The letter was actually in Lorandian—not Balanquan disguised as Lorandian—and I was able to parse the paragraphs after a bit of puzzling. “It says Warren will be sending his next shipment of gold in late summer when . . .” I paused. “I think that’s ‘settlers.’ Yes, when his settlers have paid their taxes. He’ll deliver the promised . . . eh, cut of them to a Lorandian messenger. Or proportion of them. Something like that.”

   Grant slapped the paper and stalked away in triumph. “That’s it! That’s it, Mirabel. Exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Embezzling from his own colony. The last piece in the cage that’s about to slam down on Warren Doyle. We’ve got him.”

   Excitement burned in me, along with some well-deserved fury for Warren. He’d made my friends suffer, but now, as a confirmed traitor, he’d be the one paying. “Is he the big financial backer?”

   Grant’s victorious air wavered a little. “No. He’s a backer. Looks like Courtemanche is the one with deep pockets, but we probably won’t get him. Word’s already been getting around about the ring unraveling, and a bunch have fled. Wish I knew which Balanquan helped him decipher that code. It’s not Aiana or me, so there must—”

   Sudden shouts drew us both to the window. Below, people gathered in excited clusters and started hurrying down the street. Grant pushed the glass open a little, and we could better hear what had everyone so worked up.

   “They’re going to hang the heretic!”

   “Hurry, or we won’t get a spot!”

   “Damn it,” Grant said, backing up with a scowl. “I knew they’d have a verdict early, but I thought there’d be time for Silas to bring all the evidence beforehand. Don’t worry—there’s no way they’ll carry out the sentence so soon.”

   “They will! You saw those people. And I heard yesterday that Governor Doyle intended to act right away.” I clutched his hand. “Grant, we have to—”

   “Okay. Okay. Don’t worry. We can still do something. It takes time to set up a proper gallows. I’m sorry,” he added, seeing me flinch. “But it’s not too late. I’ll get Silas so he can go to the courthouse. He’s got enough clout with the governor to delay things.”

   “Why isn’t he there already?”

   “He escorted some of the arrested traitors to the fort. He didn’t want them in the city’s jail with all the other madness going on.”

   “Why delay? Can’t you just go straight to the governor?” A flash of guilt on his face answered me. “You don’t want to expose your cover.”

   “We’ve got the time,” he insisted. “You have to know I wouldn’t let someone innocent die for my own gain. And this’ll have more impact coming from Silas anyway. No, wait.”

   He put his hand on my arm as I moved toward the door, and I shrugged away from him. “They want to hang Cedric! I have to be there for Adelaide.”

   “You will be. But first, I need you to go to Silas’s.” Grant fished a key from his pocket. “The Balanquan letter and all the other documents are there. If the verdict’s in, we’ll save time if Silas and I can go straight to the courthouse and you meet us there with the evidence.”

   “But I have to stop them if you can’t!” I wanted to scream in frustration. “Grant—”

   “Mirabel. Brave, beautiful Mirabel.” He took my hands and kissed my forehead. “I know you want to lash out at the monsters of the world, but this isn’t the time for swords and heroics. Information is real power, remember? These pages are how we stop Doyle.”

   I swallowed back my rage, knowing he was right. Cedric’s and Warren’s fates were mired in legal intricacies. Words, not weapons, were what we needed. I tried not to think of Adelaide, alone, fearing the man she loved was about to be executed . . .

   “I’ll go, but Grant, you can’t let them hang Cedric! You can’t. He doesn’t deserve it . . . and it’ll destroy her! Whatever happens with Warren, just don’t let Cedric die. Not after everything we’ve all been through.” I squeezed his hands and met his eyes without blinking. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll save him. You have to.”

   Grant leaned close and brushed a kiss against my lips. “Mirabel, I will do everything in my power to make sure he stays alive. I promise. He’ll get out of this. We all will.”

   I let out a long breath. “Then let’s finish this.”

   We split off in opposite directions outside, with only one last look as a goodbye. I’d just barely gotten him back after a long week of worry, and now we were parting again. I don’t like you, Grant. I love you.

   I moved toward Silas’s at a brisk pace, my heart ready to burst. A momentary panic seized me when I stepped into his office and saw that messy desk, but the papers I needed were stacked neatly and prominently on top. My translated letter was first, followed by a map and an array of documents that Grant must have been gathering over the last week. Some were coded and marked up with translations. Others bore the acrid smell of reagents. He really had been busy.

   And then it was back to the streets of Cape Triumph. Snatches of conversation about heretics and hangings reached me as I hurried past, and I hoped Grant was right about having enough time. Otherwise, this would all—

   “Miss Viana?”

   I came to a halt and turned around at the unexpected sound of Rupert Chambers’s voice. He strolled forward, leaning on his cane, and gave me one of his gentle smiles. Beside him, two servants and a very subdued Cornelius carried bundles and crates.

   “Mister Chambers. I didn’t expect to run into you here. It’s a delight, as always.”

   He bobbed his head. “Likewise. And it’s lucky. I’d been hoping to catch a word with you.”

   I shifted from foot to foot. The papers itched in my hands. “I’d like that very much, but I really can’t spare the time right now.”