Chapter 4 4

"That's not possible," I insisted, though my voice came out thinner than I wanted it to. "I'm standing right here."

"Someone wants it to look like you're not," Cassian growled grimly, already moving, pulling me back inside before the terrace crowd could catch wind of the commotion.

"Which means whoever's doing this either wants you declared dead again to stop looking for them, or wants everyone at this summit to believe there are two of you and start asking exactly the kind of questions that get people killed."

"Comforting options, both."

"I didn't claim they were comforting. I claimed they were likely." He steered us through a side corridor, away from the main hall, jaw set hard enough that I could see the muscle working beneath it. "We need to see the body."

"That went well the last time I tried it."

"You didn't have a Draven with you the last time."

Turned out having a Draven with me meant walking straight past the harbor watch without a single question asked, which was either extremely convenient or deeply concerning depending on how much thought I wanted to give House Draven's actual reach in this city.

The body on the canal slab wasn't me, obviously, a woman perhaps my age, features altered just enough by the water and the damage that a hurried identification could plausibly mistake her for me if someone wanted it to.

"This is deliberate," I murmured quietly, studying the mark burned into her palm, identical to Jonas's, identical to the sparrow in the box.

"Whoever's doing this wants a body double on record. That's not opportunistic. That takes planning."

"Planning, and access to know exactly what you look like." Cassian's voice had gone very carefully controlled. "Which narrows down who could have arranged it considerably."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning very few people outside my immediate household have seen your face since the engagement was announced." He met my eyes, and the look in them was equal parts fury and dread. "I think we need to talk to my uncle."

"Your uncle. The one who cornered me at dinner asking pointed questions about my family."

"That's the one."

"Fantastic. I do love confronting a man I already suspect of murder with no plan and questionable footwear." I glanced down at the gala heels I was still, absurdly, wearing. "For the record, if this goes badly, I blame the shoes."

"Noted for the eulogy."

"Too soon."

"Was it though?" A ghost of dark humor crossed his face despite everything, gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by the same grim focus from moments before.

We found Alaric in the summit's private records office, calm as ever, reviewing shipping ledgers by lamplight like the entire building wasn't currently one dead body away from a citywide scandal.

"Cassian. Miss Kestrel." He didn't even look up. "I heard about the unfortunate incident in the canal. Terrible business."

"Word travels fast for something the harbor watch is still investigating," I observed.

"I have excellent hearing, my dear. Age does big wonders pp. Sharpens some things while it dulls others." He finally set the ledger aside, folding his hands with the unhurried patience of a man who had never once needed to raise his voice to get exactly what he wanted.

"You knew my name," I accused, before Cassian could speak. "You've been calling me Marlowe since dinner. Nobody outside your household should know that name belongs to a supposedly dead woman."

Alaric finally set down the ledger, and the warmth in his expression didn't so much fade as simply switch off, like a lamp with no more oil to burn. "You're sharper than I expected. Jonas always did say the Kestrel line bred clever girls."

The room went very still. "You knew Jonas."

"I hired Jonas," Alaric corrected mildly. "Years ago, to help catalogue exactly which Hollow Mark carriers had survived the old purge, your father's work originally, though he lost his nerve for it long before he vanished. I simply finished what he started."

Cassian went white. "You're saying my father didn't disappear. You're saying you removed him."

"I'm saying your father was weak, and this family cannot afford weakness, not when the Hollow Mark represents more raw power than every other House in this city combined." Alaric rose, unhurried, and two armed men stepped into the doorway behind him like they'd been waiting for exactly this cue.

"Jonas outlived his usefulness the moment he helped Marlowe disappear instead of handing her over. The body in the canal was simply insurance, in case my niece to be proved harder to collect quietly than I hoped."

"You're insane," I breathed, backing a step toward Cassian without fully deciding to.

"I'm patient," Alaric corrected, almost gently.

"There's a difference, though I understand the confusion. Now, I'd prefer this stay civilized, but I will have that mark, Miss Kestrel, one way or the other."

Cassian moved first, faster than I expected, putting himself bodily between me and his uncle's men with a fury I hadn't seen from him yet, calm mask fully gone. "You will not touch her."

"Cassian." Alaric's voice carried real disappointment, the tone of a man scolding a favorite nephew for a foolish, sentimental mistake. "I had hoped you'd be reasonable about this."

"I am being reasonable. I'm giving you exactly one chance to walk away before I make you regret every single thing you've done to this family."

Alaric sighed, the exact sound of a man mildly inconvenienced rather than genuinely afraid, and gestured once, sharp, and the records office doors burst open behind his men, a dozen more guards flooding in, and somewhere beyond them, through the corridor, I heard the unmistakable, rising sound of screaming spreading through the summit's main hall like fire catching dry wood.

"Ah," Alaric mused, almost fondly, glancing toward the noise. "It seems my other arrangements have arrived a little early. Do try to keep up, the both of you. I would so hate to finish this without an audience."

The lamps along the corridor guttered out all at once, plunging the records office into darkness, and the last thing I heard before chaos swallowed the room whole was Cassian's voice, low and urgent, right at my ear.

"Marlowe. Whatever happens next, do not let them see your wrist."

I had exactly enough time to wonder what, precisely, he thought was going to happen next, before the darkness answered that question for me, the sound of steel clearing leather from every direction at once, and somewhere very close, entirely too pleased with himself, Alaric's voice cut calmly through the chaos like a man commenting on the weather.

"Do try to make this interesting, Miss Kestrel. It's been so very long since anyone has."