It took an eternity to soothe Miss M. into slumber. To coax her into believing all would be well, no harm would come to her, and Eugene Thatcher wouldn't hunt her down to use her against the Dowager.

But the instant Johanna stepped out of the Study and into the tranquil Mirror Hall, she released a painful breath and slouched against the door.

We are in trouble.

Try as she might to comfort her mistress, Johanna had no doubt the woman was right. An eerie veil of mystery had cloaked the entire evening from the moment it had started. The rumors of intruders, the secret meeting she caught in the kitchen—none of it meant anything good.

But she had to keep a straight face and a solid faith to convince Miss M. of the contrary.

Tugging her tresses out of their tight side-braids, Johanna blew out her cheeks. Only one other person would listen to her woes and inform her if something was amiss at the Graduation. An individual who shared her concerns though he was often hard to decipher.

Sir Knowles will figure out what to do.

He would be downstairs, mingling among the visitors, as always, ensuring the Graduates behaved themselves and the buffet had enough food for all. Cringing at the notion of interrupting, Johanna tiptoed down the main stairs, wondering how much longer the after-party would last. Prior years had seen guests howling at the moon in the hours before dawn, and staff members struggling to clean the Ballroom after the messes they made.

Once she reached the foot of the steps, only darkness and silence welcomed her into the Entryway. The hallway was dim and devoid of the usual laughter and clinking glasses that signified festivities. A weak fire lit up a small area of the Parlor, and she heard a few sounds from the kitchen, but that was all.

She peeked at the nighttime guard, perched by the front doors, and he perked up as he noticed her approach. "Is the Ceremony over?"

He snorted, then chuckled. "Surprising, no? Sir Knowles threw them all out—told them to carry on in town, if they had to imbibe in such manners. He ushered the ladies to bed, including the Graduates."

Chills spilling down her spine, Johanna wrapped her fingers around the railing for support. "Odd. Is he in his office?"

The man shrugged. "I suppose. Though with how annoyed he appeared, he may have retired to his chambers."

She thanked him and scurried up the steps, a gloomy sensation coating her insides. Never had Sir Knowles used his authority as Assistant Director to send off guests; especially the wealthy parents whose dues kept the Academy running.

Miss M. had again proved her hunches were spot on—something was wrong.

Johanna squeezed into the Library, scanning the far wall to check the two doors—the left, Sir Knowles' office, and the right, his bedroom. The latter was closed, and the former open, with a faint but flickering light pouring out.

He is awake.

She shuffled over to his tiny, stuffy Study and knocked on the door to draw his attention. "Sir?"

Hunched over his desk, his party coat discarded, his wig removed—a rare occurrence—he jerked his chin up to see her. "Ah, Johanna." He gestured at one of his chairs as he rubbed his near-bare scalp and redressed his posture. "Come in, come in. I was about to search for you."

"What is happening?" Her legs stiffened as she sat and joined her hands atop her apron. "Miss M. is in a panic, the Ceremony is over, and I find you here, in semi-darkness?" He'd only lit one candle, and several papers were scattered on his desk, including a few documents with waxy seals she hated to recognize.

The royal imprint?

"As I am positive she told you, I believed there was an intruder." He huffed as he resumed slouching over the desk. "The Richel girl caught someone gawking from the doorway and tried to sneak out, so I did in her stead. The only individual I found sauntering about was Sir Thatcher. Nothing new, hm?"

Johanna fought not to roll her eyes. "Nothing new, no. That is his habit."

"Yes, but after... well, after that night when he prodded into business that didn't concern him and saw our Director, I figured it preferable to warn her before he reached her. But he did not; someone spotted him rushing into the kitchens, and then I later knocked into him on his way out, as I continued my fake search."

"It was me," said Johanna, fingers curling, nails digging into her palms as she lowered her gaze. "I saw him in the kitchens, overheard all he said. I am unsure who he spoke to, but he stated they planned to denounce her, Sir. To reveal our Director's identity to all, to unleash the truth. That she... the Duchess... is alive."

"Ah." Sir Knowles scrunched his brown brows as he sank into his chair. His forehead glistened with sweat as he blew out a puff of air. "That would explain a lot."

"Explain what?" She glanced up at him, sensing the blood drain from her cheeks and her lungs constrict in fear. "I told her, I warned her of the conversation I eavesdropped, and I should not have, but I..."

Sir Knowles groaned. "But you are loyal to her, and her only. What did she say?"

"She threw a tantrum." Johanna rested against the cushions as she exhaled. "Packed her trunks, paced, unleashed all sorts of ideas that I worry are true, but I did not communicate that with her. I could not."

"I thank you for not doing so." He pointed at the parchments before him. "There is more to panic about. I received cryptic information, right before I got wind of the intruder situation."

"From whom?" She knew the answer; Sir Knowles' employer was the same as hers, though he rarely carried out whatever sordid orders she gave him.

"The usual person, but these requests are different." He unfolded one of the unsealed parchments and cleared his throat. "I will spare you her opening profanities, but here is what she says: certain secrets are too close to exposure, Adam. We must make drastic changes—starting with the removal of the current Director. I have my own plans on how to do this—included in the letter attached for her—so I only ask that you get it to her at once. Worry not about the details, I will deal with those. You will be Director, once more, despite your years of ignoring my demands."

Johanna swallowed, her throat lined with knives. "Exposure. So she is the court friend Thatcher referred to. He and his associate... it appears they threatened her all those months ago and waited for her reply, and now..."

"Now she has replied, and it seems she has no choice but to deal with them." He set the document aside and clasped his head between his hands, massaging his temples. "To make matters more concerning, she claims she will be here tomorrow, to chat with Miss M. in person."

Johanna shot up so fast she knocked over the chair. "What? I must go wake her, she must know—"

"—stop." Sir Knowles banged a fist onto the desk, causing Johanna's knees to buckle. "She must not, not yet. She mistrusts everyone enough already, we cannot have her hating us for knowing too much. For denying her theories when they are true."

"But the Dowager..." Breathing became difficult as flares of fire rushed through her veins, piercing into her heart. "Miss M. will not have time to prepare, Sir. And neither will I. It has been years since that damned woman showed herself to me. That letter, whatever it says, whatever it instructs our Director to do—"

"—there are two letters." He lifted them up, both harboring the same seal, but with different handwriting. "One is from the Dowager, but I am unclear on who the other is from. They arrived at the same time, from the castle."

Eyes widening, Johanna froze. "Oh, no."

Could it be the King? Has he learned the truth? Did the Dowager tell him she was alive?

She motioned at the notes. "May I look at them?"

He frowned. "Why? How would you recognize any of the royals' words?"

"Let me see them." She didn't enjoy raising her voice and shouldn't have in the presence of a noble; but she and Sir Knowles spoke with ease to one another after all they'd endured.

He scoffed and did as bid. Johanna dragged the candle closer, squinting at the ink tattooed on the paper, near the seals. The first showed Dowager Clémentine's distinct lettering, proper, quick, and stern. But the other had rounded, feminine touches to it. Girlish, almost too flowery for a royal.

"That one is from a woman, though who, I have no clue."

The King's handwriting would resemble his mother's, I am sure.

"It loops and curves and is ladylike."

Sir Knowles scowled, but a grin played over his lips. "Right, and you have studied lettering and how to decipher it, have you?"

She narrowed her gaze. "I have seen many letters in my time serving Limesdale, and also here, Sir Knowles."

He shook his head, unaffected by her tone as he retrieved the messages from her grip. "In any case, and no matter who sent them, she should read them upon waking, no? Before the Dowager arrives."

Johanna's foot jittered. She couldn't sit still, couldn't quiet her irritated mind. "What is the Dowager going to do, Sir?" She gaped at the man before her as he stood, clenching the parchments in one hand, scratching his jaw with the other. "What is her plan?"

He walked to his window and pulled the curtain aside. "I wish I knew."

She joined him, her shoulder an inch from his as she peeped out at the cold and calm grounds below. A few tree branches swayed in the breeze, stars twinkled, the half-moon smiled; but neither Johanna nor Sir Knowles smiled back.

"You have associated with her most, Sir." Johanna pressed her forehead to the frozen window-pane, desperate for the glacial surface to cool her overheating skin. "You met her, when you attended court. When she became Queen. You must have a hunch, no?"

With a grunt of displeasure—he often stated he abhorred bringing up his past—Sir Knowles moved away to lean against the wall. "I only observed her from afar. In those days she was more like our dear Director than she claims. Innocent, sweet-natured, but determined. Her scheming started later, around when she gave birth to the current King. After I left." He sighed. "Regardless of my former knowledge, we have nothing to help us uncover her motives now. I removed myself from her plots, as you did. We chose Miss M.'s side, our students' sides. So, yes, I have associated with her, but only to deny her requests."

Johanna knew this; they often convened to whisper of the powerful woman's threats towards their disobedience. They'd met a few times to share how she claimed she'd hurt them if they didn't do as she asked. They'd bumped into each other while trying to avoid Mary and her prodding scrutiny. They refused and refused, and the Dowager would do nothing, because she couldn't. The Academy didn't belong to her; it fell under the duties of Queen Adelaide of Totresia.

"The Dowager is not the overseer of this Institute," Sir Knowles once reminded Johanna. "She can yell at us all she likes, but she cannot make any drastic decisions, such as removing us. The Queen signed her approval of our stations, and she will question the Dowager if she changed her mind. You and I are well aware the Dowager detests questions."

"Does the Dowager know of the second letter?" Johanna spun to face him as she crossed her arms. The curtain swooshed over the glass, concealing the night once more, cloaking the area in obscurity.

He focused ahead of him, avoiding Johanna's insistent glares. "I have no idea. But she will be here tomorrow, count on that. Whatever she said to Miss M., whatever she ordered, it will implode."

Implode—Miss M. used that same word earlier.

Too many scenarios played out in her mind. Prison cells, dank dungeons, tiny rooms atop steep towers, a boat to the New Continent—there were too many options, too many outcomes. All of them left her fate uncertain. Would the Dowager permit her to follow the Director, wherever she sent her? Had she included Johanna in whatever plans she made?

"Best not to dwell on it any longer." Sir Knowles squeezed her upper arm. He smiled, though it appeared to be more of a wince. "Go to sleep, and we will handle the chaos in the morning."

She curtsied. "You will get the letters to her fast?"

Sir Knowles huffed. "I doubt I will sleep, so yes. As soon as the sun rises, I will bring them."

She eyed the messages still in his grasp. "Then I will be there, too, on the sofa. It would be best if I keep close, and if I woke her, not you. She will need someone to direct her rage at; she does that to you enough."

"How kind of you to care," he flinched, "but yes, in that case..." He scratched his chin, watching Johanna as if analyzing every fiber of her soul. "You may hold on to them, then. But find me as soon as you are aware of what they contain."

For all we know, it is poison. An explosive. A dagger with an instruction to slit our own throats.

As she hastened to Miss M.'s Study, the dread in Johanna's gut worsened. It expanded, encapsulating every organ in its passage, devouring any hope she'd ever had for peace. Any desire she'd had for a tranquil life of watching over students and making coffee for her mistress.

She and her mistress would never lead quiet lives again.

•••