Sterling sat sipping the coffee that he had ordered brought up to his study. He stared down at the cryptic letter atop his desk. He and his siblings had devised a plan for reviewing the mail before it was sent and had also decided that nothing could be done about whatever correspondences may have already passed between the estate and the strange capital address. So they would simply prepare for the eventualities of both possible scenarios. They would resume their recruiting of able-bodied fighting men to prepare for the possibility that the rebels would bring violence upon them and they would take pains to prove to those inside the castle and out that they were in favor of the King. In the meantime, Sterling had taken the task of discovering who was sending the messages. After all, it was his household. If anyone should do the investigating, it was him.

He heard footsteps passing his doorway and looked up to see Arthur striding through the hall, dressed in his traveling cloak. Sterling set down his mug and left his study, descending the stairs after the boy. He reached the first floor just as Arthur had reached the door but someone else had gotten to him first. Brenna was there, handing him a folded piece of parchment. Arthur was smiling like a schoolboy, having entirely forgotten his lord's most recent mandate that all outgoing mail be checked by him personally before being sent. Sterling descended the stairs to them. They both stopped speaking as he approached and turned to him. Brenna smiled. Arthur had the very obvious expression of being caught.

"Good morning, Miss Brenna," Sterling said kindly. "What is it you've given Arthur here?"

"Just a grocery list that Mrs. Woods asked me to write up," she answered and Sterling smiled at her. He found it difficult not to. But then he caught a glimpse of the list. Brenna bowed and excused herself to get back to her work and Arthur opened the door to take his leave but Sterling caught him by the elbow.

"Let me see that list," Sterling told him, much more stern now that the maid was gone. The boy hesitated in confusion but obeyed. Sterling looked it over for a moment, glanced around the foyer to see that they were alone, and then ordered the boy. "Come with me."

Even though the boy was already dressed for his journey, he did not protest as Sterling led him back into the estate, up the stairs, and to his study. Sterling said nothing as he walked to his desk and sat the grocery list down next to the coded letter. His head sank as his suspicions were confirmed before his very eyes. There could be no mistake. Even with the peculiar hieroglyphics and the presence of other languages in the script, the handwriting was the exact same.

Brenna was the one sending letters from the estate. She was the one whom he and his siblings had suspected of being a spy. But who did she work for? The rebels or the King? A sudden memory struck him and he opened his desk drawer and removed the dagger that she had held to his throat in a forest clearing only weeks ago, where he and his men had found her, worn and bloody. He turned the blade in his hands. It was heavy, very sturdy. But it was plain enough with a black onyx handle and no embellishments. Then he turned it to look at the bottom of the rear bolster and saw a marking there. It was engraved so lightly and worn nearly through. Sterling had to squint and hold it up to the light in order to make it out but, once he could see it well enough, the insignia was unmistakable. The crossed olive branch and sword of the King.

Sterling set the dagger down and stared at it next to the incriminating dual letters. A secret code and the dagger of a King's solder. Was his own kitchen maid a spy for the King? And, if so, what sort of reconnaissance was she intended to accomplish in Northbrook?

"I've got business in town," Sterling said suddenly to the patiently waiting Arthur. "I'll come with you."

Arthur nodded and Sterling strode past him into the hall. He fetched his riding coat and left with Arthur towards the stables. The two of them saddled their own horses and set off for town. It was a quiet ride. Sterling did not speak to the boy as his mind was reeling with the discovery he had just made. It all seemed to make sense. That was why the girl was so highly educated, why she spoke so eloquently. She had infiltrated his estate easily enough, building easy friendships with the other servants and even with him. He cursed himself for his insolence. He had been a fool, falling into the trap of her beauty.

It wasn't long before they reached the town. Arthur stopped at the market and Sterling told him he would meet back up with him at the fountain in the center of the square when they had each finished their business. He then hitched his horse to the nearest post and made his way for the messenger's office. It was a small shop on the edge of town. When Sterling entered, the man behind the desk shot to his feet.

"Lord Huntington, sir, welcome. I wasn't expecting such esteemed company. Please, excuse the mess. My cleaning girl went and got herself pregnant," he made an effort to tidy the small space.

"Don't trouble yourself," Sterling told him and the man stopped the clearing. "I am only here to inquire upon an address."

"An address, yes, easy enough. What part of the country?"

"The capital."

"Ah."

The shopkeeper turned from him to a large shelf of thick books. He got a step ladder and stood upon it to retrieve the thickest volume from the top of the stack. Then he brought it down and sat it on the desk between he and Sterling.

"What'll it be then?" he asked, peering at Sterling over his horn-rimmed spectacles.

"471 Raleigh Street."

The man flopped open the heavy tome with a bang and began thumbing his way through the dense pages.

"Raleigh Street, Raleigh Street... ah, here we are. 471 Raleigh Street. Owner: Mrs. Elizabeth Hughes."

"Hughes?"

"Ah, yes. Says here she is the mother of Sir Alfred Hughes."

Sterling stared at him for a moment and then blinked.

"Thank you."

"Will you be needing anything else, my Lord?"

"No. You've been quite helpful."

Then he dropped a coin on the counter and left the shop. He stood outside the door for a moment, collecting his thoughts. It was no coincidence that the address had been for a relation to Sir Alfred Hughes, the King's most trusted and most well-known advisor. It seemed to be a point in favor of the theory of a King's spy. But did Sir Alfred Hughes use his own mother's home address for a rendezvous point with palace spies? It seemed unlikely. Far too personal and far too easy to track. So why was his kitchen maid writing to the mother if the King's advisor? And why was she doing so in code? And where did she get the dagger?

The dagger. He remembered the day she had held it to his throat, the day he had found her in the woods. He remembered her find, torn dress and the blood that had stained it red. But the blood had not been her own. She had claimed that it had belonged to her father but Sterling was beginning to doubt that this girl was who she said she was.

Sterling took a sharp right and walked toward the building located closer to the center of town. There were more people. Here. Most of them turned his way as he passed, surprised to see him in town. Some even bowed. He smiled and waved to a few as he made his way across the square to the constable's station.

When he entered, he was greeted in much the same way he had been at the messenger's office.

"Lord Huntington!" the constable exclaimed at his entry, getting to his feet and walking over to greet him. "What a pleasant surprise! To what do I owe this visit?"

"I've been hearing more and more reports of an incident on my lands involving a wagon?"

"Oh yes, sir. That did indeed occur just up the northern road. Nasty business, it was too."

"I see. Well, as the incident occurred on my lands, I feel responsible for the investigation to a certain point. But one cannot trust simply in what one hears in the gossip of the townspeople. I wonder, do you still have the wagon by chance?"

"Yes, sir. Just outside. I'll take you to it."

Sterling thanked the constable and followed him out, listening to his explanation of how they had found the scene as they walked.

"A farmer found it on the road when he was coming to town one morning," the constable explained. "The wheel was broken. The canvas was torn. But the horse was still attached to it, rider and all."

"They didn't take the horse?"

"No, my Lord. We thought that was strange as well."

They had reached the wagon. Sterling examined it as the constable continued his story.

"The rider was still on the horse's back, shot through the heart with an arrow. He was covered in his own blood. Just a merchant trying to sell his wares, poor man."

Sterling opened the back of the canvas flap. The wagon was empty. He looked at the constable.

"Fiends stole his goods as far as we can figure," the constable explained. "The rest of the scene though... now, that's a bit odd."

"Oh?"

"There was another body. A young man, a boy, really. His throat was slashed and he was laid off to the side. He wore the pin of the rebellion."

"The rebellion?" Sterling asked. "Are they known to target merchants and travelers?"

"Not in any other circumstance. But the thing that's most odd, my Lord, is that we don't know who killed him. From the looks of it, the merchant never got off his horse and the boy was too far away to be killed by him. Doesn't seem like thieving was the true intent either. That horse would have been worth twice as much as whatever crops that merchant was moving. So he wouldn't have been killed by his compatriots who took the spoils."

"What are you saying?"

"Seems to me there was someone else there."

Someone else.

"The bodies?" Sterling asked, standing from where he had been investigating the wagon and wiping the dirt from his hands onto his trousers. "Where are they now?"

"The merchant has been collected," the constable said. "A man from the capital came and said he was his brother. He wanted to take him home for a proper burial."

"And the rebel?"

"No one came for him. I imagine they didn't want to be associated with whatever happened in those woods. He was here for a few days. Then we had to burn him."

"And his personal effects? Do you still have those?"

"Right this way."

The constable led Sterling away from the wagon and back into the station. Sterling waited as the man rummaged through a few unlabeled boxes on a nearby shelf. Then he pulled out a small cloth pouch and dumped its contents onto the table in front of them. There wasn't much there. A few coins, a flask, and a pin. Sterling reached for the latter and held it up to the light. It was a rebel pin, sure enough, the exact same as the men who had come to his estate. But on the back there was a small engraving.

"Rory."

"We assume that was his name."

Rory. Sterling knew that name. Where did he know that name from? Then it hit him. Jack and Ivor had claimed they had lost their friend Rory on their expedition in princess hunting. Sterling placed the pin back on the counter, feeling all of a sudden stifled in the still air of the constable's station.

"Thank you, constable," he said in a measured tone, fighting to keep his composure, trying to remain as steady and as unaffected as he could. Though he was anything but.

He turned and left the station, walking slowly and as calmly as he could. Arthur was waiting for him at the fountain in the center of the square as they had arranged. It took everything in him not to break out into a run. The boy stood to attention as Sterling approached.

"Lord Hun-"

"Are you finished with your errands?" Sterling interrupted him.

"Yes," the boy answered, wrinkling his brow at confusion for the urgency in Sterling's tone.

"Good. We must return to the estate," Sterling told him. "Now."