The Orphan Queen

by Jodi Meadows

  I gave the line some slack, shook it, and coiled it so that it fit in a clip on my hip.

  The tiles on the roof were slick, but the treads of my boots gripped and my footing was secure. One more climb down to the ground. My toes hit the courtyard with hardly a sound. The whole night held its breath as I raced after Melanie.

  She was far ahead of me by now, a slim figure keeping to the shadows, nearly invisible. If I hadn’t been looking for her, I’d have never known she was there.

  But she and I had the same training. I knew all her tricks.

  I followed her through the King’s Seat and Hawksbill. The mansions were hulking shadows in the dark, glimmering here and there with mirrors. Fountains splashed and wind chimes rattled. There was a party in one of the houses; laughter carried from an open window. Farther away, dogs barked, and the clock tower chimed twenty-three: an hour before midnight.

  When Melanie climbed over the wall surrounding Hawksbill, I followed a minute later.

  In Thornton, she stayed on the streets, but I ascended to the rooftops where I could keep an eye on her. While most of the shops were closed this late, the inns and taverns were brightly lit with candles and lanterns. Gas lamps hissed at intersections, making it impossible for anyone to hide, but Melanie slipped through the crowd, unnoticed. A few times, her hand flashed out and into someone’s purse. She pocketed her prizes.

  At last, we reached Laurence’s Bakery, its windows dark now. Melanie stole around the back of the building and wrestled out a loose brick near the chimney. She stashed our reports and map inside the hollow, then replaced the brick.

  It hadn’t taken her three hours to get here, so—

  Melanie glanced over her shoulder before she climbed onto the roof and headed south, deeper into Thornton. Now what?

  Maybe she was bored not being able to steal things in the palace and simply needed to scratch that itch. But she wouldn’t hide that from me, surely.

  I followed, keeping my distance as she crept across peaked roofs, climbing and leaping and scrambling where necessary. Thornton’s architecture was such that anyone with the skill—and who didn’t mind heights—could use the roofs as a second and secret road. People almost never looked up, but we had to be careful in daylight; the mirrors scattered across the western faces of buildings could give us away.

  In one of those mirrors, a shadow darted across the reflection of the slender crescent moon.

  Someone was behind me.

  Maybe someone from another gang. Soon, they’d go somewhere else and be out of sight, so I didn’t turn around and alert them to my knowledge of their presence. They probably hadn’t seen me.

  Still, I checked my stealth as I continued after Melanie. She headed into less crowded areas of the market district, where being noticed wasn’t such a danger, but I kept lower to the rooftops and wished the darkness were a palpable thing I could gather around me like a cloak.

  It could be.

  No. Fantasies were one thing, but actually using the magic would always remain a last resort.

  Minutes later, the shadow appeared in a mirror once more, gone so quickly it might have been my imagination.

  Someone was following me.

  I stuffed down my indignation. I was following Melanie, after all. Still, I didn’t want to lead this person to wherever she was going. Not when I didn’t know. It could be something Patrick had asked her to do.

  But why wouldn’t he have told me, too? Unless he knew it was something I wouldn’t like.

  With one last glance at Melanie’s vanishing figure, I slipped behind a chimney, its bricks warm with smoke and fire from below, and I waited.

  My pursuer would slow, would watch for me in the direction I’d been heading, wondering if he’d missed seeing my leap onto the roof of the next building. He’d be curious whether I’d somehow spotted him. Because he’d been careful. Quiet. Only chance had let me see him.

  I steadied my breathing and strained my hearing beyond the pounding of my heart and the wind that kicked up dirt and trash. Paper scraped the side of the building, and a door slammed down the street. Wind moaned around corners. Chimes clattered.

  The chimney seemed to blur as a darkness moved forward.

  Without hesitation, I grabbed my pursuer’s wrist, yanked him forward and around, and slammed him back against the chimney where I’d been hiding. My hand was splayed out across his chest, pinning him, and my dagger gleamed against the black skin of his throat.

  No, not skin. Silk. It covered his entire face, save his eyes.

  “Black Knife.” My blade stayed steady at his throat.

  “You won’t look, but I hope you’ll believe me when I say there’s a dagger at your stomach.” Darkness obscured what little of his face was visible, but his eyes remained on mine.

  “I believe you.” Neither of us moved, maybe both of us thinking about how we’d react if the other attacked. Or how we could attack first, without getting killed. For either of us, it would take only a quick flick of the wrist to make the other bleed to death. Even if I cut his throat, he could gut me in his last moments of life. And the other way around, too.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Why were you following me?”

  “You were sneaking around on rooftops. Only dangerous people do that.” His arm shifted and the point of his dagger caught my clothes and scraped my skin. I adjusted the angle of my blade on his throat, and neither of us moved. “We both know how a fight would end.” His voice was low and menacing.

  A fair fight, perhaps. But I could bring our weapons to life. I could bring this roof to life. I could make them fight for me.

  “I suppose.” My eyes watered with the need to blink against the cold wind, but I couldn’t look away from Black Knife. Now that we were practically nose to nose, my perception of him shifted: he was young, not a grown man like I’d thought.

  “You’re a very interesting thief. I’ve been trying to find where you and your gang stay, but no one seems to know. No one seems to know even your first name.”

  “I treasure my anonymity. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  In his humph, I could almost hear a smirk, but the black cloth concealed the expression. “I’ve never seen you alone before,” he went on. “Usually, you have quite the entourage. Or at least that black-haired girl. You two seem close.”

  Why was he talking so much? To confuse me? To trick me into relaxing? Whatever he was up to, it wouldn’t work.

  “I don’t need my friends to protect me from you.” Wind picked up, howling now. A faint, acrid stench rode the air. A trash bin clattered and a cat yowled.

  “No. That is obvious.” He broke our stare, glancing toward the street below. “I have a proposition. We both agree that standing here with blades at each other’s bodies is not going to accomplish anything but cramped muscles. So why not back off and sheathe our weapons? And if we decide to fight, we can get right back into this position. I prefer this to potentially falling off the roof.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t trust you, either.”

  “So we don’t move.”

  “Ever?” He met my eyes again, and seemed to search me. “You may not believe that I have things to do besides chase you around the city, but it’s the truth.”

  “Doesn’t change that I don’t trust you.”

  “If I dropped my dagger?”

  I let the corner of my mouth curl up. “You’d pick it up and throw it at me as soon as I retreated.”

  “If I handed it to you?”

  “I’m sure you have more weapons.” That sword he used so much.

  “So you’d rather stay like this.” When I didn’t answer, he pulled back his blade and my clothes shifted straight again. “I’m not going to stab you. I’m lifting my hand, see? I’m going to put the hilt by your hand. You can take it.”

  His movements were slow, both of us waiting to see if I’d slice his neck open, but when the dagger came
into view, he’d shifted his hold so the weapon hung between his first two fingers; it would be impossible to get a good grip on it before I attacked.

  “That’s my dagger.”

  “I know. In your haste to escape our last pleasant meeting, you abandoned it in a glowman’s hand.” His eyes never left mine. “Take it.”

  I snatched the hilt and took several strides backward, keeping the edge of the roof to my left.

  But before I could decide to run or attack or anything, Black Knife drew a miniature crossbow from his belt and leapt off the roof.

  I reached the edge of the roof just in time to see him hit the ground, crouched and balanced on the balls of his feet and one hand. Like the jump didn’t faze him, he lifted the crossbow and shot a bolt into the darkness across the street.

  The darkness roared and reared up, assembling itself into the shape of a huge black cat, all pale scars and sinewy muscle. Crates and beams clattered aside as the beast charged Black Knife, who reloaded his crossbow and shot again. The bolt struck the cat’s throat, making the cat stumble, but it didn’t halt.

  With another yowl, the beast pounced. Black Knife rolled away as immense paws thudded on the ground, making even the building shudder under me. The cat seemed to be growing as it prowled around Black Knife, who shot it again and again.

  Small black bolts protruded from the beast like whiskers. It let out another bone-shaking roar as it closed in on Black Knife, trapping him against the wall.

  That hardly seemed to concern him. From a sheath along his back, he produced a black-handled sword and pressed his attack.

  The cat swiped at Black Knife, who raised his sword and blocked the fan of claws. A fine spray of blood coated the ground between them, and the cat roared again.

  In the nearby houses, candles and lamps were doused. A child’s scream rose up and was hushed. The clatter and shouts and roars of a boy fighting a beast were the only sounds on the dark street, and they were piercing.

  This creature was a nightmare from the wraithland in the west. It had been normal once, but wraith seeped into its body and mind, reshaping it into this horror. When the wraith reached the Indigo Kingdom, these creatures would be everywhere, not just here and there, blown in on storms.

  Black Knife ducked another swipe of the cat’s claws and deep gashes appeared in the wooden fence, just behind where his head had been. He leapt onto a stack of crates, lithe and limber as he climbed upward.

  The cat pounced, and Black Knife’s sword flashed in the gleam of a gas lamp. The cat jerked back and out of the way. Black Knife let out a rough, frustrated sound and pursued the cat without apparent distress.

  A pungent, wraithy stench filled the street, wafting up as the cat growled and lashed its tail. With a ripple of muscle, the beast struck. Black Knife blocked, but his wrist wrenched sideways, and the sword went spinning beneath the creature. The crossbow was nowhere I could see. Black Knife drew a pair of knives, but they had no reach. The wraith beast crouched and growled.

  “Hey, cat!” My voice sounded shrill and strange against the night, and the wraith beast looked up and yowled.

  Black Knife lunged for his sword.

  I fixed my grip on my daggers, jumped, and slammed onto the cat’s back. The beast screamed as I drove my blades into the back of its neck and dragged them across its spine. Another thump, this one from below. Black Knife plunged his sword into the cat’s throat, and the tip of the blade pierced the back of its neck, shining wet with blood.

  The creature shuddered as Black Knife withdrew his sword, and I yanked out my blades. As the wraith cat fell to the street with a heavy thud, I hopped to safety.

  The neighborhood remained utterly silent as the dying beast lay between Black Knife and me.

  His sword point rested on the ground. His breath came in hard gasps. “Thank you.”

  “For what you did in Greenstone. For saving the boy.”

  He wiped his bloodied sword on the cat’s fur before sheathing it, but when he started around the beast, I took a step backward and he stopped.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “No one.” I glanced between the black-clad boy and the shallowly breathing cat. It groaned and gurgled, and the stench of blood and wraith flooded the street. I swallowed until the urge to gag passed.

  “Your group is called the Ospreys, right? What does that mean?”

  “It’s just a name.”

  “You’ll admit to that name, but you won’t tell me yours?” He tilted his head. “I suppose you’d just give me a false name.”

  He was definitely right about that.

  “I like the way you fight.”

  Was that a compliment?

  “It’s very efficient. Who taught you?”

  “Your grandmother.” Patrick Lien had taught us, as well as men he’d brought back from Aecor. Those men hadn’t known my identity—it was too much of a risk—but they’d been well-compensated.

  “That seems unlikely. My grandmother preferred sewing to fighting.” He stepped closer, all stealth and dancer’s grace. His hands stayed at his sides, not touching weapons, and if his wrist hurt from the fight, he didn’t show it.

  My daggers were still clutched at my sides, the hilts digging into my skin. “Why were you following me?”

  “Because you’re a criminal. I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

  “It’s not really your job, is it? The city has police.”

  He shifted his weight and shrugged. “They underperform. They work hard, but it’s not enough. There are still thieves everywhere.” His tone was pointed. “Clearly.”

  “If I were a thief, I’d steal only what I needed.”

  “Like paper?”

  Chills ran through me. Not even Black Knife was crazy enough to search all the warehouses in the vicinity of our previous encounter and find one misplaced crate with a loose lid.

  I eyed his black shirt, trousers, and knee-high boots. His sword. His mask. Well. Maybe he was crazy enough.

  “Are you going to tie me up and leave me outside a police station?”

  “Eventually. Once I know what I need to know.” He looked at the wraith beast. Soon the neighborhood would realize it was safe. People would come out to look at the defeated animal. “Better go.”

  I started to back away, still keeping Black Knife in my sight.

  Between us, the wraith beast gurgled one last time and died. White mist spewed from the body, a viscous miasma that filled the street.

  I coughed and gagged and dropped to the ground. Tendrils of mist swirled around me, suffocating me, drowning me. Darkness shoved at the edge of my vision.

  Then it was gone. Dispersed, I guessed.

  I was flat on my back, and a shadow leaned over me, touching the pulse at my throat.

  Black Knife.

  I kicked, but he pressed one palm to my sternum, then twisted and caught my ankle. “I was just checking to make sure you’re alive.” His grip loosened a fraction. “I’m going to back away.”

  When I didn’t move, he released me and took several long strides.

  “I’m fine.” I grabbed my daggers and scrambled to my feet. “What was that?”

  “They release wraith when they die.” Black Knife gave a deep nod, almost a bow, and sidestepped into a shadow. Metal skidded on the cobblestones—his crossbow, perhaps—and then there was only silence.

  I peered into the darkness for a moment longer, but caught no movement, no sounds. Either he’d slipped away or he was waiting for me to leave first.

  As much as I hated turning my back on a boy with a crossbow, I had to get back to Skyvale Palace. I couldn’t let Melanie return before me.

  I spun and ran down the street, keeping to the darkness where I could. I climbed up buildings and used the roofs to get around more quickly, being sure to stop and check for pursuit often. It was bad enough Black Knife had followed me tonight. He couldn’t know where I was staying or the truth of my mission.

  By the tim
e I reached my room in the palace, my whole body shook with adrenaline and exhaustion. My daggers clattered to my bedroom floor as I shut the balcony door behind me and then stood listening for Melanie’s presence. Straining to hear her voice, her breathing, the soft way she snored when she slept.

  I shouldn’t have worried about returning before her. When the window finally opened and she crept inside, dawn was just touching the sky.

  NINE

  CROWN PRINCE TOBIAH might have been a spoiled, sullen boy, but he kept his promise.

  A few days after Black Knife and I killed the wraith beast, I walked into a large study, all polished wood and paintings, with a heavy desk at one end and conference table in the center. There were six men in the room: four in military dress at the table, James standing at ease in the corner, and Tobiah at the desk.

  “Lady Julianna.” Tobiah rose, the others following suit. He gestured to the table. “I’m glad you could join us. Please take a seat.” His tone was cool.

  All around the table, polite smiles fell.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness.” I gathered up my gown, a high-waisted creation of midnight blue silk, and prepared to sit. The whole room went quiet. Waiting.

  A lady never scooted in her own chair if gentlemen or footmen were present. But now, the men at the table stared at me like they’d never seen a lady before.

  Maybe they hadn’t. Not in here.

  Just as I started to sit without the luxury of fitting comfortably at the table—as if I hadn’t been scooting my own chair for years—Tobiah shot James a look and nod, and the bodyguard stepped from his post.

  The room was held-breath quiet as I picked up the ends of my gown, and James pushed my chair as I sat. “I’m happy to see you again, my lady.” His voice was soft. So was the way his fingertips grazed my shoulder blade as he stepped away.

  “You all know of Lady Julianna Whitman of Liadia, I trust.” Tobiah strode away from his desk, a small stack of papers in his hands. “Please treat her with as much respect as you’d treat one another.”