Page 80 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

After how hard they’d worked, after nearly a year of struggle and preparation, she’d thrown the truth away for the sake of Anja von Wolff’s politicking. And with Wilhelm’s reign so unstable, she’d all but abandoned the people of Brunnestaad to their fate. It seemed impossible to accept that she’d do something so utterlyselfish—andso shortsighted.

But of course she would, Lorelei thought.

Wilhelm had kept her like a monkey on a leash for years. After this expedition, he never would have let her leave his sight again. This was an escape plan, no different from a wolf chewing off its own paw to free itself from a snare. Whether she fooled him or not, it didn’t matter. Ziegler had lived in Javenor for most of her life. She had friends and peers who wrote her hundreds upon hundreds of letters a year. If war came to Brunnestaad, the prison she so disdained, she had somewhere to run. What did it matter what happened to the rest of them?

Lorelei threw down the journal. Where there was smoke, there was fire. There was more to it than this.

With a newfound purpose, she tore apart Ziegler’s belongings once again. Stitched lovingly into another jacket’s lining was a handsome sumof cash, with documents promising more from the von Wolff coffers. Hidden in the sole of her favorite leather boots was a passport with a visa already stamped, valid from this month to the next five years. There was even a deed to a house tucked away in the charming seaside town where her influential Javenish friends lived.

Ziegler was a woman already long gone. In the last months of her life, she had thrown all of her principles away. And in doing so, she’d sealed her own death.

You damn fool.

Piece by piece, Lorelei put together what Ziegler had done. In exchange for Ziegler’s placing the fake Ursprung in Albe, Anja would fund her research for the rest of her life. A fair trade, Lorelei supposed, when Ziegler would all but hand Anja a narrative that would justify their rebellion. King Wilhelm, the thieving, conquering outsider, stealing magic from the good people of Albe in order to prop up his feeble reign. Such an insult could not be borne.

Under Ziegler’s instruction, Lorelei had sharpened her mind into a blade. Now she felt like a soldier come home from war. Confused and purposeless, with a weapon to turn nowhere but inward. She felt utterly naïve and furious for it. This expedition was never an academic pursuit. It was nothing but a desperate scrabble for survival. Once, Lorelei had believed truth was the most powerful force in the world. Now she understood that none of what they did was as pure as Ziegler had led her to believe.

Seething beneath this pain was another terrible realization. Sylvia didn’t know what her mother haddone—andnow Lorelei had to tell her.

Nineteen

BEFORE THE SUN HADrisen, Lorelei pounded on Sylvia’s door. She hadn’t even lowered her fist when it swung open.

Sylvia stood there, ethereal in the moonlight, her quartz-silver eyes glowing softly through the gloam. She wore a gauzy nightgown knotted artlessly around her waist, as though she had gotten dressed in a rush. It was maddening, the casual intimacy of her dishevelment. Lorelei’s anger crashed hopelessly against it.

Without speaking, she pushed past Sylvia and shut the door behind her. She leaned against it, barring them both inside. Even so, she towered above Sylvia, who looked up at her with an expression caught halfway between indignation and dreamy disbelief.

“I didn’t say you could come in.”

“I have to tell you something.”

Sylvia gave a perplexed little shake of her head, as though Lorelei had spoken Yevanisch. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

Lorelei turned the lock behind her. Its grim, decisive click echoed too loud in the silence. Sylvia’s throat bobbed in a swallow. Lorelei couldn’t help following it with her eyes before she dragged her gaze back to Sylvia’s. “Ziegler and your mother were colluding.”

Her words struck Sylvia like a bucket of cold water. The anticipation on her face dissolved into an alarming blankness. “What?”

Lorelei produced the journal entries from her pocket. Sylvia gingerlyaccepted them from her and began to read. For a long few moments, she was silent. When she finally met Lorelei’s gaze again, her expression was anguished. “Tell me you’ve written this yourself.”

At the plainness of her shock, Lorelei’s temper cooled to ashes. “I’m sorry.”

Sylvia clutched the parchment so tightly, it crumpled. “Why would Ziegler do such a thing?”

“She was ready to cut her losses and flee to Javenor at a moment’s notice. I found her passport and hersavings—whatwas left of it, anyway.” Not to mention her entire wardrobe, packed to the brim with everything she’d need to stake out her new life. The horrible feeling of betrayal bubbled up within her again. Her mouth tasted like bile.

“She was in quite a bit of debt from her publications. Those expeditions and engravings certainly did not pay for themselves.” Lorelei grimaced. “Your mother agreed to pay her debts and fund her research going forward in exchange for placing theUrsprung—ora fakeUrsprung—inAlbe. The moment Wilhelm claims Albisch magic for himself, she plans to stage a coup.”

“That snake,” Sylvia muttered. “My mother must have been laying the groundwork for quite some time. I suppose that explains why those villagers were already so riled up against Wilhelm.”

Lorelei leaned her head back against the door. “I understand why Ziegler did it, but at the same time, I can’t understand it at all. She was willing to doom us all to whatever upheaval she left in her wake.”

“I’m sorry, Lorelei,” Sylvia said quietly. The candlelight flickering in the corner of the room painted her in achingly lovely hues. “I know it hurts when the people we love disappoint us. But I refuse to believe she would abandon you of all people.”

“How can you still insist on seeing the best in her? You read her note.”

“I did, yes.” Sylvia hesitated. “But she left us the key to finding the true Ursprung. Perhaps that was her last contingency plan: trusting you to know how to use it.”

It was adelusion—puredelusion. It might have been a comforting thought, if Lorelei were at all disposed toward forgiveness or optimism. Sylvia was far better than her. “How are you faring?”