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but she is beautiful. I love her entirely.”
    Mercutio gave me a look. “Stab me and save the Capulets the trouble. Isn’t Rosaline the bookish one?”
    “Yes. It’s possible she never even read his scrawlings, only burned them.”
    “That would have been eminently sensible,” my friend agreed. “But I suppose we have to be sure, if your grandmother requires it.”
    “If m’lord Capulet discovers them, he’ll make a mockery of our family, even as he punishes his own.” I loaded the title with all the scorn it deserved. Capulet was no lord; not a drop of noble blood flowed in his veins. To be fair, none coursed through Montague veins, either . . . but in Verona, the merchants counted for more than the merely wellborn.
    Mercutio traced the fine silver decoration on his goblet with a fingertip as he considered the issue. “She
was
destined for the convent anyway. It might be enough to dispatch her there immediately before her disgrace is common market gossip.”
    “Capulets are not known for their restraint. Remember the lady Sophia? Better for all if these damning letters are put to the fire. To be sure of that, we must find them.”
    We fell silent. Mercutio reached for the pitcher on the table and splashed more wine into his cup.
    “Her rooms face the garden,” Romeo said. “There are two balconies. Hers is on the right, as you face it from the wall.”
    We both looked at him with identical expressions of surprise, and to cover his sudden embarrassment, Romeo held up his hand for a cup. Balthasar handed him one. When I started to protest, he showed me a water jug.
    Good man. I didn’t need Romeo’s wits wandering tonight. “And how would you know?” I asked. “You swore you were not alone with her.”
    “I can climb as well as you.”
    Mercutio batted him on the back of the head. “A
Capulet
wall? And when did you perform this miracle?”
    “Last week.”
    I was sickened that Romeo had performed this little folly after my theft from the palace—which meant he’d done it in triple the danger. It had been sheerest luck he’d escaped.
    “And if they’d caught you?” I drew my thumb across my throat. “Capulets have a great many bravos employed who’d take delight in carving your skin away slowly. There’d have been a bonus for them if they delivered it as a single pelt. Capulet might have it made into a carpet, and sent it to warm our grandmother’s feet.”
    “I love Rosaline,” Romeo said. “One risks anything for love.”
    Mercutio gave him a disbelieving stare, then turned to me. “You actually let this infant out in the streets, Ben? On his own?”
    “He’s an innocent, not a child.”
    “Yes, you’re right. I’ve known toddlers with better sense.”
    Romeo’s cheeks were ruddy now, but he managed to keep his tone steady. “Are you going with us or not?”
    “It’s better than another evening of watching my sisters embroider.” Mercutio finished his cup and tossed it to Balthasar, who caught it out of the air with the ease of long practice. “Well? The hour’s late; any decent woman will be abed by now. The moon’s in your favor tonight; since Romeo fancies himself so expert in wall scaling, he should see how the expert does it.”
    Romeo had chanced on my identity as Prince of Shadows last year, after the theft of an expensive golden chalice from the vaults of the Utteri palace. It had been bad timing and worse luck that he’d been slinking back from a disreputable night, and run directly across my path as I limped through the door with a badly sprained ankle, and my prize. He’d wrapped my ankle, hidden the chalice, and lied about my late return when asked—all without a trace of shame or guilt. But he’d asked no questions, and I’d told him nothing about other adventures.
    There were times—though not many—when my cousin was worth his trouble.
    “Get ready,” I told Mercutio and Romeo. I’d already donned a muted dark blue tunic and hose, plain and