The Orphan Queen (32 page)

“No one behaving suspiciously?” Tobiah asked again, and both Melanie and I shook our heads. “What time would you say you each fell asleep?”

“One, perhaps?” Melanie cocked her head. “Half an hour following? I was tired after the ball.”

“Same for me,” I said. I'd gone to bed at the same time; I just hadn't stayed there. “My recent illness causes me to tire very quickly.”

“I see.” Tobiah asked several more questions, most in the
same vein, and after ten or so minutes, the prince handed the papers to Fredrick, who slipped them into a folder marked
Julianna Whitman
.

“That's all we have for now,” said the general. He stood and started for the door, but as the prince and his bodyguard began to follow, I leaned forward.

“What happened to His Majesty? We've heard so many rumors.”

Tobiah winced. “We'd rather not say for—”

“His throat was cut,” said James. “Sliced clean open in his sleep, using a serrated blade. The assassin is right-handed and strong. It's hard to gauge his height, since His Majesty was obviously already lying down, but we know he must be someone with incredible stealth to have slipped past the four on-duty bodyguards.”

“James.” Tobiah's scowl pulled around his mouth. “That's enough around the ladies.”

Belatedly, I remembered to be horrified by the details; I forced my expression to shift into slowly blooming alarm. “Why would anyone do that?”

Tobiah stood and looked at me. All traces of the sullen, bored prince I'd come to loathe were gone. Now, he just looked empty. “People always want to kill kings. That is why they have bodyguards.”

A few minutes later, the men were gone, and Melanie and I sat at the table with our chins balanced on our fists.

“You lied about where you were last night.” She plucked a petal from one of the flower arrangements on the table. “Where were you really?”

“Getting air.”

“For five hours?” She flicked the petal across the table; it fluttered and fell to the floor.

So she'd heard me come in after all. “Well, I wasn't fighting crime with Black Knife.” I said it like a joke. And it was true . . . this time. Admitting my relationship with Black Knife would be an even worse betrayal to Melanie. Saying no to Patrick was one thing. Spending a week as Black Knife's partner was unforgivable.

And kissing him, maybe falling in love with him—

I changed the subject. “What do we do about Terrell?”

“Nothing. We're not part of this. Let them handle their own problems.”

“And if Patrick is responsible?”

She licked her lips and glanced toward the balcony door. “He must have had a good reason. Like revenge. Like keeping the Indigo Kingdom distracted while we return to Aecor.”

None of those things was a good reason for
murder
. “Find out if he did it anyway. And tell him we aren't done here, either. I need to tell the wraith mitigation committee what happened in the wraithland. It might help their efforts against it—and help us, ultimately.”

“It might not matter, once we return to Aecor and your identity is revealed. Why would they believe anything you said?”

With a sigh, I strode across the room and found the stack of drawings I'd been working on. My fingers itched for a pen. Working, even on something small, would ease the uncomfortable buzzing in the back of my thoughts.

“The Pierces and Indigo Order might not believe me.” I
flipped through the pages and found a half-finished drawing of Black Knife. “But I know someone who will.”

Torches burned around the palace walls, pushing back the shadows as dusk fell. The guards had been tripled and soldiers were placed all around the courtyard, gardens, and front drive. Everywhere I looked was evidence of the city lockdown.

Hawksbill was silent. The streetlights blazed, but no laughter drifted up from the mansions. Wind chimes had been torn down so none of their cheer would sound on this dark day. A hush blanketed the whole city in a wraithlike chill.

“Can you do this?” I asked.

Melanie watched the guards below, studying their patterns. Typically, escaping the palace was no problem, but now, with all of the Indigo Order on high alert, I wasn't so sure.

“I think so.”

Melanie and I stayed on the balcony as the night grew deeper, two distraught women who'd lost yet another king, now seeking something bigger than them for comfort. As cathedral bells tolled, we huddled together in our shawls and simple dresses, the picture of mourning. The guards never looked up.

An hour before midnight, we went back indoors, and Melanie headed into her room to change. I slipped into the black hooded sweater and trousers from the night before.

“Where are you going?” Melanie asked from the doorway.

“I thought I'd check with some of our contacts about the king's assassination.”

Her lips peeled back in a sneer. “It's still not our problem.”

“It is if anyone here gets suspicious of us.” In which case,
both of us leaving tonight wasn't a good idea.
Neither
of us should leave. But I needed to know if Patrick had assassinated the king, and I wanted to hear Black Knife's thoughts. “Lady Chey is having the scribes and records-keepers look over our papers. We're already under scrutiny.”

Melanie hissed. “They won't catch us. Your documents were flawless. We'll be out of here before it's an issue.”

I couldn't go to Aecor until I'd figured out what I'd done to the wraith, but I wasn't ready to tell her that truth yet.

“Be careful,” I said.

“Say it again.” She opened the balcony door and descended into the frigid night.

I watched her go, tracking her movements as she slipped from shadow to shadow, avoiding all the guards as they marched through the courtyard. When she was out of my sight, I armed myself with daggers and Black Knife's gifts, and slipped out on my own.

Pressing myself into the deepest shadows I could find, I eased from balcony to rooftop to the ground, keeping my breaths long and deep and silent.

A cold wind kicked up, bringing droplets of water and a sharp wraithy scent, but I suppressed the urge to gag and crept along a hedge until I reached a walled garden near a mansion boasting the House of the Sun crest. From there, I took the most deserted paths possible, hyperalert of every sound and scent.

It took twice as long to reach the Hawksbill wall, and even more time to find a place to scale it. But I managed, and stole into Thornton as quickly and quietly as I could. There were extra patrols here, as well, but there were also more places to hide.

I ran a long route to the breezeway where Black Knife had taken me last night, but I found it and the trapdoor without trouble, and climbed in.

He wasn't here.

The Hawksbill clock tower chimed the second hour. Black Knife hadn't specified a time, so I curled myself into a corner and waited, letting my eyes drift shut for a minute. The taps of light rain against the glass lulled my thoughts. I hadn't slept last night, except for an hour or two when I got back to my room, and the day had been too busy to rest.

I shivered awake when the clock tower struck five. Black Knife hadn't come. He'd asked me to meet him, and then hadn't come.

Then again, everything had changed. Who knew what else he'd had to do, especially if he was part of one of the noble houses.

Dawn was still hours away, but I needed to hurry back if I wanted to avoid the new security.

Yawning, I let myself out of the trapdoor and hurried through the market district streets. My mind was foggy with sleep, but the icy air and run helped. The light rain stopped as I crossed the wall, more quickly this time, so I peeled off the mask and began fitting myself into the shadows of mansions and fountains and anything else I could find.

Footsteps approached from behind. I ducked toward a tall statue, but it was too late; I was too slow.

“Julianna Whitman?” A man wearing the Indigo Order uniform brandished his sword. “Please come with me. You're under arrest for impersonation of Liadian nobility and under suspicion of assassinating King Terrell.”

THIS WAS
EXACTLY
why I'd warned Melanie to be careful.

And here I was.

“Just come with me,” said the guard. His gaze flickered down as I rested my hands on my dagger hilts. “This will be much easier if you don't resist.”

Easier for him.

I set my jaw and drew my daggers. Steel glinted in the light of gas lamps hissing all around us. Cold wind gusted. Conifers rustled.

“Just come with me,” he said again, voice low and wary.

I ducked to his right side—so he'd have to swing backward to hit me—and attacked. He staggered and shifted his sword to block my blades at the last second. The clash of steel threw me off balance, but I corrected and struck out with my blades again.

“Found her!” shouted my guard. He foiled another strike,
then another, not bothering to fight me. All he had to do was wait for help.

I sheathed my daggers and dropped to the ground, braced myself, and kicked his knee. Bone shifted and crunched, and I rolled out of the way just as his sword came down. The tip buried itself in the ground as the man screamed and clutched his broken knee.

There was no reason I should feel bad for defending myself, even if he was just some third-born lord without better options than to join the Indigo Order. Still, I winced with a little sympathy as I kicked him in the face, careful to avoid shoving his nasal bones up and into his brain.

Screaming in pain, he fell aside. I stole his sword.

Dawn caught on the northeastern horizon, shining gold above the mountains like a beacon. If I got over the wall I could escape the city and get back to the old palace.

I peeled away from the garden where I'd been sneaking, and made for the wall. My footfalls were silent as I raced down a street, keeping as close to the shadows as possible. In the distance, other guards shouted and called orders.

Someone demanded a physician; their newly crippled friend had been discovered.

I pinned the stolen sword under my arm and took out my grappling hook and line. Boots thudded on the pavement behind me.

I switched the line to my left hand, grabbed the sword with my right, and swung around just as two men in crisp uniforms ran up.

They reeled back, away from the tip of the blade arcing toward them, and one brought up his weapon to block. Our
swords clacked and he pressed hard enough to shift mine back toward me; he was stronger.

I snaked my sword around and slung his from his hand. It landed in a rosebush several feet away, and when he ran to fetch it, I hurled my own sword at the second guard's face.

When he scrambled away from the flying blade, I caught my grappling line with both hands and hauled myself up as quickly as I could. Hand over hand. Feet planted firmly on the wall.

Arms wrapped around my waist. My muscles burned as I tried to hang on to my weight and the guard's, but I wasn't strong enough; neither was the line.

I let go, thudding to the ground as I landed on top of both guards. They grunted and grabbed at me, but I elbowed them each in the face and rolled off, leaving behind my grappling line as I took off farther along the wall. Eventually, I'd reach the gate. I'd just have to be fast.

Lights hung down from the wall, illuminating my path. Shouts and cries from the nearby patrols spurred me onward, and my breath heaved in the cold air as I pushed myself. Mist trailed behind me and I gave up all pretense of stealth as two, four, ten guards joined the chase.

I wove between buildings and statues, ducking and dodging as quickly as I could. The crash of men through brush and evergreens chased me. Their boots thumped on the ground.

All over Hawksbill, lights flared from houses and people peered out from windows and over balconies, their faces pale and frightened. I recognized Chey and a few of her friends as I hurtled past her immense mansion.

Cold wind tore at my face, making tears prickle in the
corners of my eyes. Everything blurred, even as dawn began creeping through the Indigo Valley, lighting the city with shards of gold and copper.

The gate to Thornton was just ahead.

My thighs ached as I drove myself faster. My lungs burned. My vision swam.

When I blinked away cold-born tears, dozens of indigo-coated soldiers stood between the gate and me. Dozens more appeared on either side of the road, armed with swords and crossbows.

I thrust out a foot to help me turn without losing momentum—I'd have to go deeper into Hawksbill and hide—but even more men stood behind me.

I staggered to a halt and turned in a slow circle as the men of the Indigo Order began closing in. I was surrounded. Trapped.

There were no tricks or tools in my belt, no surprise escapes. A hundred or more men bore down on me. There was no way I could fight them off.

Heart thrumming, I unhooked my dagger sheaths from my belt and laid them on the ground. With empty hands lifted to my sides, I surrendered.

A young man kicked his horse through the crowd of soldiers, his face red with cold or anger. He dismounted and hopped off, and took several long strides toward me, ahead of the rest of the Order.

Lieutenant James Rayner stood with one hand on his sword, the other fist planted on his hip. When our eyes met, there was no friendliness in him. Only a look of deep disappointment and resignation.

“Lady Julianna Whitman, ward of the kingdom,” said James, “you are under arrest for the impersonation of Liadian nobility, and under suspicion of the assassination of King Terrell Pierce the Fourth. Please don't resist, or we'll have no choice but to use deadly force.”

I swallowed back a surge of terror as I offered my wrists and held my ground.

James motioned to one of his men, who unhooked a pair of cuffs from his belt and strode toward me. The guards' crossbows were all loaded and aimed; they wouldn't miss if I attacked their comrade.