The Orphan Queen (13 page)

Chey stepped forward. “I told the duchess we'd find something for her.”

“Of course we will.” Meredith gestured to an empty chair. “Please.”

After Chey and I were both seated, introductions were offered, and a maid had poured everyone glasses of sweet wine,
I was given a hand spindle and a cloud of soft lamb's wool. I left them on my lap, touching the pages of wraith research instead, like reassurance they were still there. I didn't have
time
for these ladies.

Meredith adjusted the canvas on her lap and pressed a blue-threaded needle into the work. “Julianna, I think you've just come from a meeting with my fiancé's committee. How interesting. Ladies don't typically attend those meetings.”

“I think the duchess is not a typical lady,” mused Chey.

“Perhaps.” Meredith didn't look up from her work. “Julianna, I hope he didn't pressure you too much to recount your time in the wraithland. You must forgive him. He wants only the best for the Indigo Kingdom.”

Several of the other ladies nodded agreement as they worked on needlepoint and knitting and sewing together embroidered canvases.

Meredith noted my attention on everyone's projects. “We, too, want what's best for the kingdom.” She turned her needle-point to face me, revealing an emerging pattern of house sigils and lines of holy scripture. A silhouette of the Cathedral of the Solemn Hour appeared in the background, in cloud-silver thread. “We make tapestries, shrouds, and other items for chapels all around the kingdom. It's said that patterns made by innocent hands can soak up wraith, trapping it in the smallest spaces between the fibers.”

“Indeed?” I eyed the spindle in my lap and tried not to think about all the things I'd done; no doubt I didn't qualify as “innocent.” “Does it work?” I asked.

Meredith smiled sweetly. “What matters is the hope our
work brings. Soldiers of West Pass Watch sometimes wear our creations on their backs, or wrap them beneath their uniforms, against their skin like armor. What matters is that the people protecting us feel we've given them something in return.”

“I see.” I trailed my fingers along the spindle whorl, feeling the ridges of the wood and the hammered metal spirals twisting around the edge. It had been a decade since I'd held a spindle, and I wasn't sure I could make my hands remember what to do.

“Don't you want to spin?” Chey asked.

I clasped my hands and pressed them to my lap, as though hiding a tremble. “I'm afraid the committee meeting took a little more out of me than I'd like to admit.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Chey set her mouth in a frown. “We've heard such wonderful things about your spinning.”

Was that true? Could Julianna be known for her spinning? It wasn't something that had come up in my research of her, though I hadn't been able to find much on the duchess in the first place.

“I'm sorry to disappoint,” I said at last, setting aside the spindle and wool. “Perhaps I should return to my chambers to rest. I'm sure my companion is wondering what's become of me.”

“Of course.” Meredith gestured toward the door. “Please accept my best wishes, and again I apologize for my fiancé. He simply does what he thinks is necessary for the good of the kingdom.”

And now that she'd told me twice, I was
certain
to remember.

I curtsied and said my farewells before gathering my papers and hurrying out the door.

Lunch waited on the sitting room table when I returned to my apartments. Steam obscured the contents beneath the glass-lidded trays. Books and papers surrounded them, and our map in progress lay across the back of one of the chairs. Melanie glanced up from the notes she was writing and grinned. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I shut and locked the door behind me. “What's all this? Osprey papers?”

Melanie's smile dropped.

“If I'd been anyone else, we would be in the dungeon by now.” I strode toward her.

Her pen fell to the table as she scrambled to her feet. “I—I'm sorry. I figured anyone else would knock.”

“You were willing to risk the entire mission on politeness?” I was overreacting, I knew. About this anyway. “Tobiah offered to walk me back here. And Chey tried to attach herself to my hip. If either of them had joined me, they would have seen this.” I thrust my hands toward the map, bright with streaks of color denoting the gardens and fountains and offices and
bedchambers
of nobility. If anyone saw that . . .

Melanie said nothing, but her eyes were round.

“And why is it taking you so long to deliver reports? Where else are you going after?”

Her eyes grew wide and hurt. “Nowhere. I come right back here.”

I held her gaze for a moment longer, but she didn't so much as squeak. Finally, I turned away and took a seat.

“Sorry.” Melanie lingered beside her chair, as though unsure whether she was allowed to be here anymore. “I'll put everything away.”

“Take notes during the day. Remember that we could be interrupted at any moment.”

Her eyes cut to the door. “Sorry, Wil.” A few minutes later, she had everything back in hiding, except a notebook and a couple of books we'd been reading.
The Lost Art of Architecture: Skyvale Palace
and
The Valley within the Valley: The Exploration of the Midvale Ridge
. The latter was a pre-wraith book, with incredibly even lettering and realistic art. It was worth a fortune.

Lunch was a small bowl of soup, half a loaf of bread, and a pile of sliced meats and cheeses. It was only stock, whatever they had in the kitchens, but still so much more than what we called lunch at the old palace. Not to mention the setting; the price for just one of these glass lids could have fed the Ospreys for a week.

I glanced out the window, watching clouds drift in the breeze. I hoped the Ospreys were well. I hoped Connor was in control of himself. I hoped Quinn and her team were safe. I hated so many of us being spread out. Already there were so few of us.

Melanie nodded at the papers I'd brought back. “Those look important.”

We Ospreys prided ourselves on our powers of observation.

“From His Surliness. It should be wraith research. Thanks to Chey practically kidnapping me in the hall, I haven't read them, but perhaps it will provide us with some answers.”

She nodded. “Good. That will be useful.”

Awkwardness pulled at us.

“There was some kind of monster attack in Thornton the other night. That's why I was back late.”

We both knew
that
wasn't true, but I didn't call her on the lie, because here our secrets overlapped. “A wraith beast? What
happened?” I was pretty sure I'd left before anyone else arrived, but I wasn't ready for Melanie to know I'd followed her.

As she told me about Black Knife's victory over the wraith cat, with no mention of a second fighter, I relaxed.

“That guy is everywhere, isn't he?” I sipped my wine.

“I doubt he ever sleeps.” She flashed a pale smile. “I keep seeing posters asking for his help. They want him to stop a gang in Red Flag, or find a missing child in White Flag. I even saw a few demanding he stop the wraith before it crosses into the valley. The police keep tearing them down.”

“He's a menace.” He took flashers and did who knew what with them. Something bad enough that no one would dare tell a lady. I couldn't let that happen, not to myself, and not to . . . others I cared for.

“Did you learn anything at the meeting?” she asked after a few minutes.

I learned that the Indigo Kingdom didn't have any more of an idea of how to stop the wraith than anyone else.

I learned that the
Overlord
of Aecor was here in Skyvale Palace.

And I learned that my people were being used to fight King Terrell's war.

“Yes,” I said at last. “I learned that we are going to win this.”

IT WASN'T LONG
before a maid came to collect our dishes, and a young boy followed close behind with an envelope. “For Lady Julianna.”

“Thank you.” The envelope was sealed with the royal crest. The wax snapped in half and the envelope released a single, heavy card with thick script.

Frowning, I flipped the card over, but that was it.

“Someone looks unhappy,” Melanie said, once the maid and courier were gone. “Bad news?”

“No. Probably a good opportunity. Just”—I flicked the card onto the table—“I hate being here. I hate that we're expected to
jump and run because he says.”

Melanie picked up the card and skimmed. “We're expected to jump and run for the Ospreys, too.”

“Yes, but Patrick
earned
our respect when he freed us from the orphanage. What has King Terrell done for us?” And there was an interesting question about monarchs, but it was one I didn't want to ponder now.

“Well.” Melanie sat on the arm of a sofa and folded her hands. “For
Julianna
, he's provided shelter, food, an entire wardrobe, and anything else you ask for. He's probably fantasizing about who he'll marry you off to, once he deems enough time has passed that it's not inappropriate.”

“All his kindness would mean more if I were really Julianna, not Wilhelmina.” I'd begun answering to her name, though, without pause for thought. Responding quickly was good for the mission, but I wasn't sure I liked it.

“Even so, you should enjoy the wealth while we have it.” She gave a liquid shrug. “As you said, soon it'll be all dirt, hunger, and walks through bloody battlefields. The anniversary is in the spring.”

“And we'd best complete our tasks.” I tapped the lid of the writing box. “Our map is in progress, which leaves the other three tasks. Intelligence about the Indigo Army's locations in Aecor, the list of resistance groups, and the Aecorian draftees on the front lines of the wraithland.”

Melanie paled. “So you have confirmation they're being drafted?”

“I heard it straight from
Overlord
Colin Pierce. And I know what I have to do.” During lunch, I'd been flipping
through Tobiah's papers, and a few important signatures stood out.

With a spare sheet of paper in front of me, I dipped my pen into black ink and began practicing the first signature.

Melanie's expression shifted into understanding. “That's not quite right.” She poked through the collection of nibs. “Try this one.”

The second nib was stiffer, forcing my writing cobweb thin, same as General Fredrick Goldberg's. “Better. Thanks.” I sent her to fetch the appropriate paper from his office while I practiced the second signature, and then we drafted a letter recalling the Aecorian troops from the front lines.

We worked through dinner, triple-checking the handwriting and word choice against official documents, and finally signed it with Colin Pierce's and Fredrick Goldberg's names.

I was Julianna, a general, and occasionally the orphaned Princess of Aecor. I was anyone I needed to be.

“How will we deliver this?” Melanie asked.

“Tonight, go to Colin Pierce's office and seal it closed with his sigil. Then, find out who the military uses to send their urgent messages, and hire him. I'm sure you can obtain the money for his usual fee as well as discretion.” I grinned. “Just don't let anyone catch you.”

She feigned offense. “I'm practically invisible.”

“Say it again.” I snapped and thumped my chest, and she did the same. “Don't forget to poke around for the lists of resistance groups and Indigo Army locations in Aecor.”

“What Patrick wants, Patrick gets. Are you going to rest here for a while?” She glanced at the sofa where I'd left a book
about the Indigo Kingdom's history. Tobiah had sent it shortly after the ball.

“I'm going for a walk. I need to clear my thoughts.”

She flashed a sympathetic smile and nodded. “I know this is difficult, but we're making progress. We're about to free hundreds—maybe thousands—of our people.”

“We still need to make home a safe place for them.”

“We will.” Conviction filled her voice. “I know we will.”

It was hard not to wonder about her faith, though. Did she believe in me? Or just Patrick? He was the leader of the Ospreys. I was a title.

When she was gone, I changed into a black sweater and pants, and laced my boots tight. Cold air hovered near the window, hinting of the frigid evening, so I pulled a cap over the braids and coils of my hair. My daggers fit neatly at my hips, comforting weight I missed in the palace.

I left our apartments a few minutes later, sneaking out the window same as before, and cutting across courtyards and gardens. The night air smelled sharply of conifer trees and smoke, and cold slithered down my heavy wool sweater no matter how I adjusted the collar.

Cheerful noise came from one of the Hawksbill mansions, fading as I ran past. Gas lamps glowed in swirling patterns all through the district, so I couldn't linger.

In a quiet area, I threw my grappling hook over the wall separating Hawksbill and the rest of the city, and climbed into Thornton.

I took a different route to the baker's than the last time, keeping to the streets rather than the roofs. This way, I could
avoid the mirrors—at least for now.

The streets were busy, even hours after dusk. With mirrors covering every western surface, the occasional gas lamp was much more effective than it would have been alone. Light shone everywhere.

“Black Knife will save us from the wraith!” shouted a man holding a rotting wood board up in the air. The words painted onto the wood repeated his claims about Black Knife, though they were misspelled and several of the letters were drawn backward. “Black Knife will journey to the wraithland! He will battle the wraith and free us from our impending doom!”