Xavier had done us all a favor. The case would close with nothing implicating me or Helshire.
This wasn’t the vengeful Hefnd I’d expected from Xavier, no severed heads lugged home at dawn. This was a different kind of passion—a gift for me.
That look of ecstasy on his face.
But as I waited for his party, a question stuck in the back of my mind: How had he known about my bribe?
Were the Lindqvists tracking Crystal’s case? Would Xavier have used family sources for his Hefnd? That seemed to go against the spirit of Halcyon Hall.
There was only one other way…
I’d told Sebastian about the bearded man that night.
My cousin, with his politicking of the other families, his certainty that protecting me was worth any amount of collateral damage. I could imagine him whispering in Xavier’s ear, choice words to settle the waters around Helshire at last.
Bellamy—
Did you know that doctors do something called “triage”? In an emergency, you separate injured people into three piles:
A) the patients who need help right away
B) the patients who can wait
C) the patients who will die no matter what.
65
As Sebastian had instructed, Tom was waiting for us on the steps of Ridermore.
“Evening, cousin,” Sebastian said.
“It’s night,” Tom said. He looked wary, as if he knew we’d disposed of a body since the last time he’d seen us.
“Past your bedtime?” I asked.
Tom grumbled at this, falling in beside us. The leaves were turning, and punctuated our steps with brittle crunches. “I have midterms to study for. Thomas was not impressed with me going out this late.”
“Aw, the roommate cares.” Sebastian gave Tom a mock punch on the shoulder. “Incorporating him will be a cinch.”
“He has exam-anxiety-by-proxy. Me being the proxy!”
“His nervous condition,” Sebastian said.
“Are you reading my reports?”
“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Sebastian knows everyone, and everything about them.” He somehow knew that I’d live-streamed Crystal’s memorial service, then thrown the burner phone in the lake.
Tom sighed. “I’m learning everything I can about Thomas. But he’s so boring. That cricket sport he likes? It takes, like, five days! He quotes stats from the 1800s, then expects me to—”
He stopped, confused.
Just ahead of us on the path to Main, dressed in an ankle-length coat that appeared to be made of antique quilts, was Gertie.
“Good evening, cousins,” she called.
Tom looked at me. “Gertie leaves her dorm now? Is this some kind of…intervention?”
That set the three of us laughing, though he wasn’t entirely wrong. Tom wasn’t going to become careworn on his own.
