The wind pierced through Eloise’s coat like the point of a compass through a finger, the chill too great for even her coat to block. She folded her arms tightly against herself and faced away from the wind, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.

I should have just met him in the stupid café. Four walls would do a world of good against this frigid ocean wind. But it also would mean an enclosed space, one person blocking the door away from being trapped. Given the circumstances, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Just an hour left before the ship leaves.

It was barely visible out in the bay under the moonlight, anchored far enough from the shore to avoid the splintered remnants of Malin’s docks, but close enough to row a dinghy out to. The Guiding Light, it was apparently called, which the captain hadn’t had any sense of humor about. They’d also demanded more money for passage than originally agreed upon, but that was fairly understandable.

Circumstances had changed, after all.

At least Scott was on time. Eloise could see his burly form in the distance, slowly shuffling across the sand towards the water, and her. He couldn’t be trusted in the slightest, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t useful.

Who could be, really?

“Eloise!” Scott called out as he came within earshot. His muscled chest was practically bursting out of his coat, his shoulders looking ready to tear open the sleeves like a prop from a play. “As I live and breathe, I never would have thought I’d see you again.”

“Never? Even after I set this meeting with you?”

“Ha! Same as ever, I see.” He stepped closer, close enough that they could speak without having to shout over the wind. “Pirate’s life didn’t agree with you?”

Eloise raised her eyebrows, trying not to exaggerate the gesture too much. “Pirate? I have no idea what you mean.” I’m not going to contradict whatever excuse Jacques gave when I left. “What gave you that idea?”

Scott snorted. “It’s my business to be in the know! You’d know that if you ever read my articles.”

“But they make for such excellent kindling! I wouldn’t want the journal to go to waste, after all. All the more valuable these days, with the need to keep warm.”

“You can joke all you want, but I provide a valuable service to the people of Malin.”

“The owners of Malin, maybe. I can see why you’d have trouble telling the difference.” She shrugged. “I actually did read that one about the Duchess’s trial in Guerron, you know. ‘Maniac Escapes Justice’, or something, right?”

Scott smiled, self-congratulatory. “That one even got picked up by The Cambrian, deferring to our proximity and experience. I can definitely see why; it was a tough one to piece together. It’s hard to find reliable sources, the further you get from Avalon’s sphere of influence. I won’t tell you who eventually came through, but the whole thing was extremely circuitous.”

“I’ve seen fertilizer wagons with less horseshit. Fernan Montaigne has all the killer instinct of a soggy pair of pants. And he’s not exactly some elite sorcerer, either. He’s from nowhere, some little mining village too small to even fit on the map.” Florette had told her the name of her own village, Enquin, but Fernan’s had apparently been different. “Not to mention you called Magnifico a talented musician. I assure you, he is not.”

“Is that why you wanted to meet? To give me notes? Because I’m afraid it’s already been published. And my editor was more than satisfied.”

“Really? I had no idea!”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, Eloise. It’s cold as shit out here.”

She smiled. “I have a tip for you. What do you know about the Governor’s death?” Not too much, obviously, or you wouldn’t have met me at all. But that didn’t mean the risk was gone. Someone could still have figured out something dangerous.

Even if they did, I can skip town in an hour.

“Ah, that…” Scott shook his head ruefully. “Any other time and it’d be the biggest story of the year. The decade! The last Territorial Governor to die in peacetime passed from pneumonia, thirty years ago. It’s got that poetic narrative to it too, undone by his own hubris. Though I doubt too much of that could have made it to print.”

“How so?”

“Well, he was the one overseeing the rail line projects, by way of overseeing the city. Thorley, Whitbey, everyone involved ultimately answered to him. And yet he was too careless to have the tunnel inspected properly before it caved in on his head. That's what happens when you rush the work: it’s not as thorough, and someone always pays the price. It’s rare that it’s the one actually responsible, though. The new Director might even learn from it. Who knows?”

So now I have the official story.

Florette had said that Whitbey spotted her, even called out to her by name. There had been other guards with him too, everyone on the rear of the train would have known it was an attack. They’d obey Whitbey if he asked for silence, but why would he? Why wouldn’t he have simply told the truth?

Who benefits from this lie?

“Well, obviously, I do. The Director’s going to be the same as the old, except maybe they’ll know better than to send the Governor on the train.”

“Maybe.” Scott shrugged. “I heard the Prince is grabbing some young buck from the Tower, though. Not exactly a Thorley type.”

“Of course…” The prince! He would want to keep it quiet. He doesn’t want to have to lead a reprisal, or hunt us down. If he ordered it directly, and Whitbey passed it on, none of the people who’d been there would rat on him. Nothing worse than a rat, after all.

It brought a smile to her face, imagining the Captain of the Guardians having to sit there and take those orders, covering up the assassination of his piece-of-shit boss.

“My editor warned me to be ready for a shake up in how we do things, just like when Perimont took over from Arion. We wouldn’t dream of printing it, but I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about how the prince came to power here.”

“I may have heard something.” Actually… “How does the ownership stake work out for your journal, now that Perimont is dead? Is his son the owner now?”

“If only. Simon knows what’s what.” Scott sighed. “It’s a mess, frankly. Lord Arion passed enough of his shares to cede control when he retired from the governorship, but he still owns something like forty percent. And the Crown owns its customary five percent, of course. Prince Grimoire is trying to argue that gives him a controlling interest, as the closest proximate with Grimoire and Arion blood, and it’s not as if anyone wants to be on the bad side of the new governor. He’s the one running the censors anyway, setting the tone for the content.”

“Hmm. That does sound complicated, and not extremely simple. Poor you.”

“Lady Perimont is officially in control of her late husband’s share of the business, but she’s in Avalon for the moment, in no position to argue. But, it being no secret that the Prince and the late Governor had their differences, it’s a delicate balancing act. Simon’s still here and he can speak for his mother’s shares if he has a mind to. If there’s friction, it’s not the sort of thing you want to be in the middle of.”

Eloise shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You know how to do what you’re told.”

Scott turned his head towards the sea, not disputing it. “It’s made things difficult, with the sky as it is. In Perimont’s day, we could just print something saying it’s still blue and not spare a second thought to it. Maybe the Prince wants us to admit it’s black. Maybe he doesn’t, or maybe it’s not his call. It makes things complicated. That’s all.”

This is going to apply to half the business in the city. The Perimonts even owned shares in Clochaîne Candles at Jacques’ behest, though far from a controlling interest. It ensured that they had a stake in their success.

Gentry will be at each other’s throats, fighting over the scraps. Distance and disaster could go a long way towards smoothing over any seizures outside the strictest confines of the law, especially if someone in power could codify the ownership, give it legitimacy.

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“Eloise?”

Shut up, I’m thinking. “Just thinking it through.”

“You said you had a tip for me. That’s the whole reason I dragged myself out here.”

“I do, but it might rock the boat if you move forward with it. Given your… paradigm, I think you’d probably be happier not knowing. At least for now.” That was always going to be my excuse, but it seems like it’s actually true.

“Fucking really?” Scott clenched his fists, grotesquely bulging his arms even harder against his sleeves. “Is it about the late Governor?”

Obviously. “It’s about the prince. Just trust me. You think you’re caught in a tough position now? Reach out when things have settled down, and you know which narrative you’re being paid to write.”

He sighed. “Fair enough. Shouldn’t be more than a week. You’ll be at Clochaîne’s?”

If I haven’t skipped town completely. “Yeah. Same as always.”

By the time Scott was gone, only about a quarter hour remained before the ship would send its dinghy out to pick up its extra passenger, or extra passengers. Still too hard to be sure.

It was maybe cutting things a bit close, but Florette was guaranteed to cut it closer.

Eloise began pacing, trying to keep herself warm as she waited.

Sure enough, it took Florette another ten minutes to show up. The cold-weather clothes she’d borrowed practically tripled the thickness of her silhouette, and her posture was curled inward to match. It didn’t suit her, really, but practicality came first. In her arms were a pair of bags, packed with whatever personal items she’d wanted to take, as opposed to the smuggling cargo they’d already loaded. The wound on her ear had scabbed over, at least, although it looked like a nick was going to be permanently missing from it.

“Hey, El.” She set her bags down on the sand. “Why weren’t you waiting in the tunnels? This wind is colder than you.”

“It’s not that bad.” Eloise shrugged.

“I guess it’s not haunted, at least.”

Haunted… “You saw one, didn’t you? A shade of someone you killed?”

Florette’s eyes widened. “Two of them, one for each. How did you know that?”

“It’s been known to happen.” She shrugged. “People talk, you hear things. For a while, no one wanted to mention it. For some reason, they thought that seeing specters of dead people might harm their reputation. But once one person talks, the rest see that they're not alone.”

“But.. What is it? How?”

Eloise put her arm around her, pulling her closer. “Could be a trap one of the sages left, or a spirit that dodged Avalon’s clean-up crew, maybe someone got spirit touched as they died? I don’t know, it could be anything really. But it’s not just you. Even I’ve seen them from time to time. Don’t worry.”

Florette nodded slowly, burying her face in Eloise’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t usually affect people this much. Everyone had a reason for what they did, after all, and that’s just as true later. “It’s only in Malin anyway, don’t worry. Once you set sail your days of seeing ghosts should be over.”

Florette pulled herself back, taking slow breaths as she composed herself. “You can’t imagine what a fucking relief it is to hear that.”

“Sure.”

“Why were you up here, though?”

“I was meeting someone, getting info on how your little improvisation played out.”

Florette raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“We’re in the clear. Looks like Luce and Whitbey covered the whole thing up. They’re playing it as a cave-in, poor structural support on the tunnel the train went through.”

“So… people will think it was just an accident?”

Eloise shrugged. “For the minute. I wouldn’t stick around to find out, if I were you.”

“No, no, of course. But… Fuck!” She caught her fist in the palm of her hand. “I was kind of hoping this could inspire people, you know? Show that these assholes aren’t untouchable. That’s the biggest problem really. No one thinks they can be beaten, so they’ve given up trying.”

“Are you serious? Are you fucking—” Eloise sighed. How do you still not get how futile that is, how pointless? “How old are you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” She blinked. “Twenty-fo—twenty-five. I’m twenty-five.”

“Really?” she asked flatly. “What year were you born?”

“Ninety… uh… ninety-three.”

Eloise folded her arms. “Alright, now let’s acknowledge I’m not a fucking idiot and you can tell me how old you really are.”

Florette bowed her head. “Nineteen.”

Khali’s curse, with those legs? “You’re so short, I would have thought you were even younger,” she said reflexively.

“Well…” She tapped her hand nervously against her leg. “I don’t think five years is a big deal, alright? We’re within that half plus seven rule, I checked.”

“That’s comforting.” Eloise massaged her temples. “It’s not the five years, it’s the life experience. I mean, when we met, you were ripping off brandy from a bar. Now you’re assassinating Governors and complaining when you dodge the blame. I just…”

“If it’s about life experience, I think you just proved that I more than caught up. Where is this coming from?” A trace of indignation laced her tone, a defensiveness she fell back to when her insecurities were prodded. It had been the same on the boat.

“That’s exactly what I’m—Ugh. I just can’t…” Eloise tilted her head back, searching dark skies for answers they would never give her. “Am I bad for you?”

Florette’s eyes narrowed. “Are you bad for me?”

“Think about your life before we met, and think about it now. You’re wracked with guilt over things I pulled you into doing. And then even when we were apart…” She sighed. “It seems like you were doing all this to impress me, or something. I feel like I’ve pulled you down this road because I wanted you, and then you changed your whole life to match, even though it destroyed you… I don’t know. I’m wondering if you wouldn’t be better off going without me.”

Florette closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. As she opened them, she brought her hands together, touching at the fingertips. “What a shitty, egotistical, condescending thing to say to me. What are you, trying to take credit for my accomplishments while turning it into an accusation? What is wrong with you? I live my life, on my terms. You of all people should understand that better than anyone.”

“Oh, Flor, please, just—”

“Don’t you fucking ‘oh Flor’ me! You’ll just take any excuse to cast off people who aren’t useful to you anymore, huh?” She clenched her fists. “And I fucking fell for it again, fool that I am. Ysengrin laughed in my face when I said you were coming back for me, and I still fucking believed in you. What an idiot, right? Just another lovelorn schmuck left in your wake, one of hundreds.”

“It’s not hundreds, you prudish—”

“And then! And then, when you came back, you never apologized. You just moved on from dumping me here like it was nothing to you. And I thought ‘ok, she’s been through something horrible. Give it time. We can work it out.’ I got you involved with the train heist I’d been planning for months, I took you into my arms again. And now you’re just pulling away again? For the same self-serving, bullshit, paternalistic—For what? Why are you doing this to me again?”

Eloise blinked a few times, since the stiff wind was drying out her eyes. No room for doubts now. “For your own good.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s ‘my own good’. I decide.”

She wiped her eyes, even more irritated from the wind than before. “Fine. Make your decisions. I’ll make mine. That’s all I wanted anyway.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That is not what you—”

“I’m staying,” she declared, hardening her voice. “It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“Tch, of course. We couldn’t have precious Eloise miss out on an opportunity while the fucking sun is gone! Oh, no, what a terrible tragedy that would be, for you to avoid working for that murderous scumbag while he bleeds people for the right to live.”

“It’s not about that, you irrational little— I have people… I have to—”

“Have to take care of yourself. Just like always…” She shook her head slowly. “You fucking disgust me, Eloise. Enjoy your job.”

Eloise folded her arms. “Murderous scumbag, huh? Yeah, it’s probably better that I rid myself of people like that and run away with you. Oh wait!”

“Fuck you, Eloise.”

“You know why I’m staying and you have to leave? Because you got fucking seen! The Captain of the Guardians knows your face because you couldn’t keep it together for two minutes in the middle of a job without killing someone. And for what?” She wiped her eyes again. “You accomplished nothing.”

Eloise turned and walked away before Florette could try to get the last word in, forcing herself not to dwell on it. She rubbed away some piece of detritus that the wind had swept into her eye as she began planning out her next move. Without thinking, she felt her feet carrying her towards Margo’s school.

Focus on the future. Focus on you. Anything else would just make things harder.