The Orphan Queen (19 page)

I looked at him, both of us in black masks, and struggled to reclaim the usual hostility that bound us together. “Sure. But if you try to talk to me or ask me anything, I'll stab you.”

He started down the road. “That sounds fair.”

As the thunder of police boots joined the thunder in the sky, Black Knife and I ran deeper into the Flags, disappearing into the shadows. We fought thieves and thugs, gangs and glowmen.
We didn't speak, but there was nothing to say, not when there was so much work to do.

When the storm passed and dawn touched the eastern horizon, I offered back the mask.

“Keep it.” His tone warmed, even as howls and animal cries rose from within the city: wraith beasts, blown in with the storm. “You might need it again.”

MORNING MADE MY
head pound. My body ached from last night's adrenaline and grief, but I hauled myself up to sit on the edge of my bed, listening to Melanie move around the apartments. After a few minutes, she left.

The clock tower chimed ten as I dragged myself from my room, feet shuffling on the floor. Breakfast was already on the table, Melanie's half eaten. A note rested by the empty plate, as well as a small pile of invitation cards with today's date. In spite of last night, Melanie had organized my engagements.

I poured myself a cup of over-steeped tea and sat, letting the bitter black taste work its miracles while I eyed the note in her tidy handwriting. No flourishes, except the first letter of each paragraph, and her pen strokes were always dark and even. Her handwriting was just like her: familiar, safe, and reliable.

At least until lately.

I flipped through the invitation cards. Indeed, there was the one from Meredith.

Quickly, I ate the rest of my breakfast, dressed, and arranged my hair in a long, simple braid—since the person who was supposed to help me with making myself look presentable had already left.

With times and locations of other engagements in mind, I headed to the ladies' solar where the women had met before.

When I arrived, the solar was already filled with women, most of whom I'd seen last time. Meredith was busy with her needlepoint again, and Chey sat at her right, knitting in hand. A chair on the other side of the duchess held the spindle and wool I'd neglected before. Wonderful. They hadn't forgotten.

Both women smiled brightly as I entered, and Meredith patted the chair beside her. “Welcome, Julianna! We're happy you could join us.”

I took my seat and listened to the women discuss their projects—how they'd sew pieces together or make other objects
from them. Meredith was turned toward Chey, and the others all paid careful attention to their conversation.

“There's a rumor that last night's storm blew in several wraith creatures.” The girl who'd spoken was one of Meredith's ladies, young and flighty sounding. “They say Black Knife was out killing them all night.”

I lowered my eyes to inspect the carded wool.

“That's not his duty and you know it.” Meredith shook her head. “He'll be arrested if he's ever caught.”

“He's a ghost,” said the girl. “The police can't catch a ghost.”

“He's real.” A lady named Margot lowered her needlepoint and leaned forward. “I think Lord Daniel is Black Knife.”

Chey's tone went teasing. “Weren't you with Lord Daniel last night?”

Margot blushed, and suddenly I recognized her from Meredith and Tobiah's engagement ball; the prince had said some people—like Lord Daniel—enjoyed
saying
they were Black Knife, even though everyone knew better.

“And did he leave you to kill monsters?” Chey asked.

“Well, he did leave once to fetch more wine.” Margot tittered and returned to her needlepoint. “He does have the best stories about defeating the monsters and glowmen.”

“Because they're made-up stories.” Meredith shook her head. “No, the real Black Knife is no one as innocent as your Lord Daniel. What sort of man disguises himself and becomes a vigilante? One who wouldn't make nearly as charming a bedfellow as Daniel, no doubt.”

“They say Black Knife will put an end to the wraith. I've
heard that priests all through the Flags are making prophecies about him!”

Another rolled her eyes. “They're
Flag
priests.”

“Indeed.” Chey held herself straight. “When the palace chapel priests start having prophecies—or anyone from the Cathedral of the Solemn Hour—then you may entertain the idea. But ignore anything that comes from the Flags.”

“What about the belief that
Crown Prince Tobiah
will stop it?” Someone snickered, and everyone looked at Meredith.

“If he does,” Meredith said, “it will be because he works hard. Not because of a silly story about a king from all four houses.”

“What story is this?” I asked. “I don't believe I've heard anything about His Highness being the one to stop the wraith.”

“Oh, it's just a story some of the commoners made up.” Meredith shook her head and flashed a smile. “You know about the four Houses, right? It's more to do with where you were born than who your family is—though families do tend to stick to the location, if they own property.”

“Yes, that's been explained.”

“The rumor began when His Highness Prince Tobiah took over the wraith mitigation committee. It's well known that King Terrell and Queen Francesca are from two different houses, and his grandparents on each side are from the other two. Prince Tobiah is House of the Dragon, but he's descended from people of all four, if you take his grandparents into account.” She gave a liquid shrug. “It's not exactly
rare
for this to happen, but it is unusual. The fact that Prince Tobiah will be king one day makes him even more unusual, and you know common people.
They will find signs and superstitions in anything. They need to believe someone will save them before the wraith destroys everything, so they've placed their hope in their future king.”

Signs and superstitions—like the mirrors that covered every western surface of the city, courtesy of King Terrell the Second. How very
common
of him.

“I see. Thank you for explaining.” I turned my spindle in my hands, judging the weight, the sturdiness, and the sharp end. If I needed to bash in any of their heads, or my own—whichever would help me peel real information from their inane chatter more quickly—the spindle would serve as an adequate weapon. “What are the Flag priests saying about Black Knife and the wraith?”

“Some say he works for Prince Tobiah, but that's ridiculous because he's a vigilante and—”

The solar door opened and all the ladies abandoned their work to stand. When the queen stepped in, they performed small, deferential curtsies. I rose, too. Murmurs of “Your Majesty” fluttered through the room.

Queen Francesca was a thin, stern-looking woman, immaculately dressed in a high-waisted gown of blue silk. Intricate embroidery, patterned with stylized suns and birds in flight, swirled over her sleeves and shoulders and bodice. When she spoke, however, her voice was soft. Meek, almost. “Good morning, ladies. Would you mind if I worked with you?”

Immediately, servants were ordered to fetch an appropriately comfortable chair for her, and better wine.

The queen came farther into the room, out of the servants' way, and in the doorway, two young men hovered: Tobiah and James. Escorting the queen, apparently.

Both boys looked as though they'd been up late, with bags under their eyes. But while James wore an expression of careful neutrality, Tobiah's mouth was pinched and he appeared deeply unhappy as he noticed my presence next to his fiancée.

His expression
almost
persuaded me to spend as much time as possible with Meredith, just to annoy him.

“Lady Meredith. Good morning. You look radiant, as always.” He kissed her hand, an odd softness about him as he admired the work she was doing and praised her skill with the needle; she glowed with his attention. But his smile was stiff, overly formal as he greeted the rest of the ladies by name. Then he turned to me. “Lady Julianna, may I speak with you in the hall?”

All eyes turned toward me as I placed the spindle and wool on the chair, and followed the prince and his bodyguard. The queen's eyebrow lifted as I passed her.

Tobiah left the door open for propriety's sake, but motioned me down the hall a few paces, where we could speak without being overheard. “I was going to send you a note,” he said. “I think that might have been easier.”

And I would have had a sample of the prince's handwriting. I tried not to let my disappointment show; he probably had a boring hand anyway.

“After the committee meeting the other day, several of the members approached me separately with concerns.”

I tilted my head and offered a quizzical look.

“They're concerned that the meetings might be too difficult for you to continue attending. Because the majority of those in attendance carried identical misgivings, I'm afraid I must—”

“I understand.” It was rude to interrupt, and a duchess would never dare, but one nursing wounded pride might be that bold, so I risked it. I set my mouth in a line and directed a glare across the hall, on a framed mirror reflecting a portrait of some long-dead queen.

“Not because of your gender, I assure you, but because you've endured something incredibly traumatic. The gentlemen are simply concerned for your peace of mind. We all wish you nothing but healing.”

Beyond the prince, James stood with his hands behind his back, shoulders straight, and a slight frown on his face. When our eyes met, he shook his head just barely.

We both knew why the committee didn't want me. Fortunately, I'd already learned everything I needed for the Ospreys. But what about the lake?

I'd simply have to continue my own research, and follow it wherever it took me.

“I understand,” I said again, and met the prince's eyes. “I'm disappointed, of course. Though I appreciate the concern, I know I could be useful.”

The prince's expression was unreadable. “I'm afraid the decision is final, but I will keep you apprised of any developments. I hope that will suffice.”

That sounded unlikely. “Thank you.” I put no effort into sounding genuine.

“Have a good morning with the ladies.” At that pointed dismissal, he turned and headed down the hall. James flashed an apologetic smile before following.

When I returned to the ladies' solar, the women were already
hard at work once more. The queen sat in a tall chair with half a dozen pillows squeezed in with her, and she worked right alongside the others. She spun on a spindle—a much finer one than I'd been given.

Meredith cocked an eyebrow as I took my seat. “Is everything all right? You look upset.”

I gave a prim smile and took up my spindle, keeping one eye on the queen as she spun. “I'm well enough. Thank you.” All eyes were on me, though, and perhaps there was an opportunity here. I allowed my chin to tremble and made my voice small, but trying to be strong. “Well, I'd wanted to join the wraith mitigation committee. I thought I might be able to help.”

Meredith nodded. “That's quite brave of you.”

“Unfortunately, the majority of the committee believes I am unsuitable, thanks to the very thing I believe makes me valuable: my experience in the wraithland.”

A few of the ladies hissed, and several scowled. The queen simply focused on her work—or appeared to focus. Chey shook her head and met my eyes. “Women are constantly underestimated. Women can be just as cunning and clever as men, and oftentimes are. Our triumph is simply overlooked or unnoticed, because men do not expect it or know to look for it.” She offered a strange smile. “Use your perceived insignificance to your advantage. It's what we all do.”

There was a small chorus of yeses and a ripple of nodding, making me wonder for the first time what they were hiding. All these ladies with their own lives, their own goals.

Perhaps I'd misjudged them earlier. Their inane chatter was
a small theater, meant to disguise their true selves from me: an outsider.

The queen smiled gracefully as she wound yarn onto her spindle.

“Thank you for the advice,” I said after a moment. A strange sense of kinship welled up in me. We all wore disguises, and now I understood theirs.

Not that I trusted Chey—or Meredith or the queen or anyone else in this room—but that didn't make her advice any less true. Maneuvering beneath notice was what I'd been doing since my arrival here.

This incident with Tobiah was a setback, but it wouldn't keep me from my goals.

As soon as the ladies disbanded for the day, I set about haunting the halls around generals' offices, and anywhere else I might find answers. But I found nothing.

There was no getting around it. I was going to the wraithland.

Days were getting shorter. By the time the clock tower chimed nineteen, the sun dipped below the western horizon and the city's mirrors glowed with twilight until the sky faded to purple-black, and finally turned dark.

Melanie hadn't returned to our apartments, and even if she'd been here, I wouldn't have known what to say to her. Would we talk about last night with Patrick? Or pretend we didn't know about Quinn and Ezra? Act like she hadn't voted with Patrick, and now two of our friends were
dead
?

Black silk gleamed in the lamplight; the mask peeked out
from beneath my mattress, where I'd shoved it this morning as I staggered in, exhausted.