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thought he’d never dream of threatening a child. She looked at him with bloody stars in her eyes. Unfortunately, he’d done far worse in his time as a spy. He’d carried out the worst jobs assigned to the Trio. He’d volunteered time and time again. He’d even done several nasty assignments he’d never told the others about.
    Not that he’d enjoyed them. Slitting throats was never pleasant business. And some of the information he’d gleaned in interrogations would have been better left in the darkness.
    But Madeline and Clayton had been spared.
    And even after everything they had done, the other two still practically stank with goodness and nobility.
    It was rather a point of pride with him that the other two managed to survive their time as spies with their humanity intact.
    If his had been sacrificed, well, it was worth it.
    Not that he’d actually hurt the child, but if need be, he’d threaten Grimwald with it.
    However, when possible, he tried to avoid too close a kinship to the devil, so Ian finished pouring the lamp oil over the floor.
    Soon enough, Grimwald opened the door and walked inside. Confusion played over the man’s face as he tried to identify the smell. The moment he did, Ian lit a candle.
    “Close the door.”
    When Grimwald hesitated, Ian lowered the candle toward the floor.
    Grimwald shut the door. “What do you want?” His fleshy face was twisted in a sneer.
    “Who wants Wraith dead?”
    Grimwald shrugged. “No clue.”
    Ian lit a small puddle of oil.
    “Wait!” Grimwald cried. “I don’t know. He’s using one of me drop boxes.”
    Ian stomped out the small flame. “Explain.”
    “I’ve got these boxes, and if a gent wants a job done, he puts his request in one of the boxes. When the job’s done, he can put the money there for his man to pick up. Then there’s no need for them to ever meet face-to-face. Safer that way.”
    “But someone has to buy the box.”
    “They only have to leave a guinea on the box and it’s theirs. I mark the ones in use with a red dot. I ain’t fool enough to keep all that information in me head.”
    The man was a genius. He must make a fortune. Ian lit another small puddle and used Grimwald’s panic as a diversion as he slipped back out into the night.
    Clayton and Madeline should be able take care of themselves against the riffraff that would be going after them. But as Ian well knew from the knife wound in his back, occasionally even riffraff could get lucky.
    Grimwald might be useless, but Ian knew someone who would be far more informed.
    His princess was finished keeping secrets.

Chapter Twelve
    J uliana’s eyes shot open. Her body flashed with the icy tingles that came from being jolted awake.
    An echo rang in her ears. But as she froze in her bed, she could hear nothing. It was too dark for it to be the maids. What had she heard?
    “You left your blasted cups by your window?”
    Ian.
    “What are you doing here?” She was too groggy to be polite, even if he looked fierce and intense and so exhausted she wanted to pull him into bed with her until morning.
    “Who gave your brother the information on the Trio?”
    She sat upright. “I never said it was—”
    “It was rather ridiculously simply to verify.”
    Something in his expression made her wary. “You promised you wouldn’t go after him.”
    “I’m here talking to you rather than him, aren’t I? And you might as well drop that sheet. I see you in your night rail every night.”
    She was clutching the sheet to her chest. She let it fall and swung her feet out over the edge of the bed. She suspected this wasn’t a discussion she’d want to have lying down. “We had a deal. You train me, then I tell you.”
    “The deal is void.”
    His tone was so emphatic, she rather expected him to cross his arms and glower. Instead, he sank down beside her on the bed. Before she could think better of it, she scooted closer, and rested her hand on his knee. “What happened?”
    He stared at