There was little of interest as he turned the pages. The sketches were pleasant, but nothing too notable. Very skilled, but just depictions of everyday objects, rooms within the palace, and members of the family. Or at least, one member of the family. Her Majesty featured more heavily than anything else. Quick and seemingly candid sketches, quiet moments of her resting comfortably, not with perfect posture. Simon turned the page and found it blank. He turned another and found the same. The sketchbook cut off. He paused, looking to the date in the corner of the final sketch. Six months before Isador was born.

He had ceased work when Her Majesty was pregnant.

He had ceased to be not long after.

Simon shelved the book.

What was he supposed to say to Isador?

Was he supposed to just tell him that he was certain that one of Their Majesties had killed his father? Simon was certain. Sure, it wasn’t enough evidence to be admissible in court. The timing, the disappearance of the body, Chalice’s story, it was possibly hearsay. But Simon was sure. And that would be enough for Isador.

There was one source he had not checked with.

It was a long shot, but if Mikhail knew anything, perhaps it could help. Or, better yet, perhaps Simon could glean something from his ramblings that would help with figuring out the light. He had wasted so much time here tonight staring blankly at books without absorbing any of their words. The least he could do while Mari scoured every inch of this place was try again to get information from Mikhail.

Even if it made his stomach ache to do so.

An assistant could place back any of the books he had left out. Perhaps they would even find some pleasure in drinking his untouched coffee. Heavens knew they needed it at a time like this.

Simon was grateful for the cool night air. He always was. Compared to the dark, warm basement, it was like a different world entirely. He could breathe here. He kept to the edge of the walkway, shuddering as the sound of hooves on the ground came closer behind him. It was odd that a royal would be leaving the palace this late at night. Perhaps some noble had overstayed their welcome and needed to return home after a night of drinks. Odd, though, the thought of Their Majesties entertaining guests while that pillar of light shone ahead.

Granted, it had been silly for Simon to sit for a portrait during all of this, too, so how much could he really judge their leadership?

Simon moved forward, dipping onto the side streets. Most of the lights in the house were off. The kitchen light seemed to be on, but the rest of the place was dark. Chalice must have gone out to work.

It wasn’t fair having Mikhail here. Chalice already did so much. Gris hadn’t been able to work since they lost their arm. They could cook, sure. And they had always done their best to ensure their mother was cared for, but so much fell to Chalice.

Simon would find a different solution.

He would get Aria back.

The thought struck him so suddenly that it took a moment for him to digest it. Getting Aria back. He had sworn he saw her form there in the middle of the light. She was the source. Would it even be possible to bring her back?

He took a breath and turned the knob. It was unlocked, as he had expected.

Gris’s mother slept in her chair at the end of the hall, not making a sound as Simon crept past. In the dining room, an old man sat, hands resting on the table, eyes glued to his fingernail. He turned slowly and as his gaze fell on Simon, his frown deepened. 

His eyes were not as glazed over as Simon had been accustomed to.

”Grigori’s boy.”

Simon nodded. “Are you willing to speak with me?”

The man did not respond, just letting out a puff of air.

”Do you know Edward Menk?”

“No.”

He was being rather straightforward. Perhaps the clouds in his mind had momentarily parted. The words fell from Simon’s lips before he realized exactly what he was saying. “Why did you kill my father?”

The man’s eyes went wide. “You’re Grigori’s boy. You know.”

Simon’s blood was hot.

He shouldn’t be here. This man was never going to give him what he needed. It had been stupid to think he would ever get anything out of this except anger. Simon turned, stepping into the kitchen. He took a deep breath, staring at the sink before him. It was filled to the brim with glasses and plates. If Chalice had gone to find work this evening, she wouldn’t have had the time to deal with this after eating.

Simon stepped forward, turning on the water.

Even if he couldn’t fix the light, even if he couldn’t find more for Isador, even if he couldn’t get Mikhail Knight out of this house, he could do this. It was small and it was unimportant, but at least it was something. At least he could be useful.