The Mirror King

by Jodi Meadows

  Usually, the necessary carefulness of lining pages calmed me, but now my tired mind wandered toward the reason for this work. What would the people of Aecor think when they realized I was alive? Would they feel betrayed, like I’d purposefully neglected them all these years?

  More importantly: what would Patrick tell them when my letters arrived? How would he twist my words until people believed what he needed them to believe?

  No doubt he’d win them over just as he’d won the Ospreys. And while his goals were noble, his method for achieving them—

  At what point had he become a murderer?

  Betrayal burned through me as I shoved my pen into the ink.

  The words I’d rehearsed flew out in a flurry of anger.

  This is an official statement . . .

  I, Princess Wilhelmina Korte, daughter of King Phillip and Queen Angela Korte, and rightful heir to the vermilion throne at Sandcliff Castle . . .

  Crown Prince Tobiah Pierce, House of the Dragon, son of the late King Terrell the Fourth, was previously unaware of my survival. Now he wishes to help me set matters right between Aecor and the Indigo Kingdom, and we will begin discussion with his uncle, Prince Colin Pierce, House of the Dragon, Overlord of Aecor Territory . . .

  Patrick Lien, son of the former general Brendon Lien of the Aecor Army, has acted without my consent. He is to be taken into custody and held until my arrival, at which point I will conduct a trial and determine how he can begin atoning for his crimes . . .

  The Red Militia is an unsanctioned force . . .

  I wrote, furious scrawls and flourishes and scratches across the page. The scrape of my pen against paper was an awful, unlovely sound, and I couldn’t remember why I usually liked it. Why it usually grounded me and brought me peace.

  Giving in to Patrick’s demands was out of the question; it would only give him more power. But I wanted to take back my kingdom with that kind of directness. Trying to persuade Prince Colin to let it go peacefully was never going to work. He’d already said he wouldn’t give up Aecor.

  And that he would retaliate if I insisted on claiming it.

  My hand cramped around the pen, and my wrist throbbed from holding it too stiffly as I added the final lines of my letter.

  I stopped short of signing my name.

  I couldn’t make my hand shape the W. What did my signature even look like? Small? Clipped? Wild? Was it legible, or a scrawling mess of ink?

  And the letter itself . . .

  The letter was like the storied monster of many parts, with my handwriting fading from tidy to flourishing, from flowing to scratching where I let the ink run out. Teardrops marred the words, darkening the paper, carrying the ink in translucent blots across the grains. There were at least seven different hands.

  “You didn’t sign your name.” James spoke softly.

  “I haven’t signed my name to anything since I was a child.” My fingers shook as I lowered my pen, ink still pooled in the nib. “Patrick never let me; he never even told any of our tutors or trainers my true identity. I was a secret.”

  James rested his forearms on the desk as he leaned toward me. “You aren’t a secret anymore. You can sign if you want.” He glanced at the monster of a letter, his unspoken words plain in his expression: I could try again.

  “I don’t know what my signature looks like,” I whispered. “I know priests’, generals’, merchants’. Even yours and Tobiah’s. But not my own.”

  “And your handwriting?” He studied the letter, tracing a wild flourish with the tip of his finger. Ink smudged onto his skin. “After you were taken to prison that night, I said I’d found samples of handwritings. I asked which was yours.”

  “None of them.” They’d all been practice, and because sometimes I simply needed to feel a pen in my hand, and the glide of tines on paper.

  James’s smile was faint but encouraging as he took my abandoned pen and cleaned off the drying ink, leaving black smears across the cloth. He offered the pen to me, handle first, as though it were a knife or dagger. “What does your writing look like, Wilhelmina?”

  “I don’t know.” The pen fit in my hand, but it felt like a new and unfamiliar thing now. I didn’t know what to do with it. “I’ve spent so long writing as everyone else, I’ve never learned my own handwriting. Even as a child, before all this, I mimicked my tutor’s hand.”

  Was I really that pathetic?

  “I don’t even know my own handwriting.” The mess of paper filled my vision, blurring as I blinked back tears.

  “Maybe it’s time you learn.”

  “It’s such a stupid thing to worry about.” I placed the pen on the table. “I’ve gone my whole life without thinking about it. Why should it bother me now, when there are so many other things—more important things—going on?”

  James shook his head and slid my writing supplies to the other side of the desk. “I don’t know you very well. Like Tobiah, there’s a lot that you keep hidden. But I consider myself intelligent and observant, which means I’ve been able to determine a few things about you over the weeks you’ve been at the palace—in your various disguises.”

  I waited.

  “You take pressure very well. Now that I know your identity, I can only imagine what a trial it must have been sharing a meal with military men, or meeting Prince Colin. Or even just coming here, knowing Tobiah might recognize you from the One-Night War. I’ve seen you improvise. I’ve seen you fight. And you’ve endured Lady Chey’s best efforts to force you to leave.” He dragged in a breath. “But not even the strongest can defend against everything. Not forever.

  “You have a million different things trying to stop you, Wilhelmina. A million different things chipping away at your armor. I don’t know this Patrick of yours, and I’m in no position to help you win back your kingdom. Your romantic entanglements are your own business, and I don’t know what to do about your pale friend down the hall. In truth, I’m allowed to take very little action, except what my cousin commands, or when his life is in danger. I’m of limited use to you, but there may be one thing I can help you with.”

  It seemed to me he sold himself short. But I leaned forward. “I don’t need to be rescued, James. I can do this on my own.”

  “Yes.” He smiled gently. “I’ve heard that about you. And I don’t want to rescue you. I want to give you an option.”

  “For what?”

  “Tell me what happened on the balcony the other morning, when my people tried to take you to safety.”

  My jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to be taken anywhere. I had to help.”

  “Wilhelmina.” My name came out a sigh. “You froze. You panicked. Your wraith boy came to kill anyone who touched you because you were so afraid.”

  Was that what had happened? The wraith boy had been chasing Patrick until the guard had grabbed me.

  “I’ve never seen you panic, not once.”

  I studied the grains on the desk. Of course he hadn’t seen me panic. I’d been in the wraithland alone. Only the wraith boy had seen what I’d done, how weak I’d been when the locusts arrived.

  “Was it because—” James hesitated. “After you were captured in Hawksbill, when the men searched you?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I heard you throw up in your cell after I’d walked away. I know about the bruises.” He glanced at my arm, healed now. “The other morning, the guards grabbing you reminded you of”—he hesitated—“a situation that made you feel violated.”

  My jaw hurt from gritting my teeth.

  Even more gently, he said, “It took away your sense of control.”

  “They took advantage of my incapacitation.” The words came out like venom.

  “I understand.”

  But he couldn’t. Not unless he’d ever been groped between the legs and his assailant justified it by insisting there could be a hidden weapon there. Not unless he’d ever been surrounded by frightened people who mistook his identity, and wanted to touch him fo
r hope or luck or curiosity. Not unless someone had crept into his bedroom at night, threatening him.

  “It’s all right that you feel this way. It’s all right if you hate the people who did this to you.”

  Did I hate them? Besides Prince Colin, I didn’t even know their names.

  “I remember who was there,” he said. “I’ll have them released from the Indigo Army and Order.”

  And Prince Colin? Could anything be done about him?

  My list of allies was frighteningly small, and my list of enemies was already full; I didn’t have room for bitter, dishonored soldiers.

  “Don’t. Just leave them.” I didn’t want to see them again, but I wasn’t sure I’d recognize faces from that day. Anyway, the safety of our world was more important than my discomfort. “I appreciate the gesture.”

  James shook his head. “It’s not a gesture. The security of this palace and its inhabitants is in my hands. I’m sworn to protect Tobiah, primarily, but my duties go beyond that. You’re not only a current resident of this palace, but foreign royalty. In protecting you, I am protecting Tobiah and the castle. I’m also your friend, Wil. At least I hope so. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you feel safe.”

  I would never feel safe. Not here.

  “What happened to your guard last night?”

  I lifted my chin. “Ask him.”

  “I intend to. But I’d rather you tell me.”

  “He was dismissed, I assume.” I was glad it hadn’t been Ferris. I didn’t care for him, but James appeared to trust him, so at least that wouldn’t change.

  “By whom?”

  I shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “Prince Colin.”

  I forced the edge of panic out of my voice. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because there are very few people my men will take orders from, and even fewer people who could rattle you. You look like you haven’t slept in a week. What happened?”

  “Well, he wasn’t visiting for tea. But I’ve dealt with it.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “He knows Tobiah is recovered.”

  James let out a long sigh. “And I will deal with that.” Then he removed the mess of papers from the desk and slid a ruler onto the next fresh sheet. “Now, I know you enjoy my company more than anything else in the world, but we’ve both got a lot of work to do. And since you’ve never been one to refuse showing off your skills, let’s see the famous pen at work. This time in your handwriting. And if you don’t know what it looks like, maybe it’s time for you to learn.”

  NINE

  JAMES, THE OSPREYS, and interviewing tutors kept me busy the rest of the day. As soon as I found someone who wasn’t terrified of them—a young woman named Alana Todd—I made introductions and left her to the demanding task of taming Aecor’s high nobility.

  My rooms were quiet when I returned from a long dinner with the Goldberg family, only the faint hum of gas greeting me as I turned on the lights. I was alone.

  A knot in my chest eased. I had to trust James and Ferris, and whoever they assigned to guard my apartments at night. Someone different this time, I hoped.

  The clock in my sitting room struck twenty-two. Outside, the sky was dark and wind battered the balcony door with its near-winter chill.

  As I pushed aside the curtains, an envelope slipped to the floor. A W shone gold against the black paper.

  My heart thundered as I took the letter to my room and pulled the flap free. The letter itself was regular white paper with black ink, but the packaging was so very . . . Black Knife.

  Wil,

  After your quick exit yesterday morning, I found the letter you left in my room. I decided to reply in kind, and leave it in a place you’re sure to find it. My next delivery won’t be so obvious.

  Regarding my first letter to you: I’m glad you understand. I knew you would. With or without your kingdom, you are a queen; you understand what it means to take risks and make sacrifices for the good of your people.

  I also wanted to say: thank you for the risks you took for me. You don’t even like me—Tobiah me—but I know what you did during the shooting and after. (James told me.) Everything about our relationship is complicated right now, you suddenly the lost princess of Aecor, and me . . . you know. After the way I treated you, in all regards, I didn’t deserve anything you did for me.

  Wilhelmina, while going after Patrick might have been the more logical choice, you had no reason to believe he would elude the Indigo Order so quickly. Had our positions been reversed, I’d have done the same as you.

  In complete understanding,

  Tobiah

  I reread the letter a few times before I wrote a response, changed clothes, and went out the balcony door.

  Chill night pressed around me as I weighed my options. Go down and around and back up, a sure way to get caught, or go over.

  Over it was.

  Senses straining to hear any sound beyond the groaning wind, I tossed my grappling hook and climbed the wall. At the top, I threw an ankle over the roof and rolled up and onto the slate tiles.

  With my line and hook secure at my hip, I belly crawled up to the peak, using chimneys to give me boosts and resting places so I could listen for patrols.

  The other side of the roof was more dangerous, with bits of glass sticking up from between the tiles like traps. Moonlight caught the larger shards, but others were hidden. I took care as I crept down, my feet first. The sword on my back limited my movement, but I could compensate.

  I sidled along the edge of the roof until I sat above the balcony I wanted. There were no guards stationed there; the thud of boots was far off. Wind blew in cold and sharp. I pushed off the roof.

  I landed in a crouch, gloved fingertips brushing the stone. Hardly a sound.

  There was no trace of blood on the balcony; some poor maid had already scrubbed and rinsed the stone. Nevertheless, the place where Tobiah had fallen drew my eyes and held me captive. We’d almost lost him.

  The balcony door was locked, but the mechanism was easy to pick. It took only half a minute to open the door and slip through the curtains that caught the breeze. Quietly, I latched the door behind me.

  Something spun me and slammed me against the glass. A flash of gold hovered above, and a blur before me resolved into an ashen face.

  Tobiah’s palm pressed against my breastbone, and he had his antique spyglass raised like a weapon. His eyes were wide, a little wild, until he recognized my mask, and we both glanced down to find my daggers out of their sheathes, pointed at his stomach.

  The blades dropped to the rug with soft thumps. I hadn’t even realized I’d drawn them.

  He heaved a breath and tossed the spyglass onto his bed. “Wil.” Then his arms were around me, strong and solid as he buried his face against my neck. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  And he shouldn’t be holding me like this, not when he wore nothing but a loose nightshirt and trousers, and his hair was messy from sleep. Still, my heart galloped as our bodies pressed close together, and my fingertips explored the ridges of his spine. He fit me.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered. “Never mind. Don’t answer. Just don’t be a dream.”

  “Would dream-me threaten to split you from stomach to sternum only a day after healing you from a similar injury?”

  He gave a soft snort. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  So he dreamed about me? Often?

  I closed my eyes, indulging in the feel of his body pressing on mine for only a moment more before I whispered, “We can’t do this.”

  He groaned, like reality returning, and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” His eyes followed me as I knelt and retrieved my daggers. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Forgive me.

  He’d probably just been relieved I wasn’t Patrick, creeping in to finish the job. But word was that Patrick had been spotted in one of the piedmont villages across the mountains. He was far from here.

  I slid my
daggers into their sheathes and took the folded note from my belt. After a second’s hesitation, I offered it to him. “I thought if you were going to sneak letters into my room, I should get to have fun, too.”

  “And you had to dress as Black Knife to do it?” He took the letter, holding it like it might bite.

  “Do you know how hard it is to climb over the roof while wearing a gown?”

  A sly smile welled up in the corner of his mouth. “None of the court ladies will loan me a gown to try.”

  “Well that’s just rude of them.” I started a slow circle around him, making a show of inspecting the way his nightclothes hung over his lean frame. If he wore a bandage anymore, I couldn’t see it beneath the dark blue silk. “I have a dress you could borrow, but your hips are all wrong for it.”

  He offered a playful frown. “Now who’s rude? You’ll have to learn to be more diplomatic if you’re going to be queen, Wilhelmina.” He moved to a bookcase, struck a match, and lit a candle. Soft firelight glowed across the angles of his face, revealing the tension that still hung about his jaw and neck and shoulders; this teasing was a desperate attempt for normalcy, though between Tobiah and me, or Black Knife and me, I couldn’t tell. He looked like one and acted like the other, and wasn’t truly either.

  Why couldn’t they have been separate boys?

  “Now tell me the truth.” His tone was somewhere between the prince who always got what he wanted and the vigilante who was never denied. “James already warned me that you asked for clothes and weapons, and while I’m flattered you wanted to deliver your letter personally, in the middle of the night, and looking like you’re ready to do battle . . .”

  My fingers trailed along the balcony curtain, making shadows ripple. “It’s no trouble. I was going out anyway.”

  This scowl was real, and fully the disapproving prince. “Don’t.”

  I crossed my arms and thrust back my shoulders. “You can’t stop me.”

  He slammed the letter onto his bookcase and stalked toward me. “What are you going to do? Steal a horse and ride to Aecor after him? He’s gone, Wilhelmina.”