The Orphan Queen (27 page)

“Why did you go in? You could have been killed.”

“I was sent.”

“By whom?”

“He didn't tell me his name, just that I was to deliver a letter.” I flinched, as though afraid the prince was going to hit me, but no blow came. “Your Highness, he looked important. He told me it was urgent and that I had to deliver the letter to a twisted old oak tree. He said he'd pay me when I got back.”

“Well, you aren't getting paid.” The prince thumped his fist on the table. He asked again about what I'd seen or done in the wraithland, and my answers were always the same. I gave as many detailed descriptions as possible—though I left out the locust attack and what I'd done. I still wasn't sure what had happened, but I definitely didn't want him to wonder, too.

“There was a voice as you rode up the mountain,” Herman said. “Yelling a name. Do you know anything about that?”

I shook my head, keeping my eyes wide and frightened.

He blew out a breath. “I have no more time for this. Get out of my sight.”

As though I were truly a lowly messenger boy, I ducked my face and scampered from the interrogation room.

Patrick had already gathered my belongings and acquired a pair of horses, so we were on our way out of West Pass Watch by dawn. We rode toward Skyvale in silence.

At night, in the same tense silence, we dug a fire pit as the forest gloom closed in and birds settled into their nests. Nocturnal creatures awoke, trees rustled in the breeze, and the faint scent of wraith stirred up a deep unease. Now that I knew just how potent the wraith stench could be. Now that I'd seen what kind of threat the wraithland posed.

Stones showed more emotion than Patrick as he settled on his bedroll and arranged a pot of water to boil over the fire. In stoic silence, he added dried meat, vegetables, and a packet of powdered spices. His glare never left me.

I refused to flinch.

When we reached Skyvale, Patrick led me to the Peacock
Inn, where he ordered a large dinner of pork chops and bread and wine. While we waited, I unpinned my hair to let the braids hang down, removed the cloth ties, and slowly began unraveling the plaits Melanie had spent hours putting together. With a wide-toothed comb Patrick tossed at me, I untangled the grimy lengths of my hair and picked out broken locust legs, twigs, and pine needles. There'd be no real washing my hair until I got back to the palace, but letting it down now felt good.

While I finished transforming back into a girl, Patrick fetched our meal and set a plate on the bed beside me. I cleaned the plate within minutes, and then Patrick's calm rumbled into the beginnings of a storm.

“What happened?” His voice was low and dangerous. It was that danger that had made him an attractive leader for the Ospreys, like he wore a thin film of control over everything he could do.

I pulled my jacket tighter, warding myself against Patrick and the autumn chill that blew in through the window. “I wasn't sent to take a letter to anyone.”

“Obviously.” He crossed his arms and kept my gaze. “Someone was yelling your name. Your true name. Who were you meeting?”

The memory of something calling me back into the wraithland shuddered through me, but now, back in Skyvale, with Patrick scowling at me, everything from the wraithland felt . . . as though it had happened to a separate person, or in another life.

Patrick would outwait me if I refused to answer. He'd easily stare at me all day, even if I fell asleep. I'd wake up to find him
glaring at me. Forget the wraithland; his watchfulness would be a nightmare.

“I don't know who—what—was yelling my name.” But didn't I? The wind? The air? Something more?

“I see. And what were you hoping to accomplish by risking your life, your friends' safety, and your kingdom's future?”

“It was for my kingdom's future that I went.”

“So you abandoned your post.”

“I didn't abandon it.” I balled my fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms. “I moved on for a little while, and now I'm going back.”

“This is why you tried to lie to me about the resistance groups—why you didn't want me to know that you'd almost completed your work in the palace.”

“It's my duty to see what will eventually destroy my kingdom.” I didn't want to tell him about the lake. I wasn't even sure what it all meant.

“Your kingdom is already destroyed.” His words came as a low growl, and his stare was unwavering. “Nothing else can destroy your kingdom until you raise it back up.”

“You're wrong.” I'd never had the courage to say that to him before. It was one thing to lie to him, and to declare I would not marry him, but Patrick hadn't been
wrong
since he was nine years old—since before the One-Night War. But surviving the wraithland made me brave, or foolish. “You're wrong. My kingdom is far from destroyed.”

Patrick stiffened, and smoldering anger in his eyes warned that I should back down. “Have you forgotten the night the Indigo Army forced their way into Aecor City, burning shops
and homes? Have you forgotten how they murdered highborns and commoners alike? Have you forgotten how they executed your parents in the courtyard? How can you say Aecor isn't destroyed when there's nothing left?”

“I could never forget that, the memory that haunts me every day. Especially when you've sent me to live among the very people responsible for the slaughter.” My voice broke, but I forced strength back into it as I continued. “But Aecorian people still live there, and more are returning home from the wraithland. It's under Indigo Kingdom rule right now, but the land remains. The people remain.” I climbed to my feet, shoulders thrust back, and swept one arm toward the wraithland. “I've seen destruction, Patrick. I've seen what Aecor will become if the wraith
doesn't
stop. I don't know what the answer is, but I know something must be done.”

He was on his feet, too, all panther grace as he stalked toward me. “I'm bringing Aecor back the way
your parents
left it. Or don't you care about their legacy anymore?”

“Of course I care about their legacy, but I don't know what plans they had for the wraithland. I don't know how they expected to keep the country safe when wraith came pouring in. Maybe they thought it wouldn't happen. Maybe they believed there was another way. But maybe they were wrong.” My ears rang in the deafening quiet and I whispered, “Maybe resurrecting Aecor the way they ran it . . . maybe that is wrong.”

Patrick slapped me.

I staggered back, clutching my cheek. He stared at his hand, his mouth hanging open and horror written across his features.

For a heartbeat, he'd become his father.

“Wil—”

“Don't.” I held my palms toward him, and he pulled back until he bumped the desk. I grabbed my pack and shoved my things inside it.

“I didn't mean to.” His tone had softened, and he still clutched his hand like it was some kind of foreign thing. “I don't know what happened.”

“I know.” I hitched my pack over my shoulders and headed for the window. When I glanced back, he hadn't moved. “Be a better man than your father.”

Then I left.

THE SUN STILL
burned high. I couldn't just walk into the palace in my current condition—trousers and messy hair and ten layers of grime all over me—so I roamed the Flags and let my mind wander.

Everywhere I went, I found knives carved into fences or painted onto walls. Some were merely in support of the vigilante, while others had pleading messages underneath them:

H
ELP ME FIND MY BROTHER
. H
E DISAPPEARED FROM
U
NDERMARKET
S
TREET
.

T
HE
N
IGHTMARE GANG IS EVERYWHERE
. P
LEASE HELP
.

S
OMEONE ON
R
EDWINE
S
TREET IS USING MAGIC
. I
T SMELLS LIKE PEE ALL THE TIME
.

S
TOP
. N
O ONE WANTS YOU HERE
.

Y
OU SAVED MY LIFE
. T
HANK YOU
.

P
LEASE STOP THE WRAITH
. E
VERYONE SAYS YOU
'
LL DO IT
. I
BELIEVE IN YOU
.

I walked past more drawings, messages, and bounty posters with hastily sketched silhouettes of a man in a mask. Some notes were familiar, now worn away under wind and rain, while others were fresh. Down several alleys, I caught children playing Black Knife; they battled one another with sticks or pipes or wooden swords.

What would happen when I saw him again? He'd
come after me
when I'd left Skyvale, and not even to arrest me. What did that mean?

The clock tower chimed every hour, louder as I made my way toward Thornton, where carriages emblazoned with crests flitted from shop to shop. I kept my face turned away in case anyone recognized me. Unlikely, given my current state, but I didn't want to be too cavalier; coming into Thornton was already a risk.

Evening descended, announced by the peal of cathedral bells in Hawksbill. Smaller bells chimed in the market district, and a small army of homeless people from the Flags wandered through, shouting.

“The heir to four houses will end the wraith!”

“Wraith is coming! The end approaches!”

It wasn't long before police swarmed in and began making arrests.

Wanting to avoid the eyes of authority, I scrubbed my face on my sleeve, then ducked into a bakery where I could watch the
commotion from the open door with a cup of hot tea, though the proprietor didn't look overly happy about serving me.

Midway through the evening, a thunder of carriages with dragon sigils and Pierce crests drove by.

At last, night fell. When the bakery closed, I waited for the clock tower to strike midnight, and then I climbed over the wall and into Hawksbill. The fading perfume of flowers and roasted chicken and autumn foliage welcomed me as I crept through the courtyards and gardens. Laughter chimed like bells from mansions, and horses whickered in their stables. This district was deceptively peaceful.

Weary, I sneaked through the shadows of the King's Seat and climbed up to my window. My fingers touched the handle just as Melanie pushed open the door, and we stared at each other for a long minute.

“Wil,” she breathed, and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Wil. I'm so glad you made it.”

I hugged her back, and a knot of fear loosened inside of me. She didn't hate me for going. We were still friends.

“Come inside.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me in, kicking the door shut behind us. The sitting room was warm, thanks to the small fire burning. Vases of flowers filled the end tables and bookshelves, and dozens of envelopes waited in a basket on the table.

“What's all this?” I dropped my bag on the floor, doing my best not to wilt back into my friend's arms.

“You've been very ill for over three weeks.” Melanie motioned at the closed door to my bedroom. “Too ill for visitors. There was some improvement and people were looking
forward to seeing you again, but your recovery wasn't as swift as I'd hoped.”

“Oh. Right.” I moved through the room, glancing at the notes pinned under vases. From King Terrell. From Crown Prince Tobiah. From Meredith. Three from Lady Chey, of all people.

The letters were just as numerous, but I'd look at those later. I almost felt guilty that people had been so worried for my health, and I hadn't even been sick.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Melanie asked. “You're late. And I was so worried. I thought about you every moment.”

I managed a smile. “You sent Patrick after me.”

She went pale. “I—he knew. Somehow he knew that you weren't here. I didn't tell him anything.”

“I believe you.” Patrick had a talent for that, knowing things without being told. He could just
see
the truth in people's eyes, and hear it in their breath. “It's fine. I'm back.”

“So.” Her voice dropped. “You went into the wraithland.”

“I did. And it was—” I shook my head and considered giving her my notebook to let her read everything. But I wasn't sure I wanted to confess all of my secrets. Not yet.

My knees buckled and I collapsed onto one of the sofas. I bent over my legs and cradled my head in my forearms.

“Oh, Wil.” Melanie dropped next to me and draped her arm over my shoulders. “Let's just get you cleaned up. We can talk later about what happened.”

I didn't think I'd be ready later, either, but I let her guide me to the washroom, where I ran the bath as hot as possible. While
I scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed some more, Melanie went to my room. From the tub, I could hear the
whoomph
of sheets as she remade my bed, and the
screech
of hangers in the wardrobe.

“Here.” She came back in bearing a warm nightgown as I wrapped a dressing gown over myself. “Oh, your cheek. What happened?”

I hesitated, but if she was going to be with Patrick, she needed to know. “Patrick.”

The nightgown fluttered to the floor. “He wouldn't.”

“We were arguing. He lost control.”

Melanie closed her eyes, reeling, but I didn't have the energy to comfort her.

I finished dressing while Melanie ordered a crock of soup, and we discussed the wraithland as we ate. I told her everything—everything except what I'd done, commanding the wind with my magic, and then the voice that had chased me.

But I knew what it was. I couldn't deny it any longer.

Somehow, with that single command, I'd brought the wraith to life.

And it knew my name.

MY PRESENCE WAS
required at King Terrell's birthday ball. Two invitations had arrived in our apartments the day I'd left for the wraithland, and a letter from the king himself had appeared shortly after; in it, he all but pleaded for my return to health and attendance.