And she vowed as well that whatever happened, she would tell nothing but the truth….
—from King Lockedheart
Temperance rode home in Lord Caire’s carriage as the new day dawned on London. She fell asleep during the journey, waking only when the carriage halted at the end of Maiden Lane. In fact, she was so exhausted from tending Caire that the consequences of a night spent away from home never even occurred to her until they descended like a great heavy boulder on her head when she entered the home.
“Where,” Concord, her eldest brother, inquired in a deeply disapproving voice, “have you been?”
Perhaps it was unfair to compare Concord to a great boulder, but finding him just inside the foundling home’s doorway was something of a shock. He nearly filled the hallway, his displeasure palpable.
“I… uh,” Temperance stuttered, not very eloquently.
Concord frowned heavily, his bushy gray and brown eyebrows meeting over his stern nose. “If you were held against your will by this aristocrat Winter has told us about, we will seek reparations.”
“We’ll beat his bloody face in is what we’ll do,” Asa, her next eldest brother, growled from behind Concord.
Temperance blinked at the sight of Asa. She hadn’t seen him in months. Oh, dear, this was not good. Asa and Concord rarely agreed on anything and, in fact, had made pains to speak to each other as little as possible for years. This morning, however, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow foundling home hallway, united in their anger toward Caire—and their unhappiness with her. Concord was the taller of the two, his graying brown hair clubbed back and, like all her brothers, unpowdered.
Asa’s hair, in contrast, was a deep golden-brown, the color of a lion, and though he was several inches shorter than Concord, his broad shoulders nearly took up the width of the hall. His shirt and coat strained over his chest as if he did some physical labor every day of his life. Yet no one in the family knew exactly how Asa earned his living, and he was quite vague when asked. Temperance had long suspected that her other brothers feared to press him too closely in case his work was not entirely respectable.
“Lord Caire did not hold me against my will,” she said now.
Concord scowled. “Then what were you doing at his house all night?”
“Lord Caire was ill. I merely stayed to help nurse him.”
“Ill in what way?” Asa asked.
Temperance glanced down the hallway, toward the kitchen behind her brothers. Where was Winter?
“He had an infection,” she said cautiously.
Asa’s green eyes sharpened. “An infection of what?”
“A shoulder wound.”
Her brothers exchanged a glance.
“And how was he wounded?” Concord rumbled.
Temperance winced. “He was attacked the other night by footpads. One stabbed him in the shoulder.”
For a moment, both of her brothers merely stared at her, and then Concord’s eyes narrowed. “You spent the night with an aristocrat who gets himself attacked by footpads.”
“It was hardly his fault,” Temperance protested.
“Nevertheless,” Concord began pedantically.
Fortunately, Asa interrupted him. “She looks half dead, Con. Let’s continue this discussion in the kitchen.”
Concord glared at his younger brother, and Temperance thought he might refuse out of sheer contrariness. Then he pursed his lips. “Very well.”
He turned and stomped off down the hall. Asa gestured for Temperance to precede him. His eyes were unreadable. Temperance inhaled, wishing she could have this confrontation when she’d had more sleep.
The foundling home kitchen was usually bustling in the morning—it was only a little after eight of the clock—but today only a single figure sat at the long table.
Temperance stopped short in the doorway, staring at Winter. “Why aren’t you at the school?”
He looked at her, his dark brown eyes shadowed. “I closed the school today after searching all night for you.”
“Oh, Winter, I am so sorry.” Guilt swept away what little vigor she still had. Temperance sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “I couldn’t leave him last night, truly. He had no one to help him.”
Concord snorted not very nicely. “An aristocrat? His home wasn’t crawling with servants to tend him?”
“There were servants, yes, but no one to ca—” She almost said care for him, but at the last second Temperance bit back the words. “No one to take charge.”
Asa looked thoughtfully at her, as if he knew the word she’d cut off.
But Concord merely pulled at his chin, a habit he had when distressed. “Why have you sought the company of this man in the first place?”
Her head felt achy and dull. She stared at Winter,