Chapter Six

Six

The following night, the messenger raven fluttered in through the war room’s open window.

Its feathers were nearly indigo, gleaming with the same oily sheen as the lacquer on the writing desk. Fresh air sighed into the room, along with a nip of cold against Lorelei’s cheeks. Another thick fog had rolled in today, creeping through the woods like candlelight leaking beneath a locked door. From here, she could hear the whirring of the engine and the steady churn of the water. It settled into her like a second pulse.

She tugged loose the knot of twine from its leg and retrieved a letter emblazoned with Wilhelm’s seal, a dragon stamped in dark and vivid blue. Behind it was a loose leaf of paper folded into neat squares. With shaking hands, she unfurled the parchment and began to read.

Lorelei,

I wish I could thank you for your letter, but given its grave contents, I cannot. I do, however, appreciate your candidness and brevity, and I will, as much as I’m capable, extend you the same courtesy. In short: Stay the course. If word got out that this project was unpopular even among my closest friends, my enemies would seize upon me. I cannot afford to show them any weakness.

I know each member of the group well, and while I want to say none of them is capable of such an atrocity, it would be disingenuous. If one of them is determined to sabotage my expedition, then I will not give them the satisfaction. I suspect the guilt or the pressure will reveal whoever it is.

I’ve enclosed another sealed letter addressed to the group, expressing my wishes: for the expedition to proceed—and for you to continue leading it. Ziegler—God rest her soul—always spoke highly of you, and I will honor the decision she made before her death.

What I remember most is her praise of your keen eye for details and analysis. I ask that you put them to use for the Crown. I would like to know who is responsible before you return to Ruhigburg. If you cannot give me that, then I hope you understand that someone must answer for Ziegler’s murder. Unity requires sacrifice. If you succeed, however, I would gladly have you as an adviser.

Burn this letter after reading. Find the Ursprung. As for the body, do with it what you will.

Yours,

Wilhelm

“You son of a bitch,” Lorelei muttered.

She read the letter twice more before she threw it onto her desk in disgust.

Wilhelm might look like a charming fop, but his heart was colder than hers. His was a desolate, far-reaching cold, like a long winter’s night. She could almost admire it, if it weren’t for the terror simmering just beneath the surface.

Unity requires sacrifice.

Wilhelm’s plan was simple and ruthless, one she was intimately familiar with: create a common enemy. The Yevani had been Brunnestaad’s favorite scapegoat for centuries and had taken the blame for most of the kingdom’s misfortune, from plague to insurrection. Even though Ziegler had handed her everything she’d ever wanted on a silver platter, even though they believed Lorelei entirely unable to wield magic—if it really came down to it, hatred would choke out logic like a weed.

Unless, of course, she discovered the true murderer.

As far as she was concerned, there were only two viable suspects. Johann: a soldier and zealot who despised her enough to frame her, refused to acknowledge an Albisch queen, and disagreed with Wilhelm’s relative tolerance. If he truly believed Brunnestaad would be overrun with people he deemed lesser beings, then of course he would fight to preserve what was his.

And then there was Heike. Less convincing, certainly, but Lorelei could see a motive. She’d quarreled with Sylvia for years—and had been left to simmer with her jilted, thwarted ambition. If she wanted to prevent Sylvia’s ascension—or spite Wilhelm for overlooking her—then sabotaging the expedition was certainly one way to do it.

She could not accuse either of them without proof, of course, but investigating could very well get her killed. The moment they suspected she was on their trail would be the moment she made a target of herself.

And yet, she couldn’t deny her own curiosity any more than she could deny the spirit of justice rising up within her. Ziegler had chosen her for a reason. To escape death, she would have to think like Ziegler: holistically. Everything was connected. Just as magic pointed back to its source, so did everything the killer had done. More importantly, she would have to think like a folklorist. This group was nothing more than a collection of folktales she had to catalogue and dissect. She would pry them open slowly—and she would do it with them being none the wiser.

All to serve a king who would scapegoat her without a second thought.

He claimed he wanted the Ursprung to stabilize Brunnestaad, but now she wasn’t so sure. With the power of the Ursprung, Wilhelm could drown whole armies of men where they stood. He could flood their enemies’ farmlands and starve them slowly. He would use it freely to get whatever he wanted.

Does it even matter? Wilhelm was a tolerant enough king. He had incited no pogroms against the Yevani. He had not expelled them. She would take him over an unknown any day. Once this was over, she would have his ear and her freedom.

Everything else came after.

She could do this. Under the right pressure, one of them would snap. They’d confess, or else make a fatal mistake. Or maybe they already had—something she’d overlooked. She tugged on the knob of a drawer, only to find it locked. The next one rattled uselessly, too, and the one after that.

No matter. Lorelei uncorked a flask she kept in her pocket. Drawing in a steadying breath, she focused on the water inside until she felt her awareness expand. With a wave of her hand, it rose serpentine from its prison and coiled around the lock. Lorelei squeezed her fist, and frost bloomed over the metal. She rifled through the sheer number of things piled on Ziegler’s desk until she found a letter opener with a delicately engraved pearl handle. Before she could talk herself out of it, she bashed in the lock with the butt of the handle. The metal dropped to the ground with a brittle clink . Shards of ice skittered across the floor .

The drawer was completely empty.

She thumbed at her lip. Whoever had done this intended to keep them from moving forward. No one but Lorelei knew how Ziegler organized her files, which was…under no system that made sense. The killer had likely taken them to peruse at their leisure. She tucked that observation away for later. For now, she knew what to do. Wilhelm had handed her a knife. It was time to turn it on the others.

They gathered in the war room. Tension hung as thick as fog in the air as she surveyed each of them. No one dared to look at her, as if the truth would shine out of their eyes. Lorelei very much doubted it.

There was a popular folktale that Lorelei had transcribed many times over, one about a murdered Yeva. He’d been carting his wares back to the city when a tailor, down on his luck, hatched a wicked scheme: to kill the Yeva and steal the money he surely had. With his dying breath, the Yeva cursed the tailor: the bright sun shall bring all to light.

When life faded from his black eyes, the tailor was dismayed to find he hadn’t a single coin on him. Grousing at his rotten luck, the tailor buried the Yeva beneath a juniper tree and left his cart to rot.

Years later, the tailor’s fortunes had changed. His home was filled with beautiful things and tended by his beautiful wife. He sat on his porch with a cup of coffee, and as the sun rose to its full height, its rays glanced off his coffee and cast coins of golden light onto the ceiling. As he watched them gleam and waver, it reminded him of the Yeva he’d murdered so long ago. He laughed and laughed.

When his wife came to ask what was so funny, the tailor said, Ah, the bright sun would very much like to bring all to light, but it cannot.

When his wife pressed him on what he meant and gave him sweet assurances that she would tell no one else, he confessed all that he’d done to her—along with the Yeva’s curse. Within hours, of course, the entire neighborhood knew of his crime, and when he stood trial the next day, the tailor was condemned to death.

Lorelei had never drawn any satisfaction in that tale. What comfort could be found in a warning about the folly of lonely, gossiping wives? At twelve years old, she’d learned there was no real justice in this world.

Lorelei threw the sealed letter onto the table. “We’ve received a response from the king.”

Each of them read it in strained silence. When Heike finished, she tore the parchment in half and buried her face in her hands. “Why would he leave us here?”

“He’s trying to prevent a civil war,” Adelheid said coolly. “It’s a calculated risk.”

“I agree.” Lorelei folded her hands beneath her chin. “Ziegler was an outsider to your group—as am I. I imagine he assumes you won’t turn on each other.”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Ludwig said wanly. “We promised, after all.”

Lorelei sensed there was a story. “A promise?”

At first, no one spoke.

“Our territories were annexed in the First War of Unification,” Sylvia offered. “The negotiations in the wake of that campaign were bitter, and our parents were often in Ruhigburg on official business. But while our parents tore each other apart in court, the six of us played together. I remember those days fondly.”

Ludwig raised his eyebrows. “Even the day we left you stranded at the lake?”

The others snickered. Even Adelheid cracked a thin smile.

“Except that day,” she said sharply, clearly flustered. “At any rate! Wilhelm made us all promise that when we were in power, we would never allow the kind of violence we grew up with. We would never turn on each other or let each other suffer.”

It was such a romantic, whimsical notion: exactly the sort of thing only Wilhelm would propose and only children could believe. And yet, none of them mocked her. None of them, she realized, wanted the others to know they’d strayed in their loyalty to him.

Curious. So they genuinely liked him.

“Then I expect you to hold to it,” she said briskly. “In the meantime, shall we discuss the matter at hand?”

“The official cause of death is fluid in the lungs: death by asphyxiation,” Johann said, clearly eager to move past sentimental reflections of their shared childhood.

“No botanical poisons that I could detect,” Ludwig added. “But there were trace amounts of chloral hydrate in her system.”

Heike yawned. “Meaning?”

“She was drugged before she was murdered.” The corners of Johann’s mouth twitched in a smile, full of malice. It set Lorelei’s blood to ice. He did not need to speak for her to catch his meaning: the sedative you use to sleep.

The one he compounded for her.

“Whoever killed her is an adept magic user,” he continued. “It is theoretically possible one of the staff could have solved the lock—”

“Highly unlikely,” said Adelheid with a grimace. “It’s too complicated.”

Ludwig frowned. “Someone could have left the door open?”

“Of course,” Lorelei snapped. “And they just so happened to be passing by and took that very convenient opportunity to drug and murder her.”

Ludwig winced. “Right. Point taken.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” Sylvia shot her a look of pure reproach. “At any rate, if we are all agreed on the matter of the cause of death, that means that it could not have been Lorelei.”

“She could be a witch.” Johann clasped the silver fang resting against his collarbone. “Yevani can come to possess magic by unnatural means. Consorting with demons, consuming enough Brunnisch blood to absorb its power—”

“Shut up, Johann,” Heike and Sylvia snapped at once.

They exchanged a startled look, as if shocked they agreed on something. Heike turned sharply away and said, “No one wants to hear it.”

Johann fell silent, but he glowered at Lorelei. Nothing he said surprised her, but bracing for the blow had never once stopped it from hurting.

“It can’t be me or Lud, either,” Heike added. “Neither of us are as skilled with magic as any of you.”

“It doesn’t take finesse to drown someone,” Johann said coolly.

Lorelei watched with some fascination as Heike blinked up at him with a calculated innocence. “Well, then. I’m certainly no genius like the rest of you, but if you’d just think a little, I’m sure the answer of who did it would become abundantly clear. Right, Sylvie?”

“Me?” Sylvia spluttered.

Heike’s smile turned venomous. “I bet it stung to have your position taken away. Besides, your mother has been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time, hasn’t she?”

“All right, all right,” Ludwig cut in. “It’s true it could have been Sylvia. But consider this: it could have been me.”

Adelheid let out a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s just the thing, right? If the murder took place at two in the morning, none of us really has an alibi.” He surveyed each of them and with offhanded lightness added, “That is, of course, assuming Johann is telling the truth about the time of death.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“You wouldn’t,” Ludwig said placatingly. “But if you missed one detail…”

Suspicion simmered in the air, coalescing into a solid thing.

“Stop this nonsense,” Lorelei said. It was time to set her plan into motion. If she could convince the others to let this go—if she could assure them that the killer was no threat to them—she could conduct her own investigation unbothered. “In all likelihood, this murder was a targeted act of desperation, singular in intent: persuading us to turn around. The murderer failed. We’re leaving this behind us for the sake of the expedition.”

Johann watched her with some wonderment. “You’d let Ziegler go unavenged? Your kind truly have no loyalty.”

The accusation stung more than she expected. It was as though he could see straight to the heart of her and all the things she so desperately wanted to hide. He was right, after all. Lorelei had abandoned Aaron in his final moments. She’d let his killers walk free. But she would not make the same mistake twice. It didn’t matter how she had to lie and debase herself in the eyes of these nobles. With this scrap of power Wilhelm had given her, she would see Ziegler’s murderer dragged to the gallows.

Lorelei canted her chin. “Sink Ziegler in the river and chart our course. We set off again at dawn.”

“ Sink her?” Sylvia gawped at her with genuine horror in her eyes. “I cannot believe you of all people would do her such disrespect! She deserves a proper burial.”

As if Lorelei did not know that. In the Yevanverte, funeral rites were sacred, done as quickly as possible. They would have washed the body in warm water and dressed it in a plain white shroud. It would have been watched, day and night, until it was buried in a simple pine casket. They would have sat shiva, accepted guests and food. They would have let their loss bring them closer.

“She also deserved a better death,” Johann said wryly.

“Make do with a ceremony if you must,” Lorelei snapped, rubbing her temples. “Just make it quick.”

Within the hour, they collected long coils of rope and fastened them to Ziegler’s wrists and ankles. The other ends were tethered to stones. There was no elegant way to pitch her over the edge, so they placed her on a plank and lowered it onto the river with a pulley. Ludwig had found enough preserved flowers in his luggage to arrange a makeshift wreath around her head. For a moment, the six of them stood, watching her bob and float on the surface. The current lapped hungrily at her limbs.

Heike lifted her arms, and the water surged forward, sweeping Ziegler clumsily off the plank. Lorelei glared at her out of the corner of her eye. It took less than a breath for the body to slip beneath the surface.

Just like that, Ingrid Ziegler was gone.

Lorelei whispered a blessing, one that rolled over her senselessly. The only clear thought in her mind was: I will not waste the chance you have given me.

Lorelei found Sylvia on the promenade deck, her arms folded over the railing. In the moonlight and mist, she looked entirely otherworldly—and almost lonely. The wind gusted, blowing Lorelei’s coattails back.

As if sensing her presence, Sylvia turned to face her. She twisted her lips like she was going to say something tart, but in the end, she just said, “Can we talk?”

“Come inside first. It’s cold.”

Lorelei led her to the war room. Sylvia hesitated at the door before coming inside.

Lorelei had straightened everything out and scrubbed the room until it no longer reeked of death. There were some of Ziegler’s books here: thick, leather-bound tomes cracked and pilling with age, but everything else was manufactured to look older than it was, a cobbled-together imitation of their lives in Ruhigburg. Nothing of Ziegler truly dwelled within these walls.

Nothing but her ghost.

Lorelei shoved that thought down and locked it away where it belonged. She sat behind the writing desk and said, “Well?”

“This is…” Sylvia trailed off, searching for the right word. “…creepy, even for you. She hasn’t even been dead for twenty-four hours.”

Lorelei opened her notebook, determined not to rise to Sylvia’s petty bait. “By all means, speak your mind. I gather you want a favor, and this is certainly endearing you to me.”

Sylvia slammed the door shut behind her, a little too forcefully. Lorelei set down her pen and finally took in Sylvia’s appearance. Her hair was in utter disarray—more so than usual, at least. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wild. Something about Sylvia, full of inarticulate fury, gave Lorelei pause. “What are you doing, Lorelei?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“You don’t intend to investigate Ziegler’s murder?”

Ah. That. Lorelei supposed she should have prepared herself for this. “That is what I said.”

“Nothing,” Sylvia said, clearly working herself up to a tirade. “ Nothing is what you plan to do. What happened to your principles? Your hunger for truth?”

“Principles,” she scoffed. “If we begin to make ourselves a nuisance, who do you think they’ll come for next?”

“But I—”

“Is that all, then?” Lorelei asked. She had intended to sound cool and disinterested, but it came out irritable. “I’m very busy.”

“Is that so?” Sylvia snatched the notebook from her, and the last of Lorelei’s restraint gave way.

“I want to live to see the end of this,” she hissed.

“So do I!” Sylvia slammed her hands down against the desk. She looked as though she were about to launch herself over it and throttle her. Lorelei became painfully aware of her heartbeat quickening, eager to meet her anger. “You cannot solve all your problems by pretending to be above them or—or by glaring menacingly at them!”

“Of course,” Lorelei replied mockingly. “Instead, we must rush headlong at them.”

Sylvia pointedly ignored her. “The greatest threat to Wilhelm’s reign is Albe. What if he chooses to charge me with Ziegler’s murder?”

Lorelei blinked hard at her. “Why would he do that?”

Sylvia stared back at her blankly, as though she was failing to grasp the urgency of the situation. “He would accuse my mother of treason and have us both imprisoned. Without us, he could install whatever toady he pleases in my place. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see past your own pride, or has reducing me to desperation been your aim all along? Well, you’ve achieved it.”

Sylvia von Wolff, demanding her help. It was ludicrous. Even more so that she honestly believed Wilhelm would blame her over the obvious choice: a Yeva. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s unbecoming.”

“I am begging you.”

Something about those words sent a rush through her. Entirely against her will, Lorelei’s gaze flickered down and landed on Sylvia’s lips.

What depths would you sink to? Lorelei wanted to ask. How will you convince me?

When she met Sylvia’s gaze again, she had gone deathly still. For a moment, as they stared at each other with some bewilderment, the heat of their argument fizzled.

It disturbed Lorelei that there was a part of her that enjoyed this. That some wretched, unknown desire had been waiting for this moment to make itself known: Sylvia von Wolff, entirely at her mercy. Determined to shove that thought far back into the unholy abyss it crawled from, she said, “No.”

Sylvia snapped out of her stupor. “ No? ”

Lorelei knew the sensible thing to do was to backtrack. Sylvia could so easily turn on her. But the rush of power unfurled through her like a dram of whiskey, sweet and hot and utterly intoxicating. She could not stop herself. “I won’t help you.”

“How could you…? Are you really so spiteful, so small?” Sylvia drew in a shaky breath, as if steeling herself. “Very well. Then if I must, I challenge you to a duel. If you lose, you will do as I ask. And you will lose, so save yourself the embarrassment and help me . ”

Lorelei laughed. Sylvia took a full step backward. “If you really believe I’m capable of such malice, do you think I care about honor? My answer is unchanged. If you want justice so desperately, you’re welcome to play investigator yourself.”

“How dare you talk to me this way?” Her face flushed. “I’m…”

She trailed off, coming to the same realization Lorelei had. For once in her miserable life, her name meant nothing.

Lorelei stood, her shadow falling over Sylvia. Slowly, she drew closer, step by step, until she could feel the heat radiating off her, until she could hear the hitch in her breath. It was moments like these that made Lorelei appreciate just how much she towered over Sylvia, who had to crane her neck to hold her gaze.

“You’re what?”

Sylvia did not shy away from her. She broadened her shoulders and glared up at Lorelei as if truly seeing her for the first time. “You really are coldhearted.”

“As you say. Now go.”

Sylvia shoved past her and out the door.

She had gotten her to back down. Lorelei supposed she should savor this, but somehow, it felt nothing at all like she’d imagined. Suddenly exhausted, she sank back into her chair and raked her fingers through her hair. It had been a poisonous victory. In the silence of the war room, a horrible truth became clear. Until they returned to Ruhigburg, there was no one to turn to, no one to trust, but Sylvia von Wolff.