“Then I’ll do the same,” Beaufort says.
Fox walks to the window, to the tall glass panes of this observatory, and stares out at the mist. He drags a hand down his face, pulling at his beard. “If she meets you, you could use the opportunity to?—”
“No,” Beaufort says. “I won’t do that. I’ll meet her in order to find a resolution. I won’t be an assassin.”
“Could end things painlessly and simply,” Dray points out with a shrug.
But Beaufort simply sets his jaw and shakes his head.
“I don’t like this,” Nini says, nibbling on her lip.
“Yeah,” Beaufort steps forward to take her hands in his, “neither do I, sweetheart.” He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “Thank you for understanding.”
As soon as we return to our tower, Beaufort disappears up to his study to compose the note to his mother. I follow after him, leaning against the wall as he writes. When he’s done, he rolls the tiny piece of paper up and calls for a crow.
There’s one tapping at the windowpane almost immediately, and he opens the window. Cold air rushes into the warm room as the crow swoops in, landing on his desk. I help him tie the small note to the crow’s right foot, the bird watching us with its beady eyes.
Then Beaufort speaks to it in the ancient words, the crow tilting its head one way and the other, listening to the instructions. It hops across the desk and then swoops out of the window, disappearing from sight.
Beaufort slumps down into his chair, swinging it from side to side.
“Do you think this will work?” I ask him.
“No,” he says without hesitation. “But I have to know that I tried, for my conscience.”
I stare at him, mimicking the crow. “You never used to have a conscience.”
“Didn’t I?” He shrugs. “I think it’s Briony,” he tells me. “She makes me look at things differently, you know.”
“I do,” I say, nodding. “And for what it’s worth, Beaufort, I think it’s the right thing to do.”
He huffs. “It’s hard to remember what’s right and wrong now, isn’t it? I used to think doing the right thing meant following her orders, doing what she said, being the dutiful son, prince of the realm, powerful shadow weaver.”
“I don’t think those were the wrong things,” I say. “We didn’t know, did we?”
“Maybe we should have,” he says darkly.
But he says no more, our conversation interrupted by Fox entering the room, wanting to discuss plans to keep Beaufort safe if the Empress actually agrees to the meeting.
An hour passes.
And then there’s a tap on the glass. We all look toward the window, and the same crow is lurking there on the ledge. This time I stroll over, unhook the latch, swing back the pane, and let the crow fly into the room. It circles once before landing on the desk.
Beaufort feeds it a little seed before untying the new note attached to its leg. He looks at the small coil of paper in the palmof his hand as if he’s a little scared to learn what it contains. He goes to unravel it, but Fox says, “Stop. Could be cursed or booby-trapped.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Beaufort scoffs, already unraveling it before Fox can stop him again.
There’s no swirl of dark magic, no puff of smoke or explosion, simply a piece of paper, tiny handwriting scrawled along its length. I watch Beaufort’s silver eyes scan the words, his face blank so I have no clue whether she’s consented or declined until he lowers his hands and looks up at us.
“She’s agreed to the meeting. Half an hour. At the railway station.”
“The railway station? Why there?” I ask.
“I suggested it,” he says. “It’s not close to the academy or to where her army is based. It’s entirely neutral. And,” he points out, “I probably know the terrain there better than she does.”
“Half an hour,” Fox says, scratching at his beard. “And you’re clear what you have to do if you think you’re in danger. If you think she’s betrayed you and sabotaged you.”
“Pull on the magic around Briony’s heart,” Beaufort says.
