The Mirror King

by Jodi Meadows

  I swung my gaze to the lowcity: my destination tonight.

  The faint clink of a hook hitting stone stilled me before I could stand. Someone else was climbing the rampart.

  I drew a dagger and edged toward the newcomer, keeping my movements silent. The parapet hid me from view, even as I came upon the hook gripping the stone.

  Relief shot through me as I glanced over.

  Melanie.

  I ripped off my mask and shoved it into my belt just as she finished the climb and swung herself onto the walkway.

  “Out a bit late, aren’t you?” I grinned and slipped my dagger back into its sheath.

  “Wil!” Melanie’s eyes widened as she took in my appearance. “What are you wearing?” Accusation filled her tone.

  “Come on, before guards catch us.”

  She bit off further questions as we crept along the rampart, then descended. Brittle grass crunched under my boots as I headed for the shadow of the nearest structure: a three-story inn called Castleview. So close to the wall, guests would be lucky if they could see the tops of the towers from the third floor.

  “What are we doing?” Melanie whispered as we moved away.

  “Taking a tour James and the Grays won’t allow.” I motioned her faster. “I haven’t left the castle since the day I arrived, and I need to feel the city.”

  She lifted her face to the sky. “It’s not like when we were children.”

  The ride up Castle Street had made that clear. “It’s darker. Sadder. But hopefully that will change after we root out the Red Militia.”

  “Maybe.” Her mouth tightened. “Have you thought about giving in to their demands?”

  “No.” I shivered off a gust of cold wind. “Well, yes, I’ve thought about it, but then we’d be at war with the Indigo Kingdom. Maybe Laurel-by-the-Sea and anyone else who cares. I can’t do that to Aecor, and I can’t let Patrick think he’s won, even for one minute.”

  “Do you really think Tobiah would declare war?”

  His name made my heart twist. “When we parted ways, it was under the worst possible circumstances. He’s already deeply unhappy with me.”

  “You signed the Wraith Alliance, though. That should mean he wants you to have your kingdom back.”

  “He does.” Or did. “But when you’re king, nothing is as simple as you want. You learn the limits of your power so quickly.” I couldn’t remember feeling as powerless as I did since returning to Aecor.

  We held still as a pair of police strode past.

  “So,” I said when we were on our way again, “what were you doing before I roped you into my illicit adventure?”

  “Following information on the Red Militia.” She jutted her chin forward. “We’re heading in the right direction.”

  “Update me.”

  “Well.” She eyed me askance. “First, you should know that I’m the head of your secret intelligence. So secret, in fact, that I’m the only one who knew about it until just now.”

  “You can’t appoint yourself head of secret intelligence.”

  “Then what’s the point of it being secret?” Melanie flicked her little finger at me. “Anyway, you know now. And I’d have told you eventually, when I had solid leads to bring you.”

  “About the locations of the Red Militia?”

  She nodded. “Patrick won’t talk, but I’ve managed to wrest a couple of hideouts from those who’ve declared allegiance to you, like that Sergeant Wallace.” Her voice dipped. “The ones who won’t talk are scared of Patrick and his generals. I can’t say I blame them, but I don’t trust anyone who won’t give up someone they claim to fight against. I’m having them watched.”

  We didn’t have enough trustworthy people to have everyone else watched, but I didn’t argue. “So the hideout?”

  “There’s an old factory in the lowcity. A handful of Red Militia live there. We hope.”

  We continued east, moving between low, rain-battered buildings. They were spaced close enough that roof hopping would be easy, but it was hard to say if they were sturdy. I doubted they’d hold our weight.

  Building inspection and improvement: I added those to a long mental list of things Prince Colin had neglected and I needed to fix.

  “So you decided to look into this hideout on your own? Without your best friend?” I allowed a note of suspicion into my tone.

  “I’m head of secret intelligence.” Melanie looked up at a sharp bang, but it was just a loose board in the wind. “This mission was a secret. I didn’t want to involve James because I knew he wouldn’t approve—”

  “James never approves.”

  “And I don’t trust anyone else not to leak what’s happening. Patrick is the kind of man who will give seven people seven different stories so he can unearth a traitor. If I go to the factory and no one’s there, I’ll know it’s just his paranoia, and I won’t have betrayed my source’s trust. Anyway, you’re here now.”

  “You don’t trust anyone? Even the other Ospreys?”

  She shrugged. “I trust that they want what’s best for you. Paige. The Grays. The others in Skyvale.” Her voice hitched; we’d been separated so long now. “They wouldn’t betray your confidence, but the fewer people who have all the facts, the less of a chance that anything gets back to Patrick or his people.”

  “Those sound like Patrick’s words.”

  “I know.” She stopped walking and crossed her arms. “When Patrick and I were together, it was exciting. Secret. I thought I could smooth out those pieces that made him harsh and reckless. I thought I could dig up his good parts and make them shine brighter.”

  “It’s not your job to do that.”

  “I know that, too. Now. And I know he wasn’t ever going to change, because he doesn’t want to.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But for all his faults, he does have virtues. He’s an incredible strategist. He wins wars in spite of the odds. And he knows how to keep secrets.”

  “Oh, does he ever.”

  Her smile was faint, fleeting in the darkness. “I learned a lot of important lessons from Patrick, including how to be careful. And this situation with the Red Militia applies, particularly since I’m trying to use his own tricks against him.”

  “All right.” I hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I understand why you went with him during the Inundation, but don’t leave me again, Mel. I need you.”

  She put on a smirk. “Clearly. That wraith boy, Prince Colin, and now you’re dressed as Black Knife.” She swiped the mask from my belt. “The clothes definitely suit you, but this is unsettling. What’s going on?”

  “It’s not just unsettling, but a long story, too.”

  “We have time.”

  “Not for the whole thing. Saints, I’m not even sure I should tell you the whole thing. There are too many secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”

  A salty tang rode the breeze, chasing us as we moved deeper into the lowcity. Houses and shops and courtyards grew ever more shabby, some rotting away from the salt and marsh.

  “All right,” Melanie said at last. “Don’t betray anyone’s secrets. But tell me this: do we still hate him? Just a few months ago you were lecturing me on what a menace he is, and now you’re wearing his uniform.”

  My memory conjured up the black-clad boy stopping me before I killed a thug, forgiving me my use of magic, following me out of the city because he was worried. And the way he’d trusted me not to look when we’d kissed.

  That boy—I didn’t hate him at all. “I miss him.”

  “Well. That’s different.” Her voice was soft, just under the howl of wind cutting around a corner.

  “It is. Things I believed were straightforward aren’t, really. Everything’s so complicated.”

  She took my hand. Even through our gloves, her fingers warmed mine. “No matter what else changes, we won’t. I still love you, even if you dress like a vigilante now.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I’m obligated to mock you for the rest of our lives.”


  I squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

  Steering clear of police patrols, we hurried to the blocks of factories that hulked over the houses and shops, silhouetting starlight. As a child, I’d never been permitted east of Castle Street. Coming here now—even years older and having seen the worst parts of Skyvale—sent thrills of disobedience through me. “Which one is it?”

  “Water processing and filtration. There.” Melanie pointed to a large square building with pipes running along the roof and walls. Rusted metal gleamed with water droplets.

  “Let’s look around and meet on the far side in ten minutes.”

  She nodded.

  The darkness was a curse and blessing. I crept around the north side of the building, feeling my way along the crumbling stone wall. I kept my steps silent on the gritty flagstones—heel, ball, toe—hyperaware of every scrape and hiss of gravel. Though I listened hard for voices or breathing, there was only me. The only scents were salt and water and waste.

  At last I came to a metal door. In the darkness, I felt out the shapes of a lock and knob, but I didn’t test them. I continued on, counting three more doors. There were no windows on the ground floor. No evidence of Red Militia occupation.

  Melanie was already at our meeting place. “Anything?” she whispered.

  I shook my head. “Doors. No guards.”

  “Same.” Her frustrated sigh was barely perceptible. “No sign there’s anyone here.”

  There might be footprints or scrapes on doors or walls, but those would be visible only during the day. And they wouldn’t necessarily be from Red Militia.

  “I saw a few windows up high, but Patrick would have warned them to stay out of view.”

  Definitely. If we couldn’t hear voices conveniently plotting the next insurgency, that left one option.

  “We go in.” We had to be sure this was their hideout before we brought in police or soldiers, and alerted the Red Militia of information leaks.

  She blew out a breath. “All right.”

  “Any idea of the layout?”

  “Very little. I didn’t spend much time away from Patrick.” She jerked her chin to the south side of the building. “But I found what looks like a loading area. There might be people holed up near there, but I bet it gets drafty.”

  So they’d likely find an office or someplace closed off. I followed her around the corner.

  Faint light glimmered as the moon began its descent; it was just enough for me to make out the paved drive wide enough for three wagons, and several sets of double doors. Definitely a loading area—and a well-maintained one, considering Aecor had stopped using industrialized magic a hundred years ago.

  The trouble with using these doors was that they were so big. Wind would howl in and alert occupants to our presence.

  Well, we didn’t have much of a choice.

  The second door we tried was unlocked. We slipped into a vast, echoing chamber, careful not to let the metal door slam behind us.

  In the dim interior, I cocked an eyebrow at Melanie with a question. Had she noticed the silent way the door swung open and closed? Granted, we hadn’t opened it very far, but it’d had the ease of movement that came with often-oiled hinges.

  She tilted her head, and understanding dawned on her face.

  Someone very careful had been here.

  Melanie and I pressed our backs against the wall, taking in the expanse of the room.

  Rows of cleaning stations filled the space, some so high they required two ladders to reach. When the factory had been functional, salty or marshy water was pumped into cisterns, which radiants cleaned and purified. Good water was pumped out, into the city for general use.

  Dust and grime covered every surface, but not a hundred years’ worth. Someone had been here. Maybe not now or yesterday or a year ago, but I’d lived in the old palace more than half my life. I knew what a century of neglect looked like, and this wasn’t it.

  Unease gnawed at me as I scanned the area, but I found no movement, no sign anyone had noticed our entrance. If there were occupants, they were beyond the double doors at the far side. A chair held one open, and yellow light fell across the stone floor in a narrow banner, angled away from us.

  Definitely suspicious.

  As Melanie and I made our way through the immense room, I imagined the noise of water rushing through the pipes, radiants working in unison, and supervisors’ shoes tapping the stone floor as they marched through to keep everyone on task.

  I forced my breath long and even as we approached the next set of doors and the lit room beyond them. Hopefully, we could get in, see any signs of Red Militia, and get out.

  “I’ll go first,” I mouthed. Because she was my friend, but also one of my people. My heart beat hummingbird fast as I drew my sword and a dagger.

  Melanie nodded and followed suit.

  The chair was wedged into the door tightly enough that I could step onto the wooden seat, but I didn’t want to risk it creaking. I went for the more awkward but quiet option: stepping over and around it.

  Straddling the corner of the chair, I glanced into the room. Several oil lamps illuminated the space, but there were no signs of people. Only a smaller chamber with doors at intervals. Some had windows showing offices, though the glass had long since broken and been swept out.

  I finished my gangly move over the chair and held my weapons in guard position while Melanie came after me.

  We were two paces into the room when the lights went out, pitching the factory into blackness.

  “The queen and Patrick’s pet.” The woman’s voice came from just in front of us. “You’re right on time.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  A THOUSAND QUESTIONS raced through my mind, but only one mattered: How could I get out of this alive?

  “If you know who we are,” I said, “you know that we’re more than able to take care of ourselves.” I tightened my grip on my sword and dagger. The dark was disorienting, but Melanie and I had fought in all sorts of conditions. We knew how to maneuver and defend ourselves without risking the other.

  “Certainly.” The woman’s voice was cool and smooth, higher than average.

  “Claire.” Melanie warmed my side and kept her voice steady. “Nice to hear you again. Please turn on the lights.”

  Melanie knew this woman, but it didn’t sound like they were friends.

  A snap echoed, and all the oil lamps flared to life, revealing a dozen men and women. All were armed, but none had their weapons drawn.

  The speaker—Claire—had about ten or eleven years on us, but not height; she came up to my shoulder. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she stood with her arms crossed and one hip cocked. A smirk pulled at her mouth.

  No, not a smirk. A short scar sliced the corner of her lips, giving her the look of perpetual attitude. Otherwise, her expression was blank, focused on assessing Melanie and me.

  “You said you were expecting us.” Melanie clenched her jaw.

  Either Patrick or Claire had planted Melanie’s sources to leak the information at the right time, or—

  Claire had called Melanie “Patrick’s pet.”

  No, Melanie wouldn’t betray me. Even now, she stood ready to protect me from the small group of Red Militia. She hadn’t even known I’d be out tonight.

  “Yes,” Claire said. “I have several ideas for entertaining you. My favorite is to hold Her Majesty here while you scurry back to your castle friends and tell them to send away the Indigos and release Patrick. Then they can have their queen returned.”

  A few others nodded.

  “There’s a flaw in your plan.” I stepped forward to take eyes off Melanie, giving her a chance to find an escape, but the motion made everyone lift their hands to their weapons. Yet they didn’t draw, supporting my next point. “Imagine how upset Patrick would be if he learned you held the queen hostage. What would that tell the people of Aecor? Patrick’s goals would be derailed. No one would accept him as a leader of A
ecor if he was involved with the people who held me hostage.”

  Claire shook her head. “You place so much of your safety in Patrick’s hands, even while keeping him in your dungeon.”

  Unsaid was her counterargument: that Patrick would claim to break ties with the Red Militia, reminding everyone he was in prison while the riots and hostage holding were happening. And I’d come back with the point that Patrick was in prison for assassination and betraying me. And we’d go in circles about blame and who was at fault.

  Melanie bumped my arm twice, the signal that she’d plotted an escape, but we’d have to fight for it.

  No, I wouldn’t fight. Not this time. As an Osprey, I’d have disabled them and left. Black Knife would have insisted we find police to help the wounded.

  But as a queen, I had to behave differently. I couldn’t jump to violence every time.

  So what would Queen Wilhelmina do?

  I sheathed my weapons. “Mel.”

  She wanted to resist—I could feel it in the way she tensed—but she didn’t hesitate to slide her daggers back into her sheathes.

  The Red Militia dropped their shoulders, hands falling away from weapons.

  “Let’s talk.” I met Claire’s eyes; hers were steel gray—an unusual color here.

  “About what?”

  “You lured us here, didn’t you?”

  “I sent information when I heard someone was looking.” Her glare shifted to Melanie. “I wasn’t sure who I’d catch, but I couldn’t feel luckier.”

  “If my source is working for you,” Melanie said, “he’ll be in prison by dawn.”

  “Are you loyal to your queen?” Claire lifted an eyebrow and inclined her head toward me.

  “Of course.”

  “Then leave that boy where he is.” Claire did smile this time. “Astor, find somewhere for us to have a nice conversation. Laura, take three and check if the building is secure. The rest of you find something useful to do.”

  They all snapped and thumped their chests, and moved to follow orders.

  It was the same salute the Ospreys used. But they weren’t Ospreys. We didn’t incite riots. We didn’t kill people.