the inconvenience, Lord Julyan.” Myth bowed to Lord Julyan and prayed he would mistake her trembling hands as fear of his anger due to the so-called aides.
“They broke—”
“Yes, I can see there has been some damage.” Myth glanced at the shattered remnants of a vase and cringed. “I will tell His Royal Highness to send someone to settle the bill. It is only right.”
Lord Julyan’s fury abruptly left him, and his greed reared its ugly head instead. “It will be a weighty sum. The vase alone is worth thousands!” He speculatively rubbed his chin as he studied Myth.
Playing her role, Myth cringed and bowed again. “I understand—” She broke off as she rushed to help Wilford, who had lost his footing near the door and grabbed a glass clock for support.
Once she steadied him, she continued, “I assure you His Royal Highness will make things right. I took what logs you had separated out—if His Royal Highness really does need the others, I’m sure he’ll send a request with the agent he dispatches to settle this—someone who will be more suited for the task, as it would seem by my failure that I am not.” Her voice shook a little—not out of shame, but fear. The leather satchel that dangled from her fingers seemed on fire, and she feared if she didn’t get out of there fast, he’d ask to see what she had taken.
“Nonsense,” Lord Julyan said. “It would be a pleasure to see you again.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” Myth bowed again as she tried to edge toward the open door where only Thad lingered.
How do I cut this short and get out of here?
Wilford saved the day with a loud shout, giving Myth the needed excuse to run to the door just in time to see the footmen helpfully stuff him inside the carriage.
Myth slipped out through the door and ran up to the carriage. She tossed the leather satchel inside, then murmured soothingly as she helped Grygg into the carriage. By the time Thad—with his tiny, shaking steps—reached them, Lord Julyan loitered in the doorway.
Myth gave him one last bow as a footman helped Thad into the carriage.
Lord Julyan merely watched, so Myth jumped into the carriage, her shirt and jacket sticking to her back from her sweat.
“How rude!” Wilford declared as the footman shut the door. “Back in my day, no one would treat their elders with such contempt!”
He kept it up until the carriage rocked into motion, and they pulled away from the Fultons’ town house.
Myth released the breath she had been holding and collapsed against the bench seat, a strangled gasp escaping her. “Well done, everyone.”
Thad flicked his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Did you get anything good?”
“Yes.” Myth grinned. “I got Lord Julyan’s personal record books for the past two years.”
Wilford whistled. “Nice work!”
“You might have missed your calling as an investigation agent,” Grygg agreed.
“Not hardly—my heart almost stopped in the middle of it. I can’t wait until we get back and I pass those off.” She nodded at the leather bag.
“Indeed.” Wilford used his walking stick to rap the top of the carriage. “Phelps,” Wilford shouted. “Pick up the pace!”
The sway of the carriage went from a gentle rock to a fast tip, and the clattering of the horses’ shod hooves filled the air with such noise it was hard to hear.
But Myth closed her eyes and relaxed as if it was the most serene of settings.
Now Arvel can bring the Fultons to justice.
Despite the afternoon being…eventful, Myth chose not to retire early, but to stay up and work with Arvel as he pored over the record books she’d brought.
They labored in the royal dining hall—the same one the royal families of Lessa and Calnor broke their fast in. It was the one spot they could work in without being interrupted—because Lord Julyan had figured out what happened, and not an hour after Myth, Thad, Wilford, and Grygg returned, he had started sending requests to meet with Arvel, complaints that Myth had taken the wrong records, and demands that he let them see what she had retrieved.
But while the Fulton family leader could send notices to Arvel in his study, even he couldn’t insist a servant venture into the wing that was solely for the royal family and bother Arvel. As such, the dining room had become an unofficial study.
Myth straightened up from the record book she was copying. Even though Arvel grumbled, she insisted she could only do Elvish copy work;