of each play.
“Here!” she said. “Will you help?”
He rushed to her side and together they pulled the books down. Carefully they flipped through them, standing so close that their shoulders touched. She glanced at him with a soft smile. “You do not like Byron, but are you a reader of the Bard?”
“Indeed,” Ellis said. “I learned to read when Rook introduced me to Shakespeare.”
“Which play?” she asked as she pivoted to face him.
“Much Ado About Nothing,” he admitted.
She clapped her hands together. “My favorite, as well.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then they both dove into the pile of books on the table before them.
“Much Ado!” she called out as she held up a version with a well-worn spine and cover.
He held up a finer copy, this one with gold filigree. “I hate to compliment the man on taste, but Harcourt must be a devotee as well, since he has two copies.”
She shook her head. “You two might actually like each other when this is finished.”
He said nothing, but she felt him stiffen at her side. They each opened their copy of the play. He finished first and let out a groan that showed his frustration. She was about to give up as well and decided to flip through the pages once more. And there, hidden in the pages of act one, was a folded sheet of paper.
“Ellis,” she breathed as she removed it with shaking fingers and handed it over. He took it but continued to stare at the page where it had been lodged.
“Don John’s speech in Act One,” he whispered. “Let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me.”
His pain lined his face as he said the famous line, and her heart broke for all he concealed beneath that mask of casual frivolity and disregard. She knew better now.
“It is the first thing I memorized from the work,” he explained. “Rook and I used to tease each other with that line. And he…he put the code here.”
She nodded. “You were in his thoughts, I suppose, when he did it. Accepting you was in his thoughts.”
He shook his head. “He ought not accept me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Ellis—” she began, but he held up a hand to silence her as he moved to the desk. He sat down, hunched by the candle and looked at the coded lines of letters. Gibberish, as far as she could tell.
“Anagrams,” he breathed. “No wonder Rook struggled. His strategic mind could never unravel them—he despised them.”
She moved to stand behind him and looked at the jumbled words. “I can see a half dozen words in the mix, but how to know which ones are correct?”
“It’s a skill,” he muttered, his gaze darting back and forth. “Hare. Roar. Garden,” he said out loud, and she saw the same words.
“A skill?” she repeated.
“Honoria,” he whispered.
She shook her head but saw the same name in the jumble before her.
“Harder when it is such a complicated set of letters,” he continued. “Fountain. It’s meant to confuse. And if the message was meant for one person, even the decoded version might mean little to a person who didn’t know the signs.”
“But you do?” Juliana asked. He didn’t respond. “Do you, Ellis?” she repeated, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He glanced up at her, and there was a strange peace on his face. It should have made her happy to see it, but instead it terrified her. It was…acceptance. Surrender. And she didn’t want to see either of those things on the face of the man she loved.
The only reason a fighter like Ellis would surrender was if he thought he had a fair trade for it.
