Theodore came into the dining room while Catherine and Poppy were eating breakfast. He held a stack of mail in one hand and an opened letter in the other.
“I’ve received a letter from my brother-in-law.” Theodore’s lips twisted around the wordbrother. “It accuses me of harboring and abetting a criminal in her quest for power.”
“What are you talking about?” Catherine asked.
Theodore handed Poppy the letter. Catherine came to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder as she skimmed it. Poppy’s breakfast churned in her stomach. Richard’s letter openly accused her of participating in the illegal trade of opium in Welkland.
When he hadn’t exposed her after the failed wedding, she’d hoped it meant he’d been bluffing. But here in her hands was Richard’s “proof” of her crimes: a copy of the written testimony of a former Thornhaven student, attesting she had witnessed Poppy sneaking off campus multiple times, and a ledger from Hasan’s family’s crime business, with Poppy’s name on several lines.
Richard had also accused her of coordinating with the Jackal to fake her own abduction, with the intent of extorting her father. He cited the testimony from the valets at the engagement party, who had seen Hasan leave the party shortly after her, and from the museum curator, who had noted that he had seen Hasan guide Poppy by the hand and not in chains or ropes like atruehostage. The letter creased in her grip as she realized how easily several truths had been twisted together to spin a falsehood.
“The ledger is forged,” Poppy said, her words tripping out in a rush. “And the testimony?—the Alderforts are working with Richard, the servants’ quotes are being taken out of context, and it wasRichardwho asked the Jackal to bring me to the museum in the first place. I was not in chains because the Jackal had only ever treated me gently, up until that point.”
“Of course,” Catherine scoffed. “My brother has a whole deck of cards up his sleeve. This is what he does.”
Theodore nodded. “I suspected that this was some trick of Richard’s. I believe you, because I know what he’s like, and I know what you’re like. But many of the other Second Families don’t.”
Poppy lowered the letter. “What are you saying?”
“I think you know what I’m saying,” he said. “If Richard starts sending these documents to our allies, they will withdraw support, even if you attempt to explain yourself. The Second Families may be resentful of the First Families, but to them the police are a respectable, trustworthy institution.”
“I don’t know how to stop this.” She crumpled Richard’s letter in her hand, crushing it. “His letter says that if I retract my bid for vicereine, he won’t expose me.”
“Surely you don’t believe he would honor such a bargain?” Catherine asked.
“I don’t. But I can’tdoanything to stop him from circulating letters or rumors about me. Even if I retract, even if I disappear, he still has that information.”
“Do you have anything on Richard?” Catherine asked Theodore. “Something that we could hold over his head?”
“Nothing with proof,” Theodore answered. “And nothing that the other families would take too seriously, either. Police brutality is acceptable so long as the victims are sufficiently guilty in their eyes.”
It was hopeless. The whole venture was over. Poppy had had to fight twice as hard as anyone else to get to where she was, and now she would lose it all anyway, because no matter how hard she studied or how well behaved she was, she would never be as credible as a Welkish man. She put her head in her hands, the weight of this truth too much for her to bear.
“I do have other news,” Theodore added. “I’m not sure if it’s good yet, but you’ll soon find out.”
She lifted her head. He offered a sealed envelope. “It’s from your father.”
Her hands shook as she reached for it. The envelope felt dangerously thin; whatever the duke had said, he had not provided any cushioning to go with it. There would be no beating around the bush, no gentle easing into his message.
Poppy took the letter opener from Theodore and sliced into the envelope. Catherine scooted backward as Poppy drew out a single page from within, giving her space to read the note privately. The room went quiet; no one even dared to breathe.
She read the letter once. Twice. A third time.
“Well?” Catherine finally said, breaking the silence. “What does it say?”
Poppy looked up, her mouth dry. “He wants to meet me.”
• • •
Poppy sat in her father’s office, holding her breath as she waited for the butler to fetch him. He hadn’t given any inclination of his thoughts in the letter. Whom had he chosen as his successor? What would she do if he had chosen, and it wasn’t her? If it was Richard? Her stomach churned.
Then the doorknob turned, scattering her thoughts. The door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. The duke stood on the other side. For a moment, all Poppy could process was relief: Here was her father, ready to speak with her after weeks of silence.
Then she looked at him more closely, catching details she’d missed in her first inspection. Guilt filled her heart, weighing it down like a stone. He looked like he’d aged seven years in the last week. The skin around his eyes had darkened to a bluish black, and his suit?—usually pressed into perfect lines?—was wrinkled, his collar rumpled and sticking up at the back. His signet ring, engraved with the Cloudcliff seal, hung loose on his finger.
“Father,” Poppy said, rising.
He hobbled into the room on his cane, using his free arm to bring her into an embrace that was surprisingly fierce, given how frail he looked.
