“Have you found who you’re looking for, dearie?” Peter said in that same croaky, old woman voice.
“Not yet,” I answered in a similar tone. “Help me look for a Nora or a Brielle.”
We combed through the entire cemetery but didn’t find either name, and Peter, who never seemed to grow weary, suggested looking in another cemetery. It took an hour to walk there, and when we arrived, we found it crowded as well.
I looked at each gravestone, memorizing each name and birth date before moving on, terrified that I might find my sister’s or mother’s name, but there was nothing. I wanted to be relieved but couldn’t manage it. There had to be dozens or hundreds more graveyards all around Berkway, and I didn’t want to find my family’s name on a gravestone. I wanted to find them all alive and well. A gaggle of several wealthy-looking young women were clustered in a group near one of the gravestones, where one girl, perhaps sixteen years old, was crying.
“Where do you think their parents are?” Peter whispered to me.
“They attend Rosehaven Hall,” I whispered back. “You know, that elite boarding school for rich girls. They all have the same coat of arms on their bags.”
“I’ve heard of that place. I was told it was a fancy finishing school, but that’s about it. How do you know what their coat of arms looks like?” Peter asked curiously, tilting his head so he could get a better view of the bags.
“I saw it on a carriage,” I said. “What about you, Peter? Are you looking for anyone here?”
Peter shrugged. “No. I don’t have anyone that I care about who has died. I’ll help you look for your people, though.” We slowly made our way through the graveyard, where people were placing flowers or small trinkets in front of the headstones and murmuring a few words.
With each new gravestone, I desperately searched for the names. Sometimes my stomach would swoop unpleasantly as I saw a name that began with an N or B, but inevitably it was a different name, and the one time I saw another Nora, the headstone had a death date marked some seventy years ago.
My stomach gave a thunderous growl, and Peter gently bumped my shoulder. “Hungry much?”
“I don’t have any money for food right now,” I said, realization dawning on me. “I left my money pouch in my other clothes. I didn’t know where to put it in a dress.” There was no way I was going to go to the Syndicate’s safehouse to make a withdrawal from my account with Peter in tow.
“I left mine, too,” Peter said. “But there is already plenty of wealth all around us.” He nodded at the mourners.
I eyed the gemstone-laden bracelets and necklaces that were weighing down some wrists and necks and let out a breath of wicked laughter. “It would be a shame to leave without a souvenir,” I said.
Peter chuckled. “My thoughts exactly. Grief always makes people careless. We don’t need much and don’t want to attract attention. Just pick one target.”
I couldn’t resist the slow grin that spread across my face as I looked around, mentally cataloguing everything. There was an emerald ring on the second finger of one woman’s left hand with a loose fit. Another bore a gold signet ring with a family crest. It would be too easily traceable if it was sold and too much hassle to melt down. I curled my lip at the pearl necklace on one young woman’s throat. It was too tight.
I shuffled forward with the other mourners, head bowed and shoulders curved inward. My short stature worked in my favor. No one paid much attention to a small, elderly widow swallowed by black cloth and dabbing at her tears. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Peter feigning a fall, and when someone stooped to help him up, Peter’s hand clutched at them, supposedly to steady himself, and I just barely caught a flash as he pocketed their bracelet.
I turned away and kept scanning the crowd. I would only need a few coins, but if there was a good target, I wouldn’t say no to something better.
A few of the girls from the Rosehaven Hall group had wandered off to another section of the graveyard and we got a better glimpse of the crying girl. She had long, black hair braided back from her red eyes and tear-streaked face, and her friend was squatting down next to her, rubbing her back and speaking quietly.
“That’s Princess Tess.” Peter had come up behind me and was so close he was nearly breathing in my ear. He nodded at the friend beside the crying girl. A sapphire bracelet gleamed on the princess’s wrist, tantalizingly close. It didn’t even have a difficult clasp. My eyes lifted to her throat, where a heavy silver necklace hung, just as tempting as the bracelet.
What that princess needs is a comforting hug from an old woman, I thought. If there was anyone who wouldn’t miss a bit of jewelry, it was royalty. It was more than I needed, but it was practically begging to be taken.
But the moment I moved toward her, Peter’s gloved hand shot out to clench around my arm. “Don’t.” His grasp was firm to the point of being painful and his voice had taken on a deeper, more menacing quality that chilled my blood. It didn’t matter if that voice was coming from who appeared to be a grieving widow. It unnerved me. “Leave her.”
I shot one last, regretful look at the jewels gleaming on the princess’s neck and wrist. It was such a shame to leave them there. She probably had more jewelry than she knew what to do with.
“She wouldn’t even notice,” I grumbled.
“I said,don’t.”
I didn’t need to see Peter’s face to know how much he was glowering, sending a stab of fear through me. Peter was so jovial all the time that I’d almost forgotten how scary he could be when crossed.
“I’m leaving,” I said. “I have enough anyway.”
We left the graveyard and walked back to the cottage mostly in silence, and we didn’t even stop for the meal that my stomach was demanding. Peter was right—it would’ve been useless to rob Tess. It wouldn’t have mattered if Ihadtaken the bracelet; no shops were open to buy jewelry or to sell food.
I glanced at Peter a few times, but he kept staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. He’d pulled off the veil and head covering and was tramping through the woods with his jaw locked and hands balled into fists, all the material wadded up and tucked under his arm. Sudden inspiration sparked. People were always most easily manipulated when they were emotional.
“Hey, Peter?” I ventured when we were halfway through the forest trail. “Where does Roderick keep his important things? For the group and all that?”
