“It can’t be helped.” I stood up as well and tentatively put weight on the afflicted leg. “Much better.”

   “Silas took the only horse I have easy access to, but I can hunt down another one.”

   “No need. I can make it back. And you don’t have to walk with me. I’ll be fine.”

   “Probably. But dark streets and country highways are dangerous for anyone alone.”

   “I actually wasn’t on the highway that much. I cut through some woods by Wisteria Hollow.”

   “Keeler’s Pond Woods? You walked through a bog in the dark?”

   “It was frozen. And there was a path.”

   “Mirabel.”

   It was all he said before disappearing into the bedroom. When he returned, he was a less-scarred version of his laborer self from Osfrid, complete with scraggly wig and too-big coat. “Why the disguise?” I asked as I put on my own.

   “Grant Elliott shouldn’t be linked to much more than his shop. An occasional night out, a quick drink at a tavern? Not a big deal. Nightly outings might raise questions.”

   Plenty of revelers were still out on the town when we left, and Grant led us around the more crowded spots. I eyed those raucous streets with longing, hoping I’d get to explore them one day. Maybe I could marry a tavern owner.

   Grant and I spoke little as we passed through the main gates and onto the highway. We didn’t touch, but I was acutely aware of every inch between us. I finally stopped and pointed to a wooded area along the side of the road. I’d made note of an oddly shaped stump when I’d emerged from the brush earlier. “This is the path back.”

   Grant cocked his head as he stared at it. “You really are reckless.”

   “I think you meant to say ‘fearless.’ And seriously—let me go on my own at this point. The trail’s tight, and if I’m caught on the other side, it’ll be better if you aren’t with me.”

   He studied the dark trees a little longer and finally turned back to me. “Be careful. If you hear anyone—anything—stop and hide.”

   “I will.” But I stayed put. I had to try one more time. “Grant . . . are you sure I’m not in trouble with Silas? Are you sure you’re not in trouble?”

   “Me? In trouble? Hardly.”

   “He seemed so angry.”

   “It’s the eyebrows. They make him look scarier than he really is.”

   “I’m serious.”

   “So am I.” Grant kicked at the dirt road. “You were right on the ship. I would’ve regretted not having you on this case.”

   And that was it. No hint of cutting me off.

   “Okay.” I turned toward the woods. “I’ll see you . . . sometime.”

   “Be careful,” he repeated. “Don’t get lost out there.”

   I pointed to the sky. “I’ve got help. The constellations are the same here as in Evaria. I know where they move during the seasons. And I know that Ariniel’s star doesn’t move at all.”

   He looked up with me. “For Balanquans, Ariniel’s star is the wayfarers’ star—the star that always brings you home, no matter how lost you are. The only thing a wanderer can count on.”

   “You must know it well,” I teased, thinking of the stories about his past.

   “It guides me. But it’s never brought me home. Good night, Mirabel.”

CHAPTER 13

   IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, I LONGED TO KNOW WHAT Silas and Grant were doing and if my tip had helped. But that wasn’t how the asset arrangement worked. I provided Grant with information. He didn’t pass it back. If I had nothing to give, there was no reason for contact.

   The approach of our opening ball ensured no one sat still at Wisteria Hollow. Mistress Culpepper and Miss Bradley had us endlessly trying on dresses and experimenting with hairstyles. No alteration was too small, not if it led to perfection. The designers in Osfrid had outdone themselves with my fiery debut dress. The silk caught the light at every angle, blazing into a hundred shades of red. They’d trimmed the dress with black accents, which Mistress Culpepper didn’t like. She thought it was gloomy.

   “You’re a ruby,” she told me, frowning at the glittering jet beds along my neckline and sleeves. “You need to look the part.”

   “I’m a garnet.”

   “No, a ruby. You jumped up to the third position. We couldn’t leave you as a lesser stone.”

   She attempted a few modifications to the dress that week, swapping out the ruffled black petticoats for other colors or covering up the beads with ribbons. But in the end, she conceded that the original design was best.

   I liked the black. It seemed daring to me. Dangerous. It reminded me of my masked escapade.

   When the big night finally came, the Thorns had to hire a fleet of carriages to transport us all. Mistress Culpepper would only let us ride two to a coach—one in each seat—to keep our ensembles as pristine as possible. There’d be no unnecessary wrinkles or tears on her watch. I rode with Adelaide, of course, who sat across from me in crystals and white silk. I envied that they hadn’t altered her natural hair and had simply arranged it in a partial updo. I’d been able to wear my hair down, which I liked, but Mistress Culpepper had “enhanced” it with clipped-in strands of deep red. Other girls had been weighted down with heavy, elaborate wigs, so it could have been worse.

   Our journey took us through the heart of Cape Triumph, and I leaned eagerly toward the window, taking in details that hadn’t been as obvious at night. The ordinary businesses were still open, and the people moving on the streets did so for work and mundane affairs, not pleasure and nightlife. Even so, Cape Triumph’s medley of residents continued to enthrall me. One group of men crossing the street near our carriage wore masks and flamboyant clothing, sporting brightly colored coats and plumed hats. I wondered if I was seeing the city’s famed pirates, but a little more scrutiny made me decide that even pirates with a flair for the dramatic had to get their hands dirty. This group’s clothes were spotless, like they’d never even come close to wear and tear. The men were all young, too, almost desperately hoping to be noticed as they strutted down the road. These were the ones who wanted to be pirates.