Nothing.
“Who is your informant here?”
For an hour, I attacked from different angles, but he’d stopped talking whatsoever, and I had a flash of what it must have been like for James when he’d questioned me about King Terrell’s murder.
Melanie waited at my side, her arms crossed and all her weight to one hip as she studied Patrick’s manner. When I shot her a small, questioning look, she shook her head.
Even to the people who’d once believed they knew Patrick best, he was unreadable.
We pressed for another half hour before I backed off and ushered Melanie down the hall. “He’s useless. Let’s go.”
Her face was tight; he hadn’t even acknowledged her.
Just as we were out of his sight, Patrick cleared his throat.
I held a hand up for Melanie to stay, and then took a single step to see inside his cell.
He’d stood, hands behind his back and shoulders straight, and watched me with the same intense gaze he’d always worn: carefully crafted neutrality. He’d perfected it over the years. “Congratulations, Wilhelmina. You’re really going to be queen tomorrow. It’s just what I always wanted for you.”
My own facade slipped. “How did you hear about that?”
“I hear everything.” His eyes never left mine as a terrible, threatening smile formed. “Be mindful of Colin. No doubt you’ve made a real enemy out of him.”
That was as much as I’d get.
“What do you think?” Melanie asked once we were on our way to my rooms.
I handed the visitor logs to her. “Perhaps we can find our traitor in here.”
“Yes, hopefully our traitor is stupid enough to sign in under their real name.” But she took the folders. Back in my rooms, we ordered dinner.
While we waited, we organized the logs and compared names and frequency of visits. A few people stood out for visiting every week, but were quickly explained. One had a cousin in prison, while another had an uncle. Of course, just because they said they were visiting relatives didn’t mean they weren’t actually visiting Patrick, but surely one of the guards would have noticed.
None of the listings specified they were visiting Patrick.
“Did any of the guards look suspicious to you?”
Melanie finished reading the last page of visitors and shook her head. “I’m the head of your secret intelligence. Everyone looks suspicious to me.” She flashed a smile, but it didn’t diminish the seriousness of her words. “I’d be shocked if it were any of the blues. It’s possible, but unlikely. There are a number of reds who work in the prison, including Sergeant Wallace—”
The parlor door opened and Danie came in with a tray. Her cheeks were flushed. “Pardon,” she whispered, and began to set up our dinner while we hurried to clear space on the table. “Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?”
I started to tell her no, but maybe there was something she could help with. “How much do you know about Sergeant Wallace?”
She blushed again, glancing from me to Melanie and—barely—to the pile of visitor logs on the table. “I haven’t had the courage to talk to him yet, if that’s what you mean.”
“I don’t want to pry into your personal life,” I said. “Just . . . tell me what you know about him.”
Her mouth formed an O as she finally understood the question. “He comes from a good family, Your Majesty. His mother is a magnificent seamstress. I never knew his father, but by all accounts he was a good, loyal man. Sergeant Wallace was gone for a while, first to the wraithland front, and then with the Red Militia. I’m sure it’s been quite difficult for him. Some people think he’s a Red Militia sympathizer, because he’s kind to the prisoners, but I think it shows he has a good heart. He’s loyal to you, Your Majesty. Very loyal.”
“I’m sure he is.” I smiled and reached for my silverware. “Thank you, Danie. That will be all for now.”
She curtsied and left the room.
“You just let her go?” Melanie stared after her, expression like steel. “You know she’s Patrick’s source, right? You picked up on that?”
“Being queen hasn’t made me stupid, Mel.” I grabbed a buttered roll. “I noticed her in the visitor logs, and the way she made sure to throw suspicion on Wallace for being kind to prisoners.”
“They could be working together,” Melanie said.
“I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have tried to make him look guilty. No, she invented her affection to give her a reason to go to the prison. She could easily say she was looking in on someone for me, or plant a note on Patrick’s meal tray. There may be more involved.”
Melanie blew out a breath. “I’ll alert James and have him look into it.”
“It’s a good disguise. Who would suspect the queen’s own maid of treachery?”
“Not the queen.”
I flicked my little finger at her. “And not the head of secret intelligence.”