by Jodi Meadows
“The queen will be crowned tomorrow, and her wraith boy collapsed the bridge to trap the Indigo Kingdom people here.”
“No, the Red Militia did it because they don’t want Wilhelmina to be queen.”
“It was those Indigo people. They’re protesting the coronation.”
“But why would they collapse the bridge?”
“I don’t know. . . .”
The rumors swirled on and on as Melanie and I slipped through the crowds, the hoods of our cloaks drawn low to hide our faces. Midday heat pressed against the city like a solid force, though it was too early in the year for hints of summer.
Maybe it was an effect of the wraith on the way.
I shuddered as Melanie and I made our way to the water-processing factory. At the door, she knocked twice, waited a beat, and knocked three times—our code for Claire that we were about to enter.
She waited in the center of the room, her hands on her hips. “You’re here about the bridge.” There were rarely questions with her, just blunt, straight-to-the-point statements. “I didn’t do it, and I don’t know who did.”
“Will you find out?”
“Why should I?” She strode toward us, her jaw tight and eyes hard. Her steps echoed and the whole place had a sense of emptiness about it. Though we rarely saw many of the others, there were often signs of their presence: whispering, clothing dropped in corners, and packages of food. But now, I sensed only stillness in the factory.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Gone.”
“Working?” Melanie didn’t sound hopeful.
“Maybe.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug and tilt of her head, trying to look casual, but red rimmed her eyes, and the skin underneath was swollen.
I made my voice gentle. “Claire, what happened?”
She shook her head and started to turn, but I grabbed her arm and drew her back. She pulled a knife and held the edge to my neck.
Melanie already had her daggers out, one on Claire’s wrist and the other on her throat. I, too, had snatched a dagger with my free hand, and pressed it against Claire’s stomach.
No one moved.
My heart sped in my throat, and carefully I relaxed my grip on Claire’s arm. “My apologies for grabbing you.”
Claire shook it off as she sheathed her knife. “No harm done.”
“What happened to everyone? Where are they?”
She glared at a wall. “After Patrick was captured, the Red Militia fractured. When I stopped the riots, others began to question what we were doing or where orders were coming from. I could influence, but not control, what actions other sections took.”
I nodded. Those were things we’d already discussed.
“But yesterday, my people began to disappear. Astor, Laura, Darcy. Adrian was here this morning, but I haven’t seen him since the bridge explosion.”
“You think they’ve found someone new to rally around?” Muscles around Melanie’s jaw clenched.
“Not someone new.” Claire locked eyes with Melanie. “Patrick. He’s in control. He has been this entire time.”
“From prison?” I hadn’t been to see Patrick since the day we arrived, but I checked in with his guards frequently. James had selected them himself, so I’d trusted they were loyal to me.
But maybe not.
“The Red Militia is organizing again,” Claire said. “Since your return, Patrick allowed them to run loose, causing chaos and hurting refugees, but nothing too big. Nothing you’d need to come down on too hard. But now the Indigo Kingdom is gone, and you’re to be crowned queen. The anniversary is tomorrow.”
I glanced at Melanie, and she nodded. Our next stop would be to Patrick’s cell.
“You should return to the castle with us,” I said. “There could be a place for you on the Queen’s Guard.”
“I’m hardly the type to serve.”
“No, you’re the type to fight for a cause.”
“And that cause is you?”
“That cause is our kingdom’s freedom from tyrants and overlords. That cause is food and water and safety for everyone. That cause is acceptance of our abilities while keeping the land clean of wraith.” I shifted my weight to one hip. “I’ve had people working on the water problem. Within a few months, we’ll be able to use this factory to clean water and pump it to the lowcity without using magic.”
Claire released a smile. “Thank you.”
“I promised I’d look for a solution.” I glanced at Melanie. “We have to go.”
Claire gave a small bow. “Tomorrow, after you’re crowned, I’ll be there to swear my fealty and accept the position. I’ll fight for your causes.”
I saluted, a snap and thump. “Until tomorrow, Claire.”
Melanie and I were out the door and halfway back to the castle when she asked, “Are you sure you can trust her? She could be angling for a place closer to you to do more of Patrick’s work.”
“Am I sure? No.” We dodged a cart and group of people selling raw fish. “The Grays can keep an eye on her, but she’s risked her neck for me for months. I want to trust her. What do you think?”
“She was loyal to Patrick during the fighting, because she believed he’d make things right. If she truly believes you’re on the same path, with less bloodshed, she’ll be loyal to you.”
“Well, then I just have to be sure I don’t fail her.” Or anyone else.
An entire kingdom was counting on me.
Paige walked with us on our way to the prison.
“I’ve been preparing the throne room for tomorrow’s ceremony,” she said. “And the ballroom for the celebratory ball.”
The frivolous ball, but I didn’t say it out loud. It was necessary to keep peace with certain traditions. “What’s your progress?”
“Your mother’s crown has already been removed from the vault and is being cleaned right now.” Paige checked her list. “Oh, and Rosanne Wallace will fit you for the coronation and ball gowns the minute you can stand still.”
“Will she have time to make them?”
“They’re both already finished. They just need alterations. I hear Rosanne started working on the ball gown the day you arrived.” Paige winked. “People have been waiting ten years for this. The anniversary, your coronation, Aecor’s independence once more. Tomorrow will be glorious.”
So much pressure on one day.
“You’re doing a fine job. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” I left Paige to her work and headed toward the prison with Melanie.
Sergeant Wallace was on duty in the guard room, along with a few other men in blue. They stood and bowed when I entered, and I took the time to meet their eyes and greet them by name.
Was one of these men the traitor? Or someone else?
“I need the visitor logs.” I didn’t move from my position, letting a guard named Jonah Hudson bring the current list to me.
“I’ll fetch the older logs for you.” He went to one of the filing cabinets and began pulling folders.
While I skimmed through the lists of names, looking for anyone who visited frequently or at odd times, Melanie moved around the room, scanning desks and shelves.
“Is there something I can help you find, Your Majesty?” Sergeant Wallace asked. Like the others, he stood at his desk, a hint of anxiety in his eyes and posture. That could be attributed to anything, though: my coronation, the bridge collapse, the fact that I was visiting the prison.
Or it could be guilt.
“No, Sergeant, thank you.”
This uncertainty was awful. I should be able to trust the people under my command. It was one of the lessons Tobiah had been most insistent I learn. And I was trying, but if one of these people was a traitor . . .
When Sergeant Hudson brought another handful of folders to me, I flipped through and pulled out the ones dated since Patrick’s incarceration. I gave the remaining folders back to him and turned to Melanie. “Ready?”
She gave a clipped nod
, but her eyes spoke differently. Was anyone ever ready to interrogate someone like Patrick?
Not just someone like Patrick, but the man she’d been in love with? The man she’d thought she could redeem?
The man who turned out to be a murderer?
As we entered the cell block, I took her hand in mine. “I’m counting on you. You know him better than anyone.”
“I’ll do my best.” She pulled back to straighten her clothes and run her fingers through her hair. Then we strode down the hall, between the cells holding almost a hundred Red Militia members.
Most of them ignored us, but a few jeered, some called me “Indigo whore,” while others called out that Queen Wilhelmina was here, and everyone should behave. I didn’t look directly at any of them, just kept my head high as Melanie and I made our way to Patrick’s cell at the far end of the hall.
He was sitting, elbows on his knees and hands clasped before him. His short hair had grown a few finger lengths, and stubble covered his chin and throat, but when he looked up, his expression was as hard as ever.
“Wilhelmina.” He didn’t blink as he assessed my appearance. “You should get more sleep. You look exhausted.”
“I’ve been too busy chasing your Red Militia.”
“And after all that work seizing your kingdom for you.” The words were flip, but there was no humor in his tone. “You should show some gratitude.”
“There was an explosion on Snowhaven Bridge earlier. Did you organize that?”
He gestured around his cell. “I’ve been in here, Wilhelmina. Tell me how I could do anything.”
“How are you communicating with the Red Militia?”
Silence.
“The Red Militia is coming together again. What is the purpose?”
Nothing.
“Who is your informant here?”
For an hour, I attacked from different angles, but he’d stopped talking whatsoever, and I had a flash of what it must have been like for James when he’d questioned me about King Terrell’s murder.
Melanie waited at my side, her arms crossed and all her weight to one hip as she studied Patrick’s manner. When I shot her a small, questioning look, she shook her head.
Even to the people who’d once believed they knew Patrick best, he was unreadable.
We pressed for another half hour before I backed off and ushered Melanie down the hall. “He’s useless. Let’s go.”
Her face was tight; he hadn’t even acknowledged her.
Just as we were out of his sight, Patrick cleared his throat.
I held a hand up for Melanie to stay, and then took a single step to see inside his cell.
He’d stood, hands behind his back and shoulders straight, and watched me with the same intense gaze he’d always worn: carefully crafted neutrality. He’d perfected it over the years. “Congratulations, Wilhelmina. You’re really going to be queen tomorrow. It’s just what I always wanted for you.”
My own facade slipped. “How did you hear about that?”
“I hear everything.” His eyes never left mine as a terrible, threatening smile formed. “Be mindful of Colin. No doubt you’ve made a real enemy out of him.”
That was as much as I’d get.
“What do you think?” Melanie asked once we were on our way to my rooms.
I handed the visitor logs to her. “Perhaps we can find our traitor in here.”
“Yes, hopefully our traitor is stupid enough to sign in under their real name.” But she took the folders. Back in my rooms, we ordered dinner.
While we waited, we organized the logs and compared names and frequency of visits. A few people stood out for visiting every week, but were quickly explained. One had a cousin in prison, while another had an uncle. Of course, just because they said they were visiting relatives didn’t mean they weren’t actually visiting Patrick, but surely one of the guards would have noticed.
None of the listings specified they were visiting Patrick.
“Did any of the guards look suspicious to you?”
Melanie finished reading the last page of visitors and shook her head. “I’m the head of your secret intelligence. Everyone looks suspicious to me.” She flashed a smile, but it didn’t diminish the seriousness of her words. “I’d be shocked if it were any of the blues. It’s possible, but unlikely. There are a number of reds who work in the prison, including Sergeant Wallace—”
The parlor door opened and Danie came in with a tray. Her cheeks were flushed. “Pardon,” she whispered, and began to set up our dinner while we hurried to clear space on the table. “Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?”
I started to tell her no, but maybe there was something she could help with. “How much do you know about Sergeant Wallace?”
She blushed again, glancing from me to Melanie and—barely—to the pile of visitor logs on the table. “I haven’t had the courage to talk to him yet, if that’s what you mean.”
“I don’t want to pry into your personal life,” I said. “Just . . . tell me what you know about him.”
Her mouth formed an O as she finally understood the question. “He comes from a good family, Your Majesty. His mother is a magnificent seamstress. I never knew his father, but by all accounts he was a good, loyal man. Sergeant Wallace was gone for a while, first to the wraithland front, and then with the Red Militia. I’m sure it’s been quite difficult for him. Some people think he’s a Red Militia sympathizer, because he’s kind to the prisoners, but I think it shows he has a good heart. He’s loyal to you, Your Majesty. Very loyal.”
“I’m sure he is.” I smiled and reached for my silverware. “Thank you, Danie. That will be all for now.”
She curtsied and left the room.
“You just let her go?” Melanie stared after her, expression like steel. “You know she’s Patrick’s source, right? You picked up on that?”
“Being queen hasn’t made me stupid, Mel.” I grabbed a buttered roll. “I noticed her in the visitor logs, and the way she made sure to throw suspicion on Wallace for being kind to prisoners.”
“They could be working together,” Melanie said.
“I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have tried to make him look guilty. No, she invented her affection to give her a reason to go to the prison. She could easily say she was looking in on someone for me, or plant a note on Patrick’s meal tray. There may be more involved.”
Melanie blew out a breath. “I’ll alert James and have him look into it.”
“It’s a good disguise. Who would suspect the queen’s own maid of treachery?”
“Not the queen.”
I flicked my little finger at her. “And not the head of secret intelligence.”
She smirked. “You’re the worst best friend.”
“I know. Just make sure James moves quickly on this. Whatever Patrick has planned, it will be big. The bridge was just a warning. The real event will happen tomorrow.”
As tempting as it was to postpone the coronation and deal with the Red Militia first, that would send an undesirable message to the rest of my enemies, Prince Colin included.
“What can I do for you?” James asked when he arrived at our summons. His eyes cut to the notebooks on my desk, lifeless now.
“Do you have any proof?” he asked, after Melanie caught him up.
Melanie crossed her arms. “Isn’t the queen’s word enough?”
“No, James is right.” I leaned back in my chair. “I won’t be the sort of queen who makes arrests based on suspicion and fear. But I want her watched. I want to know where she goes, who she speaks with, and every detail about her history with the Red Militia.”
“Do you want her replaced?” Melanie asked. “If she’s a traitor and spy, you can do better for a maid.”
“She is a good maid. Aside from possibly being a traitor and spy. She keeps my rooms immaculate.” I did wonder if the frightened-maid act had been just that—an act. Or maybe she’d been afraid of being caught. “No, leave her until we know
more. If she’s working with other staff around the castle, I don’t want to hire another spy.”
“We must act quickly, though,” Melanie said. “The anniversary and your coronation are tomorrow.”
“As if I could forget.” I stood and straightened my dress, breathing through the reminder of friends not here, and the king whose death meant I would be crowned queen. “There’s another thing I need to do. I’m going to invite Chrysalis to the coronation.”
Both their eyes went round. “Are you sure that’s wise?” James asked.
After the memorial, when he’d collapsed the cathedral.
After the wedding, when he’d killed Meredith.
“No, I’m not sure. But he’s had moments of usefulness. At the bridge, during the first Red Militia riot, and he’s been quiet since. I’ve kept him in his room, and he’s done nothing but obey. He isn’t safe. He isn’t to be trusted. But I can’t keep him caged forever. He needs to be given some movement, and this will allow that.”
James muttered he was going to triple security. As if tomorrow wasn’t going to be stressful enough.
After they were gone, I headed for the wraith boy’s room, a pair of silent guards trailing after me. They waited in the hall with the guards assigned to the storage room.
“I’m pleased you’ve come to see me.” Chrysalis grinned as I drifted toward his sleeping pallet where piles of folded clothes waited.
“I need you to pick something nice to wear tomorrow.”
His smile dropped. “I like this.” He pinched a corner of his tattered, dirty blue jacket between his fingers, and held it up as though for me to see. “Can’t I just wear this?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really not know?”
“Know about what?” He rubbed the dirty jacket between his fingers, still pouting.
I picked through the clothes for something both clean and acceptable, and pulled out a jacket and breeches, both white. “When you first transformed, you were completely white. Maybe these, to remind everyone how far you’ve come since then.”
He shook his head, staring at the clothes in a forlorn way. “I’m definitely going to get those dirty.”
“That would be very embarrassing for me.” I dug out a pair of white stockings to match.
