The open pages rustled from an intrusive, cold breeze. Though it was freezing outside, the small library rarely housed two humans and a dog, and after a while Barrett's smell overwhelmed Logan enough to tempt the night with an open window.

Well equipped, Gemima sat on the sofa, a large woollen throw wrapped around her shoulders, tucked legs, and the small ledger nestled safely somewhere in the folds. Logan sat nearer the fire, a hand resting on Barrett, the other holding another ledger, thumb pressed to the inside of the spine to keep the old pages from flipping closed.

Until hearing the rustle of disturbed pages, he had completely forgotten about Gemima and the Moon Ball, and found he was quite startled to see her opposite him—a winter rose aglow from the fire. Not that he had not been aware of her at first. In fact, he had struggled to concentrate, finding his senses attuned to the sound of her pages turning and her pen scribbling, until finally, after reading the same sentence over and over again, Hobbleby sucked Logan into his account of deception and intrigue.

The seed Gemima had mentioned had indeed been delivered to Lethilian, a decent shipment that included three dozen crates, six dozen barrels, and twenty sacks of the seed—not all destined to find final mooring upon Lethilian shores. Other kingdoms had heard of the seed and requested shipment. It was too bad they never saw their shipment, for the crew arrived green and dying.

Accordng to Hobblebly, the sailors had been covered in blisters and scabs, as if their skin were eating itself away. Some men arrived blind, others plainly weak, but by week's end half the crew had died, and the rest were isolated to a single sick house. As for the seed, the King was too afraid to bring it ashore lest it infect the few crops showing signs of life that winter. The ship was ordered burned, and it did. Bright and blazing on a clear winter evening, a purple sky as a backdrop, and the icy sea as its grave.

It would have ended there had thieves not stolen a sack of seed moments before the sentence was passed. After that? Nothing. No mention of miraculous crop growth, nor symptoms of the plague by which the sailors had perished.

Gemima sighed and closed her ledger, pinching the skin between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "I feel as though we have reached yet another dead end."

Logan lowered his book and frowned. "I'm of a mind to agree with you, but my gut tells me something more shall happen."

"Is it your gut, or your healthy appetite for stories? If this were a novel there would certainly be a repercussion from the stolen seeds. Such a curse cannot end if a loose end is not tied."

Logan smiled. "A good author would never allow such a sin to pass unattended."

Gemima nodded, covering her face as a yawn overtook her. "I wonder if they're still dancing. It's been hours since we left."

Logan leaned back, making an agreeing sound.

"I wonder if our presence has been noted."

"That is almost a certainty. My father would have been looking forward to studying my courtship just to criticize it at a later stage."

"Quite some courtship this is," Gemima giggled. "No, don't apologize. I will walk from this room if you say anything close to 'sorry' for the remainder of the night. What I mean is you have succeeded where no other could."

Logan cleared his throat. "Do explain further."

"Well, I'm here aren't I? With no escort. No chaperone."

"I would not call that success. I'd call it impolite."

"I'd call it courage." She smiled, her eyelashes shading the sparkle in her eyes that the flames ignited. "You have broken a mould without even being aware of it. We have strayed from the path and are busy creating a newer, better one."

Logan's answering smile was slow to conjure, but earnest and pure. He had been bold. He had been brave. "If books and a farting dog have enthralled you so, Milady, there is only room to improve on my part."

The room filled with Gemima's soft laugh. Logan's own joined, and for a few moments they melded like a swift melody, a hook to a song you anticipate at the end of each verse and yearn for once it passes. And as a song must fade, so did the laughter and with it Gemima's smile. He watched as her mind returned to darker topics, and her posture absorbed the thoughts and images in her mind and manifested them for Logan to see.

The silence was all the more deafening after their laughter, and it sat like a fog between them. The need to burn it away was strong, but if his words were the flames, his tongue lacked the tinder to conjure them. There were times he considered words to be wild animals racing around his mind, untrainable unless handled with a cautious, calm hand.

"Do you ever wish you were someone else?"

Logan shifted in his seat, puffing up the pillow which seemed as fluffy as a hairless cat. "Not a prince?"

"Not a prince. Not a noble. Anyone. If you could be anyone else, who or what would you be?"

At that moment Barrett sighed so heavily the floor boards creaked. Logan smiled. "You mean besides for the obvious answer?"

Gemima didn't smile, she continued to stare at Barrett's contentment as if it perplexed her. As if contentment were such a foreign concept it may as well be magic.

"Well, if I couldn't be reincarnated as a spoilt royal dog, I think I would..." He scratched the back of his head. What would he be? Where would he go? He loved books too much to wander far from a library. A librarian would be far too mundane—too much like the life he now led. "An explorer, or historian of ancient ruins."

Gemima rubbed a soft hand behind her neck and smiled. "I could see you as either one. Perhaps the latter more than the former, but I think the professions would suit you."

"Yes, well, I suppose having my feet on the ground would suit my stomach more too." He watched as she stretched her lithe limbs. "And what of your own wish? Who would you wish to be?"

"You will laugh and think me mad."

"Unless your answer is a fish monger or coal miner, I promise I shall not."

"No, it is not." She laughed softly. A pause. An inhale. A blink. "I would wish to own every orphanage I could manage, and so be a manipulator of space and time, for the only way to manage so many establishments would be to be in two places at once." She looked up at him, and Logan was surprised to see genuine embarrassment there.

"I do not see why such a wish would cause you embarrassment, Gemima. It is a selfless wish. A good wish. One with far more benevolence and good intent than most could muster."

Gemima looked away as if his response brought her even more shame. What wasn't she telling him? How could she possibly think he could think less of her for such a wish?

"Today ripped parents away from children," she said softly. "Every time I close my eyes I see their plunge over and over..." Her breath faltered. "I fear to sleep lest nightmares plague my mind. And I know they will. I feel them there, waiting for my defences to lower."

Logan moved to sit on her armchair's shoulder, placing his hand so softly on her arm that the material of her dress barely moved. "Those men were far from innocent. Perhaps innocent of the crimes they died for, but guilty of some other act of violence. As for those left behind, I...I cannot speak for their loss, nor their sorrow, but the fact that a foreign noblewoman could mourn alongside them proves just how alike we all are once titles and gold are stripped from our names."

Her hand covered his and squeezed.

"Your heart seems to be limitless, Milady. As great as the seas and just as deep. This city has forgotten what it's like to experience true kindness."

His words soaked in, and without warning she turned and regarded him with an amused glint. "Your words are beautiful and inspiring."

"They are but words."

She scoffed. "A far deadlier weapon than any blade. I thought you would be the first to attest to such a fact."

"I am," Logan sniffed. "But coming from myself..." He seesawed his hands before him and gritted his teeth. "I would need to be far more consistent with my delivery if I were ever to be considered dangerous."

Gemima smiled. "Perhaps not dangerous then, but definitely impactful. For you have given me an idea." She turned from him, gathering up the front of her skirt and stood up. "I have a favor to ask of you, Milord."

Logan frowned, regarding her.

"I am in need of a guardsman or two to escort me into town."

"Into town?" Logan shot to his feet. "Gemima there is a storm brewing in outside and after dark the city is no place for a gentle lady such as yourself."

"Which is why I shall require a guard."

"Can your errand not wait until morning?"

Her smile was that of a child stealing sweets from the cellar. "It is with or without a guard that I shall be leaving with."

Logan clenched his jaw and balled his fist. "I must insist you abandon this idea."

"Oh must you?" She glided past him towards the door.

"Gemima please!"

"A guard or no guard I must go into town."

"To what end?"

"To plant a seed of the crown's kindness."

"It can wait until morning."

"On the contrary. It is essential we act now. While the city thinks their King and his noblemen merely dine and dance during their time of struggle. If we wait, that time will pass and that thought is solidified into fact."

"And how will you change such thoughts? One cannot change the minds of a city in a few hours during a storm."

"Maybe not, but I have to try."

Logan drove his fingers through his hair and let out a heavy breath. "How do you suppose you will attempt such a feat? Sprinkle gold in the street? Distribute scraps of venison? These are merely smalls acts of kindness that can just as easily be done come morning."

"I was at the market today," Gemima said and held up a hand when Logan made to interject. "I was cautious. I dressed like a lady's maid."

"How?"

"I stole a frock from a cupboard in the servants quarters."

"Gemima!"

"Just for a few hours. I returned it of course."

"What if something had happened to you?"

"We cannot live our lives by what if. Nothing happened and nothing will happen tonight. As I was saying, I was at the market and heard talk of a well-known priest who takes in the children of the street and teaches them skills of trade and labour. I have an idea of where he lives, an old, ransacked cathedral in the Lower Sector." She straightened. "I wish to talk to him."

Logan sighed. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed together and her eyes unwavering. There was no changing her mind, he could see as much. Sophia had moments of mulish obstinance and only a fool tried to sway her.

"I shall accompany you."

"No, I must insist–"

"There is no argument there. I shall accompany you as well as two guards."

She breathed in and he could see the argument in her eyes but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. Slowly her lips closed and she nodded.

Shit. What have I just agreed to?