Kisses are powerful things, easily underestimated because they can seem so small. And yet, though it may feign innocence, the kiss is a deceptive creature that delights in causing trouble. Such was the kiss that Henry and Frankie shared-small and fleeting, yet deeply trouble some.

The kiss lasted just a moment, and then Henry pulled away. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have-I didn't-I mean-"

"You mean what, exactly, Mr. Grim?" Frankie demanded, grinning. "To apologize for kissing me or for waiting so long before you did?"

Henry stared at her in surprise.

"Ugh, you're insufferable sometimes," Frankie went on. "Head filled with books and conspiracies, and not even a second thought that there might be a reason it scandalized everyone to see us speak with such familiarity back at school."

"I was helping you with your French!" Henry retorted.

"I didn't need the help! I just wanted to hear you recite poetry." Frankie blushed at the confession.

"Poetry?" Henry asked, baffled. "Whatever for?"

"It was rather dashing," she admitted. "You were so earnest about it."

"Well, I wanted you to earn good marks."

Frankie found this hysterical.

"Of course, I didn't know at the time that you were planning to run away and join the circus," Henry continued, "or else I needn't have bothered."

"I only left because I thought you hated me," Frankie said.

"You said you were sick of your chaperone!"

"Oh. Well, yes, but I wouldn't have tolerated being stuck at a boys' school nearly so long if I hadn't met a young knight who didn't mind if I climbed through his window." And with this, Frankie kissed him again.

Upon consideration, Henry decided that first years were not, in fact, too young to kiss girls. He rather wished he'd come to this conclusion sooner, as it would have saved him quite a bit of confusion over why Frankie had become so upset when he'd jokingly played the role of a suitor that fateful morning after chapel.

And upon even further consideration, Henry realized that he was going to be in a load of trouble with Adam. But the way Frankie was gazing at him, he felt as though he could take on the chancellor himself.... Or perhaps that was just because the portrait of Chancellor Mors was watching them with an accusing glare.

In a rather loaded silence they memorized the location of the strange room on the map, replaced the books on the shelves, and tiptoed out of the library.

When they reached the servants' quarters, Henry hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what he was expected to do. And then, with the faintest hint of a smile, he gave a suitor's bow, took Frankie's hand in his, and gently raised it to his lips.

"Good evening, Miss Winter," he said. "I hope you sleep well."

"Oh, very funny," Frankie muttered, but Henry could see that she was blushing.

23.

AN AWKWARD CONFESSION.

Henry was nervous that Adam would suspect some- thing the next morning, but a decent night's sleep had greatly improved his mood.

"How was it, then?" Adam asked as they removed dirty breakfast plates from the dining hall.

"How was what?"

"Your night with Frankie."

Henry nearly dropped the stack of dishes before he realized what Adam meant. "Fine," he mumbled. "We found a map in the library. There's some sort of hidden chamber on the second-floor corridor."

"Did you go without me?"

Henry shook his head.

"I have a good feeling about tonight," Adam pressed on.

Henry sighed. "Listen, Adam, there's something I should tell you," he began, and then he stopped, as the room had become oddly silent.

One of the Partisan students, a scholarly-looking boy with the white stripes of senior rank on his uniform stood frowning in the doorway. Henry realized miserably that he was the closest to the door. "Aye, compatriot?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Garen," the boy said haughtily.

"I can fetch him for ye," Henry said, carrying the stack of plates into the kitchen as the boy followed. Henry yanked the cord that rang for Garen, and then stood there awkwardly, not knowing the protocol. Should he have led the boy into the kitchen? Was it allowed, or was it some egregious breach of etiquette? If anything, the boy was looking around the kitchen in fascination, taking in the stacks of dirty dishes and the efficient line of girls who were scrubbing them. He watched Henry add his own plates to the girls' pile.

"Ye look familiar," the boy said, and Henry stiffened. "Were we in the Morsguard together?"

Henry shook his head.

"No, I think we were," the boy continued. "What village are you from?"

"Er," Henry stalled, his heart hammering as he tried to remember the name of a Nordlandic village. And then he recalled the newspaper article he'd read that first afternoon. "Little Septimus."

"Really?" the boy said. "But yer accent sounds south-westerly."

Henry blanched, as he'd been unaware that there were regional differences. Well, he thought, he'd need to find a map in the library and memorize the name of a village in the southwest region. "Moved around a lot," Henry finally answered.

And then he noticed that the boy was playing nervously with a ring he'd absently removed from a trousers pocket. Henry caught a flash of the gold band.

Thankfully, Garen dashed into the kitchen, straightening his waistcoat and trying to look as though he had just been pa.s.sing by. Garen caught sight of the boy waiting for him and frowned.

"Aye, Compatriot Florian?" Garen asked.

The boy merely gave Garen a significant glance and waited patiently for Henry to take the hint.

"I'll, er, take my leave if there's nothin' else?" Henry asked.

"Henry, isn't it?" Garen said. "Can ye read?"

Henry nodded cautiously, hoping that wasn't the wrong answer.

"It would be best if ye took over deliverin' the post to the teachers' offices," Garen said, removing a thin stack of envelopes from his waistcoat. "Names are on the doors. Third floor north. Everyone's at prayer, so just slide 'em under the doors."

Henry accepted the envelopes. "Aye, Compatriot Garen," he said with a curt nod.

As he left the kitchen, he couldn't help but overhear the boy remark, "A servant from Little Septimus who can read?"

Henry hesitated in the hallway, waiting to hear Garen's response.

"Ye shouldn't have come here askin' after me," Garen growled, his voice growing louder as the two boys made for the doorway.

Henry dashed down the corridor, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. He quickly sorted through the small stack of post as he took the stairs to the third floor. He slid the letters beneath the doors to the teachers' offices, reading their names and subjects off the plaques. He knew that Partisan's curriculum was similar to Knightley's-the two schools had been practically identical before the Nordlandic Revolution.

Henry continued down the corridor, reading the subjects off the plaques in fascination. Music, ethics, languages, law, fencing, drills, history ... He was so absorbed in thought that he failed to notice that the last door was wide open.

The plaque read ERASMUS MORTENSEN: HISTORY, DEPUTY HEAD OF SCHOOL.

"Is that the post?" a voice called irritably.

Henry jumped guiltily. "Er, aye, Compatriot Erasmus," he said.

"Well, bring it here." The history teacher sat behind his desk wearing a somber suit and a deep frown. His scholar's cap sat upside down on a stack of papers. He was perhaps in his midforties, though the gray streaks through his beard made him seem older. The lights were turned low, and he ma.s.saged his temples as though they pained him enormously.

"D'ye need anything fer that headache, sir?" Henry asked, gingerly placing the post on the edge of the desk. The teacher reached for the letters, giving them a cursory glance before placing them beneath his cap, still unopened.

"It will pa.s.s," Compatriot Erasmus said. And then he glanced at Henry for the first time, and a flicker of surprise pa.s.sed over his face. "What's yer name, boy?"

"Henry," he said nervously.

The teacher continued to stare.

"D'ye need somethin' else?" Henry asked, edging toward the doorway.

The teacher shook his head, and then winced, raising a hand to his temple. On his hand was a gold ring.

When Henry returned from delivering the letters, Garen set him and Adam to polishing the banisters for the rest of the afternoon.

"Where were you?" Adam asked, giving the polish a dubious sniff.

"Delivering post to the professors," Henry said. While they polished, he told Adam about the strange conversation between Garen and the student Florian.

"Maybe they're cousins," Adam suggested.

Henry hadn't considered that. It was possible, since the students at Partisan were selected from a sort of student scouts called the Morsguard, but somehow he doubted it.

"They don't look a thing alike," Henry protested. "And he was nervous about something. He kept fiddling with this ring, but he didn't have a mark on his hand from wearing one." Henry looked both ways down the empty corridor and dropped his voice before explaining what had happened when he'd visited Compatriot Erasmus's office.

"It was really bizarre," Henry said. "He acted as though he recognized me. Both of them did. Florian even thought we'd been in the Morsguard together."

"Either they recognized you from the Inter-School Tournament or else you've got a Nordlandic twin," Adam suggested.

Henry grimaced. And then, on some invisible symbol, the doors to the cla.s.srooms opened and students spilled out into the corridor, stowing books in their satchels, talking loudly and joking.

One of the boys, who was bespectacled and a bit portly, nearly tripped over the bottle of polish. "Beg yer pardon," he called over his shoulder as Henry lunged for the bottle, catching it just in time.

Henry shook his head at the close call and continued polishing the banister as the students surged past.

"You were about to tell me something earlier," Adam said.

"Oh. Right." Henry supposed that it was as good a time as any. "Don't get upset."

"Why would I get upset?" Adam asked suspiciously.

Henry sighed.

"We're stuck here forever, aren't we?" Adam asked.

"No, it's nothing like that." Henry worked furiously to buff a scratch off the banister. "It's to do with Frankie. We, well, ... Last night, when we were in the library, we sort of kissed." He winced, and then snuck a look at Adam, who had dropped the polish rag.

"You sort of kissed?" Adam said incredulously. "How can you *sort of' kiss?"

"We kissed," Henry admitted.

Adam went very quiet. He folded the polish rag, and then unfolded it, and then nodded his head. "How was it?" he asked, his voice small.

"Surprising," Henry said. "And then it was really nice-incredible, actually."

"I liked her first," Adam moaned.

"I know. I'm sorry, Adam. It just happened."

"Well, make it un-happen."

"I can't," Henry snapped. "And furthermore, I don't want to."

"So you like her," Adam stated.

Henry nodded.

"Well, you could have b.l.o.o.d.y said something." Adam snarled.

"I didn't know I liked her until she kissed me," Henry retorted.

"She kissed you?"

"The second time," Henry confirmed.