by Jodi Meadows
I flicked a crumb of bread at her. Carl caught it midair and ate it.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to negotiate for control of Aecor. Tobiah is agreeable, but his uncle is not. Obviously he doesn’t want to let it go.”
“When will you start?” Kevin stood, my list of treaty amendments in hand as he began to pace. “Now?”
“Our presence here is the start.” I forced encouragement into my voice. “But formal negotiations will begin after Tobiah’s coronation. That’s fine. He’ll have more power when he’s king. And we’ll need it.” I hesitated. “There are some who will try to delay negotiations longer. We must practice patience.”
Carl shook his head. “I hate patience.”
“That seems foolish,” Kevin muttered. “Delaying truce negotiations. Patrick’s going to start a revolution in Aecor.”
“It is, but Skyvale and Aecor are far apart. It’s not as much of a concern for most people here. And in spite of the Inundation, the Indigo Kingdom is still in a much stronger position than Aecor. Whatever troops Patrick manages to mount will be nothing compared to the might of the Indigo Army.”
Theresa bit her lip. “You make Aecorian independence sound impossible. Was there ever any hope?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “Patrick made it sound inevitable. But he has that inevitability about him, doesn’t he?”
“I miss it,” she said. “That certainty of knowing we were right and we would take back our kingdom because of our rightness—that was comforting. Now everything seems so gray.”
“It’s awful.” I forced a minuscule smile. “I’m going to hire a tutor for the four of you. They should be able to help you understand any confusing parts of the document, in addition to instilling some courtly manners into you barbarians. Maybe help with the grayness of everything, too.”
“A tutor.” Carl made a face.
Kevin looked up from his pacing, and the list he’d been studying. “The crown prince will allow for magical experimentation to help solve the wraith crisis?”
“He’s desperate. The Liadian refugees have left Skyvale, probably heading for Aecor. Already the southwestern edges of the Indigo Kingdom have fallen to the wraith. Soon, everyone will begin looking east.”
“Who will be using magic? All the flashers in Skyvale get captured. Or—” Kevin cocked his head. “Are the rumors about you true?”
A sinking feeling washed over me. I’d intended to tell them, but his tone of betrayal was cutting. “Some of the rumors are true.”
“What do you mean?” Connor whispered.
“I am a flasher. I’ve always been, but I’ve kept it hidden. I try not to use my power.”
All around the sitting room, jaws dropped as I told them about the locust attack in the wraithland, what I’d done there, and how the wraith became a boy.
Theresa covered her frown with a fist. “I’m not sure where to start asking questions.”
“I know.” I sank back into a chair and sighed. “There’s a lot to take in.”
“Will we get to meet the wraith boy?” Carl asked.
“You don’t want to.” If I could, I’d keep him locked in his room forever. “I just wanted you to know the truth—from me, not from rumors.”
“That’s why Tobiah is willing to amend the Wraith Alliance.” Kevin dropped to a chair again, knees banging the table. “Because even if it’s just rumors, your power is public now, and if he wants you as an ally, he has to justify it by making sure magic is allowed under special circumstances.”
“Can it work?” Connor asked. “Could your magic help stop the wraith?”
I rubbed a spot of tension from my neck. “Maybe. I don’t know. What I did before—it was messy. Uncontrolled. I had no idea what I was doing because it was too big. And while I could try it again, I don’t know if I should. How much more wraith did I create by doing that?”
Of course, they had no answers.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with them, showing them around the public areas of the palace, warning them of who to avoid angering. Sergeant Ferris and another guard trailed after us, not quite invisible as I familiarized my friends with the library, ballrooms, and training rooms.
A copy of the Wraith Alliance had already been delivered by the time we returned to their suite, so I bade them good evening and happy studying. Only Kevin looked truly chipper at that.
At the door, I turned back to the small group and forced cheer into my voice. “Remember, we’re here as ourselves—not to steal valuables—but be guarded, too. Secrets remain secrets.”
They all nodded.
“Remember your lessons.”
“Our lessons on eating the fastest?” Kevin asked.
“Or picking pockets without being detected?” Theresa offered a sly smile.
“Or,” Carl mused, “do you mean the lesson we all learned when you and Mel threw knives at us and we had to be faster?”
“They were wooden knives. They wouldn’t have hurt you. Much.” But I smiled, just a little, even though Melanie’s name hurt. “Your lessons on manners.” With an utterly false grin, I left the suite and hurried back to my own quarters, Sergeant Ferris close on my heels.
Maybe Tobiah and his mother had been right: I should have gone after Patrick when I had the chance.
In my bedroom, I tore open the bag of Black Knife supplies. The clothes and boots were my size, the latter with black ospreys embroidered around the top, invisible except to those looking closely. The belt—black, obviously—accommodated several weapons and tools, including my daggers that had been taken, my grappling hook and line, and a pouch with coiled silk cords. There was also a tiny handheld crossbow and a black-handled sword, meant to fit in a baldric strapped across my back.
Though several of my own tools were included—I recognized the worn parts on my lock picks—everything else was just like Black Knife’s, the size adjusted to fit me.
“And to think,” I muttered at the array of darkness on my bed, “I really just wanted pants.”
There wasn’t a note, but I knew where everything had come from. Tobiah must have worked for weeks to put together this bag.
By the time the Hawksbill clock tower chimed twenty, four hours before midnight, I was ready. All in black, my braid shoved down the back of my shirt, I armed myself and stepped onto the balcony.
I pushed up to my toes; the boots were stiff with newness, and felt strange around my calves, but the treads were deep and strong. I could climb.
Scanning the darkness for guards, I hooked my grapple to the rail, near where it met the palace wall, and rappelled to the ground. My toes touched with barely a sound, and I coiled the line to stow it on my belt. There was a place for everything. Beautiful.
Soft voices carried on the breeze, coming from the far end of the palace. There’d be more nearby. In the forest. In the ruins of the outbuildings. I avoided them all as I moved toward Greenstone.
Usually this area was quiet after dark, when most of the workers returned to their homes, but now, a soft rumble of life swirled up to my perch on the Hawksbill wall. Voices skittered from inside doorways and alleyways where people huddled under threadbare blankets and in patched caps and jackets.
Heart sinking, I sidled along the wall to plan my path through the district. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find dozens—maybe hundreds—of displaced people hiding here, and I couldn’t begrudge them the meager warmth they found in the lee of wide buildings. But their presence was going to make my investigation more difficult. Greenstone roofs were harder to navigate than those in Thornton and the Flags. Here, the buildings were spaced to allow for large carts. Railroad tracks sliced through a few streets, though in the century since trains had been decommissioned, much of the iron had been stripped to put to better use.
“Hush,” someone hissed.
The hum of voices was silenced immediately, replaced by the thud thud of boots on pavement. I pressed myself flat on top of the wall and watched ove
r the slight lip in the stone.
Lanterns held aloft, police poured through the streets. “This is a restricted area!” one called. “No one is permitted to be here after dark. If you leave now, you’ll receive no punishment. But if we have to remove you by force, you’ll be taken out of the city and not permitted inside again.”
No one moved. The police formed lines down the center of the streets, peering into the shadows, though with those lanterns their night vision must have been shot. “We know you’re here. You have two minutes.”
I held my breath, waiting to see if anyone would follow orders, but the homeless pressed tighter into hiding places, and shadows shifted in the grime-smeared windows of abandoned buildings.
The first minute slipped by.
“Just step into the light,” one of the officers shouted. “This area is dangerous. You can’t stay here. But there are shelters in the Flags.”
Another officer spoke directly to a doorway where I’d seen a family huddled. “Greenstone was hit hardest during the Inundation. It hasn’t been fully secured—”
“Nowhere has been secured but the palace!” a man shouted. “Even the shelters are dangerous! We live in terror while nobles plan more parties!”
Chaos exploded in the street. Homeless scattered in all directions, some toward the police, who lifted their batons to defend themselves, but most just ran away. Shoes—even bare feet—pounded the paving stones as people began grabbing their belongings, lifting children, and vanishing around buildings.
Icy wind breathed in from the west; I shivered on the top of the wall, watching as lantern-wielding police officers took off after the homeless. Screams and cries sounded as people were captured. Officers cuffed some to poles, and cuffed others to them, creating a chain of prisoners guarded by a few officers while the others chased down those who’d escaped.
After the initial frenzy, the roads below me grew quiet, with only the occasional sob and cough to break the long note of wind cutting around corners.
I peered down to count how many the police had arrested.
There were several groups of people huddling together—families, some with small children—and many who looked like strays caught when their friends or relatives took off.
There were just over a hundred people, plus others the police were dragging back. Only three or four police stood guard.
A handful of officers was no problem, but even a hundred frightened people could turn into a mob. I’d seen people react to Black Knife’s presence before; often it was friendlier than I wanted to risk. Anyway, I doubted Black Knife being revealed as Princess Wilhelmina would win me favors. But what could I do? I was just one person, and wasn’t finding Patrick more important?
Shame welled up inside me. Allowing the police to force these people out of the city was as good as giving my approval.
Cold air seared the back of my throat as I felt my hip for the small crossbow. Just because I couldn’t risk going down there didn’t mean I couldn’t give the prisoners a chance to escape.
I cocked the string and loaded a small bolt into the slot, then adjusted my position and took aim.
The bolt struck home in an officer’s leg, and a new wave of panic erupted as prisoners screamed and struggled to free themselves. My next four shots went quickly, all but one finding their targets.
“Black Knife is here!” someone yelled, followed by, “Black Knife will save us!”
I pulled away from the edge of the wall. With any luck, the prisoners would simply steal the keys to their cuffs and leave.
Officers returned to help their injured comrades. I took a few more leg shots before springing up to run along the wall, away from the action.
Wind pushed at me, but I ran until the shouts and cries faded with distance. Only when I was alone again did I pause and crouch, and survey the northernmost edge of the district before me. My breath came in short gasps, mist on the late-autumn air.
Had I done the right thing back there? Had I done enough?
There were so many people displaced because of the Inundation. Maybe Greenstone wasn’t the safest district in the city, but surely it was safer than being forced outside the walls, or into crowded shelters in the Flags. With new refugees coming into the city, the shelters would only become more congested.
I shook away those worries. I’d done what I could.
Cautiously, I descended to the street and kept to the shadows, making a straight line for Fisher’s Mouth. It felt good to stretch and push, to allow the night air to surround me. Everything in the palace seemed so far away now.
But the problems of Skyvale were more real than ever. Though the Inundation had lasted only a few hours, the effects were profound: ripples of stone cascaded down a warehouse, as though the building had been momentarily molten; squirrels that had been darting over buildings were now petrified, caught mid-crouch forever; and pipes meant for plumbing had partially phased through the factory where they were manufactured, giving the huge building a weirdly skeletal look.
This was the beginnings of the wraithland.
I hurried on.
Fisher’s Mouth was on the far side of the district, where the river coursed under the city wall. During the day, fishermen ran nets across the water. They could usually be persuaded to part with some of their catch in trade for items pinched from the more wealthy areas of Skyvale.
Tonight, the fishery was empty, save the sounds of a handful of people downstream. A child shrieked at the chill spray of water while adults scolded the girl. “Be quiet,” they said. “Police will find us.”
I slipped along the river, wrinkling my nose against the pungent odor of fish. It was hard to believe no one had come to steal a few meals, given the dozen barrels ready to be transported into the building.
One look into the barrels told me why. Brown-striped bass and red-bellied sunfish lay dead, but where the fins had been, now were hands. Tiny and brown, with webbed fingers. Their dead-eyed stares were strange, too. They looked human. Some had lips.
Bile raced up the back of my throat, and I turned away.
I had brought this here. My magic. My wraith boy.
Wary, I crept into the building, hands on my daggers. Heavy, wet darkness wrapped around me like a cloak, and I paused to let my eyes adjust.
A feral cat yowled. A deeper growl followed, coming from somewhere behind crates of packaged fish, which rose along the walls. The damp storage area and the crash of the river rushing at my back absorbed the sound.
I checked behind every crate and barrel, but found no sign of Ospreys. The small office had been raided for its supplies.
In the distance, the clock tower struck twenty-three. I needed to get back soon. Thanks to the additional patrols, I’d have to give myself plenty of time to sneak back through Hawksbill. Rushing had gotten me caught before.
Halfway out the door, I stopped. A creamy white paper fluttered in a draft, caught against the wall. Even dirt streaked and crumpled, it was easy to see the paper was too fine for a fishery.
I smothered a laugh as I rescued the palace stationery from the wall. The list was in Melanie’s handwriting, as familiar to me as her face and voice.
Locations, numbers: I knew this list. These were the resistance groups in Aecor, the list we’d copied during our infiltration of Skyvale Palace, though in a different order than the one I recalled.
“Oh, Melanie.” I folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket. “You are so clever.”
I could almost hear her reply: “Say it again.”
Melanie hadn’t turned. She hadn’t. Patrick must have wanted to move on as soon as she’d returned, so she’d left something she knew I’d be sure to spot.
Outside, I started for Hawksbill, but a scream downriver cut the silence.
My heart thundered as I hurtled myself toward the shrieks and adults’ shouts for the girl to move away from the water. Someone called for the police to help.
I sprinted along the riverside, the churning waters
inky at my right. In the high moonlight, spray glittered as a creature lurched from the depths. It was all sinuous scales and snapping jaws, some terrible fusion between lizard and snake, and as big as a hunting hound. Enormous fangs dripped black fluid as it plodded toward a group of six or seven people, including the girl who stood just ahead of the others. Carefully, she backed away, one long slow step at a time. The whites of her eyes shone wide.
“Come on,” urged the adults. “Just a little farther.”
The girl whimpered, making the wraith beast leap forward—
“Hey!” I jumped out from the shadow of a melting wall, sword sliding out of its sheath without a sound.
The wraith beast whipped around in a flurry of claws and fangs and scales, wraith-white eyes trained on me. The girl spun and ran for her family; they caught her with reaching arms and dragged her from the beast’s sight.
It slithered toward me, four stubby legs pumping to keep up with the rest of its body. Wraith had not been kind to this creature.
My sword shone between the beast and me, an unfamiliar stretch of steel. I’d wielded swords before, but not this one, and never one so fine. The hilt fit my hand perfectly, though; like the rest of my gear, it had been made to suit me.
I held my ground until the beast reached me, and then sliced my blade through the air. The creature leapt back, a tangle of long body and tail, but righted itself quickly. The milky eyes fell back on me as it came around to my left side. I brought my sword inward, but the blade connected with a fang and slid down the length with a shing. The black liquid dripped from the tip of the fang, catching on the edge of my blade. Metal sizzled as the venom dribbled down the steel.
Swearing, I thrust my sword at the creature, catching its nostril. It shrieked and pulled back, almost as though reconsidering its chosen prey.
“You ruined my new sword,” I grumbled, turning slightly to dip the sizzling metal into the dark river to neutralize the venom.
The snake-lizard hissed and struck; I barely had time to lift my sword in defense as the fangs crashed toward me. Water droplets glittered as the blade arced through the air and caught the creature’s mouth, cutting a long gash across its face. It made a sound between a scream and hiss before it whipped around me, toward the water.
