I swallowed. Increasing the space between Grant and me made me realize just how little there’d been moments ago. “No, you’re fine. But we should get to dinner.”

   Grant gestured toward our hall. “After you, ladies.”

   Sylvia smiled as she passed him. “You look very nice tonight, Mister Elliott. Is there something different about your hair?”

   At dinner, Grant and I sat at opposite ends of the table. He barely glanced in my direction and made his typically flawless conversation with those near him. That distance cleared my head. I relaxed. That craving to touch and be touched faded, and I felt more in control—and exultant. My plan had worked.

   Now I had to wait and see how long it took him to notice.

   The next morning, as I was watching the sunrise at the stern, I heard footsteps behind me. Then: “What you hear, what no one else ever seems to hear, isn’t some regional colonial accent. What you’re hearing is that I didn’t start speaking Osfridian until I was eight.”

   I turned to find Grant standing with his arms crossed. “Of course!” I exclaimed. “It’s not your first language. I considered that, but I know how most Evarian speakers sound when they learn Osfridian.”

   “I didn’t grow up speaking any language from Evaria.”

   I stared, confused, for several moments. Then, I couldn’t help a slow smile spreading over my face. “You’re Balanquan.”

   “Half-Balanquan.”

   “You don’t look . . . I mean. I haven’t actually met one of them. But I never would have guessed you weren’t . . .” I nearly said “one of us” and then felt stupid. I’d often complained about “us” and “them” hostilities between Osfridians and Sirminicans, yet here I was doing it with another group of people.

   “What I am is more obvious to Balanquans than Osfridians.”

   “Do they know? Here? Or in Cape Triumph?”

   He shook his head. “Most don’t. It’s simpler that way.”

   “So you get to blend in.”

   “Is that what you want to do?”

   I had to think about that question for a long time. “I’ll always think of myself as Sirminican—and I’m proud of that. But I’m trying to survive in an Osfridian world. I’m trying to earn its respect. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

   “It makes perfect sense.” His gaze turned briefly inward. “When others so easily dismiss you, you want—no, need—to prove them wrong. To demand that respect.”

   I tilted my head, putting myself more in his line of vision. “Are we still talking about me?”

   He blinked and focused back on me. “You’re feeling very clever today, aren’t you?”

   “Well, you’re not the only one who’s good at reading people.”

   “Apparently not that good,” he said with a scoff. “Even I get fooled sometimes.”

   There it was. Acknowledgment of my accomplishment. “You told me to practice. You didn’t say on whom.”

   “Hey, I’m not chastising you. You did a good job.” He paused, his thoughts again straying away from me. Or to me? To last night? “You did what you needed to do. But why should I be surprised? If you don’t see any options, you make your own. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

   His dark eyes were locked back on my face, eagerly waiting to catch every bit of my reaction. My smile faded. Why did those words sound familiar? Why did he seem so smug?

   Good Brother, I appreciate your concern. And you’re right—desperate girls with no other options turn to desperate means. But I’m not one of those girls.

   Not desperate?

   Not without options. If I don’t see any, then I make my own.

   I gasped. “That . . . was you! Almost a year ago! The monk on the church steps with Cedric.”

   I’d never seen such a big smile on Grant’s face. “How do you think I got the idea to investigate your manor? Sir Ronald had me practicing disguises that day, and then fate delivered the perfect way to spy in Adoria. I’d heard of the Glittering Court before I left but hadn’t understood its full potential until then.”

   “Unbelievable.” I shook my head. “I bet you’ve just been waiting for the perfect time to tell me this. I knew there was something weird going on then. Monks always keep their eyes down, but you were staring right at me.”

   “Hard not to. I was just trying to eavesdrop on churchgoers, and then you two came out, a smooth-talking student and this fearless girl who . . .”

   “Who what?” I prompted.

   The smile disappeared. He shoved his hands in his pockets and put his back to me. “Who had better not use me for practice again. See you tomorrow, Mirabel.”

CHAPTER 9

   ONWARD AND ONWARD WE WENT, EVERY DAY BRINGING us closer to Adoria. The days felt short now, and Grant was growing restless—nervous, even. He was quieter, often lost in his own thoughts. When he did talk to me, he’d usually end up repeating past lessons about Adoria. His sarcasm had lessened too.

   “Everything’s important,” he told me one gloomy afternoon. Few people were out, though the captain expected us to sight land sometime this week. “Pay attention to who else these men talk to. Make note of any favorite pubs or businesses they mention. No one’s going to openly come out as a traitor, but they might tell you something useful without realizing it. You’ve just got to make sure you realize it.”

   “I know. And I’m ready. I learned your codes. I memorized all the names, all the history. I can do this.”

   He leaned against the ship’s rail and faced me, his elbow resting on the top of the wood. It was one of those rare days when the wind was still, letting his black hair rest around his face. I didn’t often get such a clear view of him. “I know you can. I just don’t want to miss anything.”