Amara waited until the house was silent.
Eleven o'clock. Then half past. The candles in the hallway had been extinguished, the servants retired to their quarters. Only the occasional creak of settling wood broke the stillness.
She dressed in the darkest clothes she could find—a gray wool dress, a black shawl. She tucked the kitchen knife into her sleeve and left her room without a candle.
The back stairs were treacherous in the dark. She moved slowly, testing each step before putting her weight on it, listening for any sound that might indicate she wasn't alone.
Nothing.
The back door was unlocked—just as it had been the night she'd seen the mysterious figure. She slipped through and into the garden.
The moon was half-full, casting just enough light to see by. The formal hedges threw long shadows across the gravel paths. Beyond them, the kitchen garden stretched toward the outbuildings, a dark tangle of shapes and silences.
Amara found a spot behind a large boxwood shrub and crouched down to wait.
This could be a trap. Someone could be luring me out here to—
To what? Kill me? That would be stupid. I'm more valuable to Grimes alive, as someone he can manipulate and undermine. Killing me would just bring scrutiny.
But someone else might not be thinking so clearly.
She pushed the thought away. She was here now. She might as well see it through.
The minutes crawled by. A quarter to midnight. Midnight. Ten past.
Nothing moved.
Maybe it was a joke. Maybe someone wanted to see if I'd actually come out here in the middle of the night like a fool.
She was about to give up when she heard it.
Footsteps. Coming from the direction of the stables.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a man, moving with careful deliberation. He crossed the kitchen garden, heading toward the back of the main house.
Amara held her breath.
The figure reached the servants' entrance and paused. Looked around. Then pulled something from his pocket—a key, she thought—and opened the door.
Before he could step inside, another figure materialized from the darkness.
"That's far enough."
The voice was deep, familiar.
Elias.
The first man spun around. In the moonlight, Amara finally saw his face.
Thomas.
Of course. The weathervane. The man who goes wherever the wind blows.
"Elias." Thomas's voice was high, nervous. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same." Elias stepped closer. He was holding something—a forge hammer, Amara realized. Not raised threateningly, but present. "Lot of late-night walks you've been taking lately, Thomas. Lot of trips to the overseer's cottage."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No? Then why do you have a key to the main house?" Elias gestured at Thomas's hand. "Last I checked, stable workers don't get keys."
Thomas's face twisted. "This isn't your business."
"I'm making it my business."
"You're making a mistake." Thomas's voice dropped, turning ugly. "You think the mistress cares about you? About any of us? She's playing a game, Elias. Using us to feel good about herself. The moment things get hard, she'll throw us away like everyone else."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Elias shrugged. "But I know what Grimes will do. I've got the brand to prove it."
Silence stretched between them.
Amara made a decision.
She stepped out from behind the shrub.
"Good evening, Thomas."
Both men turned. Elias's expression flickered—surprise, then something like approval. Thomas went pale.
"Mistress Custis—"
"Save it." Amara walked toward them, her voice cold. "I know what you've been doing. Reporting to Grimes. Feeding him information about my movements, my decisions, my conversations. I've known for weeks."
Thomas's mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.
"What I want to know is why." Amara stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. "Is he paying you? Threatening you? Or do you just enjoy the feeling of power?"
"I—" Thomas swallowed. "I don't have a choice."
"Everyone has a choice."
"No." Something flickered in Thomas's eyes—not defiance, exactly. More like exhaustion. "You don't understand, Mistress. You've been here a few weeks. I've been here my whole life. I've seen what happens to people who cross the overseers. I've seen the whippings. The sales. The—" He stopped. "I'm not brave. I never was. I just want to survive."
"So you help Grimes destroy anyone who threatens his power."
"I tell him things. That's all. I don't hurt anyone."
"You told him about Caesar. You almost got a man whipped for something he didn't do."
Thomas flinched. "That wasn't my idea. Grimes told me to watch for anything I could use. When I saw Caesar near the cellar—"
"You saw an opportunity to prove your value."
Silence.
Amara looked at this man—this broken, frightened man who had survived decades of slavery by becoming a tool of his oppressors. She wanted to hate him. Part of her did hate him.
But another part understood.
He's doing what the system taught him to do. Protect yourself. Trust no one. Survive by any means necessary.
How can I condemn him for that?
"Here's what's going to happen," she said quietly. "You're going to stop reporting to Grimes. Starting tonight. If he asks why, tell him I'm watching you too closely, that it's too dangerous to continue. Tell him whatever you need to tell him."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll tell everyone what you've been doing. Everyone in the quarters. Everyone who's ever trusted you, ever confided in you." Amara met his eyes. "And we'll see how long you survive then."
Thomas stared at her. She could see him calculating—weighing the risks, measuring her resolve.
"You're not like the other white women," he said finally.
"No. I'm not."
A long pause. Then Thomas nodded.
"I'll stop."
"You'll do more than stop. You'll report to me instead." Amara's voice hardened. "Everything Grimes tells you, everything he's planning—I want to know about it. Consider it... a change in management."
Thomas laughed—a bitter, exhausted sound.
"You're asking me to be a double agent."
"I'm asking you to choose a side. A real side, not just whoever seems most powerful at the moment." She paused. "Think about it, Thomas. When Daniel dies—and he will die, probably soon—I inherit everything. Grimes will be just an employee. And employees can be replaced."
Thomas was quiet for a long time.
"All right," he said finally. "I'll do it. But Mistress—" He hesitated. "—I'm not the only one."
Amara's blood chilled. "What do you mean?"
"Grimes has other people watching. Other ears. I don't know who all of them are—he keeps us separate, so we can't coordinate—but I know there's at least one more. Someone close to you."
Someone close to me.
"Do you know anything else? Anything that might help me identify them?"
Thomas shook his head. "Just that Grimes trusts them more than he trusts me. That they have access to things I don't."
Access. To the main house. To my room. To the note under my pillow.
But wait—someone left me a note telling me to come here tonight. That person was trying to help me, not hurt me.
So there are at least three people in this game: Thomas, reporting to Grimes. The other spy, also reporting to Grimes. And someone else—someone who wants Grimes stopped.
The situation was more complicated than she'd realized.
"Go," she told Thomas. "Back to your quarters. And Thomas—if you betray me, I'll make sure Grimes finds out you've been talking to me. We'll see which of us he decides to punish."
Thomas nodded and slipped away into the darkness.
Amara turned to Elias.
"You knew."
"I suspected." Elias's face was unreadable. "Thomas has been too helpful lately. Too eager to pass along information. It didn't feel right."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I wasn't sure you'd believe me. And I wasn't sure you wouldn't make things worse by confronting him."
Fair. That's fair.
"Thank you. For being here. For backing me up."
Elias shrugged. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for the people he's been selling out."
Always honest. Always refusing to let me feel good about myself.
"The note," Amara said. "The one under my pillow. That was you?"
Elias's expression didn't change. "What note?"
She studied his face. He was good at hiding things—a lifetime of practice. But she didn't think he was lying.
So someone else sent the note. Someone else wanted me to catch Thomas.
But who?
She didn't find out that night.
By the time she got back to her room, the sky was already lightening. She slept for a few hours—fitful, restless sleep—and woke to the sound of Sally knocking.
"Mistress? Dr. Mercer is here. He says it's urgent."
Amara's heart sank.
Daniel.
He'd had another turn in the night.
Amara found him unconscious, his breathing shallow and irregular. Dr. Mercer stood by the bed, his face grave.
"The fever has returned. Worse than before." The doctor shook his head. "I've done everything I can, Mrs. Custis. At this point, it's in God's hands."
Not God's hands. Yours. And mine.
But she couldn't say that.
"How long?"
"Days. Perhaps a week, if he's stronger than he looks." Mercer began packing his bag. "I'll return this evening to bleed him again. In the meantime, keep him comfortable. Pray."
He left.
Amara sat by Daniel's bedside, watching his chest rise and fall.
Days. I have days.
Days to prepare for his death. Days to secure my position. Days to figure out who else is working for Grimes and how to stop them.
Days to become a widow.
She reached out and took Daniel's hand. It was cold, clammy. The hand of a man already halfway gone.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I tried to save you. I really did."
He didn't respond. Couldn't respond.
But somehow, she thought she felt his fingers tighten—just slightly—around hers.
The day passed in a blur.
Amara sent for Mr. Power, the lawyer, to review the will and ensure everything was in order. She wrote letters to Daniel's business partners, informing them of his condition. She met with Breechy to discuss what would happen to the plantation if—when—the worst occurred.
Through it all, she felt like she was moving underwater. Every action required conscious effort. Every word had to be carefully chosen.
This is what it's like. This is what it feels like to watch someone die.
She'd been present for deaths before—her grandmother, in a hospital bed in Baltimore, surrounded by family. A colleague's sudden heart attack at a faculty meeting. But those had been different. Those had been people she loved, or at least knew well.
Daniel was a stranger. A man whose body she'd cared for, whose children she'd mothered, whose estate she'd managed. But she didn't know him. She'd never had the chance.
And now I never will.
That evening, Mr. Garrett arrived.
Amara had forgotten he was coming. When Sally announced him, she felt a moment of pure panic.
Pearl. He's here for Pearl.
But Pearl was safely installed in the sickroom, officially caring for Daniel. Amara had made sure of that.
"Mr. Garrett." She met him in the front parlor, her face carefully composed. "I'm afraid you've come at a difficult time. My husband is gravely ill."
Garrett was a florid man in his fifties, with small eyes and thick hands. He looked disappointed.
"I heard. Such a shame." He didn't sound particularly sorry. "I was hoping to discuss some business matters with him, but I suppose they can wait."
"I'm sure they can."
"In the meantime—" Garrett's eyes flickered toward the door, toward the servants' wing. "—I was hoping to renew an old acquaintance. A woman named Pearl, I believe?"
Amara's stomach turned.
"I'm afraid Pearl is unavailable. She's been assigned to care for my husband."
"Ah." Garrett's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. "That's... unfortunate. Perhaps one of the other girls, then?"
"I'm afraid all the house servants are occupied with the current crisis." Amara kept her voice pleasant, apologetic. "With Master Custis so ill, I've had to reassign everyone to essential duties."
A pause. Garrett studied her face.
"Grimes mentioned you've been making changes around here."
"Necessary changes. For the smooth operation of the estate."
"Of course." Garrett smiled—a thin, unpleasant expression. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find entertainment elsewhere. Perhaps at my own plantation." He tilted his head. "Or perhaps I'll borrow from one of the other neighbors. They're usually more... accommodating."
The implication was clear. You're not like them. You're making things difficult.
"I'm sure you'll manage."
Garrett left shortly after, declining the offer to stay for dinner. Amara watched his carriage disappear down the drive, her hands shaking.
He'll talk. He'll tell everyone that I refused him. That I'm difficult. That I'm not "accommodating."
Another enemy. Another brick in the wall Grimes is building around me.
But Pearl was safe. For tonight, at least, Pearl was safe.
That has to count for something.
That night, Amara sat alone in her room, writing in her journal.
Daniel is dying. Thomas is turned. Garrett is angry. Grimes has another spy I haven't identified.
The walls are closing in. I can feel it.
But I'm still standing. Still fighting. Still refusing to become what this world wants me to be.
She looked at what she'd written, then added one more line:
Tomorrow I'll find out who's helping me. And then maybe—maybe—the walls will start to break.
She blew out the candle and lay down in the darkness.
Tomorrow would bring new battles. But for now, she needed to rest.
Because the war was only beginning.
[End of Chapter 24]