He stopped at the door to the room he had wrangled for Myth and squinted down the hallway. “Gwendafyn is just one door down, and Ben’s is right next to hers, though they have a private parlor between them. I’m in this hallway too, so if you need me all you have to do is scream,” he said, intentionally failing to tell her his room was directly next to hers, and much closer than Fyn’s.
“I’m certain nothing will make that necessary,” Myth dryly said.
“Maybe…” Arvel paused. “Tomorrow I’ll be neck deep in the fire investigation, but I’ll have Ben and Arion with me, and both of them can speak Elvish, so why don’t you take the day off?”
He could read her silent mulishness in the way she set her lips, so he added, “You need the break, Myth.”
“And you don’t?”
Arvel laughed harshly. “If I sit around, I’m afraid it will only make me contemplate murder.” He leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his head. “And I’ll just wonder why…or what I could have done differently.”
Myth set her hand on top of his and squeezed.
“I wish we had made doubles of everything and stored them in Father and King Celrin’s study. Then we’d be able to proceed with the case, but…” He broke off with a sigh.
She smiled sadly at him, then gazed at the door for several long moments. “I suppose I wouldn’t be opposed to a day off. However, could I have the Fultons’ logs?”
“You want Uncle Julyan’s ledgers?”
“Yes.”
Arvel scratched his arm as he tried to buy himself more time and think it over. She’s not going to let them fall into their hands…but what does she want them for? “You’re not going to stay up all night and try to recreate everything we did?”
Myth snorted. “Please. I am not so stupid as to think I alone can recreate what took us weeks. Besides, I’d still face the same problem we had that made our first round of information collection so tedious: I’m a mere apprentice. It takes a full translator to work on something like this in order for it to be admissible in court.”
18
“Yes.” Arvel adjusted his belt so the dagger that poked him in the side settled back into place. “But…having the logs is going to make you into a target.”
“Perhaps, but only if the Fultons know I have them,” Myth pointed out. “As far as they know, they burned with the rest of the documents in the department fire.”
I don’t like even the possibility of that risk, but I shouldn’t be overbearing. It’s not fair to her. He studied her from the corner of his eyes, but Myth’s polite expression gave nothing away. She’s not going to tell me why she wants them. I could ask…but I’d rather she willingly tell me than force something. And this seems important to her.
“Very well.” Arvel slipped his leather satchel off his shoulder. “Here they are. I’ll tell Father you have them, and I’m going to assign more Honor Guards to you as a result.”
“Understandable. And thank you.” Myth smiled at him—one that held a hint of sadness, and maybe something like worry, but once she had the satchel slung over her shoulder, she seemed taller, and more determined somehow.
I made the right call.
“If I am to have a day off, then I shall wish you all favor and luck with the investigation tomorrow.” Her hand was on the door latch—in a moment she’d be through that door and gone.
The thought stupidly made Arvel’s chest twinge, but he straightened up and forced a smile. “Thank you. Sir Arion and Benjimir are the best. With the three of us working together, I’m certain we’ll find a clue—at the library, or the Department of Investigation. Preferably both.”
Myth’s smile turned kind. “You’ll do well.”
Arvel’s control broke, and he swept Myth up in a hug that made her squeak. She was a little stiff, but didn’t protest as Arvel leaned his head against hers. “Thank you.”
She relaxed enough to awkwardly pat his back once, then seemed to melt into the embrace as she leaned into him and hooked one arm around his neck. “Sleep well, Arvel. Don’t let this drive you into exhaustion,” she whispered.
She’s worried for me, he realized, and automatically squeezed her just a little tighter. In all the upheaval she’s been forced through because of me, she’s still concerned for me. I don’t think I deserve her.
The hug was already a breach of propriety, but he let it last