The Mirror King (Orphan Queen) (4 page)

She was my best friend. I’d years ago memorized her face and
the way I felt complete when she was nearby, but until recently I’d always known when I’d see her again. We’d never been separated for more than a few days, but now the future gaped with uncertainty.

“Be safe.” I hugged her tight, squeezing until the clock tower chimed midnight and we both pulled away. There was still so much to do. “I love you, Mel.”

“You too, but stop walking around unarmed. This is a dangerous city.” With a faint smile, she pulled a small knife from her belt and handed it to me. “I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

I snapped and thumped my chest.

She saluted, too, and with a brave grin, she sauntered down the alley, spinning a second knife in her hands. Her form vanished into the shadows, and I swallowed back the threatening tears. I didn’t have time to miss my friend now.

Thanks to Melanie, I knew Patrick’s location. I could go after him—with a score of police and Indigo Order men to back me up—or get Connor and go back to the palace.

Was it even really a choice?

I slipped the knife into my belt and headed into the inn. Dying flames in the fireplace glowed across the taproom, which was filled with dozens of lumps of sleeping people. Some snored, while others groaned and huddled into corners. The faint light caught the whites of eyes; a few people watched as I picked my way through the room and toward the stairs. A renewed sense of urgency chased me as I paused at our usual door to listen for voices.

When I pushed the door, the oiled hinges didn’t make a sound. Only a lantern warmed the small, cramped space.

All four of them were sleeping: Connor and Carl on the bed, and Theresa and Kevin on pallets on the floor. How they’d managed to keep the room to themselves, I could only guess, but I was relieved to find they were alone.

I let the door shut with a
clunk
behind me. At once they were all sitting and reaching for weapons.

“Wil!” Connor abandoned his knife and bounded across the creaky bed, onto the floor, and to me. “You’re all right.” He skidded to a halt and swallowed so hard his throat jumped, then he smiled. He was small for his age, with bony shoulders and sunken cheeks.

“We heard the prince had kidnapped you.” Theresa climbed to her feet and dusted off her trousers. “And that was why Patrick shot him.”

“And we heard that you’re Black Knife and that’s why the prince kidnapped you.” Carl rolled his eyes and twisted his little finger at the rumors. “They’re saying you controlled the wraith and led all the beasts into the city, and you’re responsible for the Inundation.”

“Oh.” I kept my face impassive. “Is
that
what they’re saying?”

Theresa and Kevin stood, and after hugs, Carl and Connor explained how they’d helped during the Inundation and returned to the city with the residents who’d been forced out by the wraith creatures that had rioted through the streets, killing everything in their paths.

“There was blood
everywhere
,” Carl said. “And monsters, all dead. We came here and helped clean up to earn our room. Rees went to Laurence’s Bakery a few times to help in trade for food.”

“Have you gotten enough to eat?”

Carl shrugged. “More than some others who aren’t strong enough to earn it. Connor makes us share sometimes.”

Connor glanced downward, but his generosity didn’t surprise me. I squeezed his shoulder.

“It’s bad out there,” Kevin said. “Everyone is hungry. Thirsty. Most people don’t have anywhere safe to sleep. We were lucky. The refugee camps are empty. A few refugees might have sneaked into the city with the returning residents, same as we did, but most kept moving east. They didn’t want to stay here, where it’s so dangerous.”

It was hard to blame them. “All right, we need to go. Connor, at least. The rest of you can follow tomorrow, if you want to stay here the rest of the night.”

“Where?” Connor asked.

“To the palace. That’s where we’re going to stay.”

“Why do you need me right now?” That sounded suspiciously like a whine, but when I frowned, a look of understanding unfolded over his face. “I’ll get my bag.”

The others looked as though they wanted to ask “Why Connor,” too, but they just gathered their belongings instead. While they were busy, I took an envelope off the small desk. It was sealed with red wax and a thumbprint, and the front bore my name in Melanie’s handwriting.

The Ospreys hadn’t noticed her earlier. They’d been sleeping when she’d come to deliver the letter, and even when they’d awakened, none of them had noticed something new in the room. What if it had been dangerous? They could have been hurt, or worse.

But when I looked up to find them watching me, they all wore closed, embarrassed expressions. I stuffed away my need to scold. In the days since the Inundation, I’d been miserable in my pretty cage, but they’d been hungry, and cold, and hurt. While this was an especially dangerous time to be unguarded in the city, I couldn’t blame them for their exhaustion.

“Did a messenger come for you today?” I placed the letter in my pocket and headed into the hall.

“Yes.” Theresa slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Were they really from you?”

I nodded.

“We didn’t know. We couldn’t be sure.”

“Don’t worry, Rees. That’s why I came to get you.”

The five of us moved downstairs silently, picked our way through the dim taproom, and went outside to find a dozen men—police and Indigo Order officers—waiting for us.

Sergeant Ferris stepped forward. “Princess.”

“Oh good. An escort.” I grinned and let my hand drift toward Melanie’s knife, but didn’t draw it. The gesture was merely a reminder. “Send your best people to Fisher’s Mouth in Greenstone. You’ll find Patrick Lien there.”

People scrambled to follow
that
particular order.

I could go with them. Leave Connor with instructions and go apprehend Patrick myself. But the words wouldn’t come. I needed to be somewhere else.

“In the meantime, take me to Captain Rayner and Prince Tobiah.”

“WHERE DID YOU
get a knife?” James didn’t bother to greet me as I entered the prince’s bedchambers. The gas lamps were dark, but the wood-paneled walls gleamed in the candlelight.

“It just appeared.” I touched the handle; my escorts had tried to take it from me, but I’d asked if they’d seen what I’d done to the Hawksbill wall and they spent the rest of the silent ride eyeing me warily.

There was a question in the way James lifted an eyebrow: had I
made
it appear?

I snorted. That would have been a handy magic. “Someone gave it to me.” I shut the door behind me and moved toward Tobiah’s bed. He was still and sallow, barely breathing. Brown curls fanned across his forehead, and strain carved a line between his eyes. He was
so
still. “Has he awakened at all?”

“No.” James walked up beside me, his elbow brushing mine. If anyone knew what happened between Black Knife and me in
the breezeway, it was James. “The physicians have made him as comfortable as possible, but it’s only a matter of time. Hours. Perhaps minutes.”

“Good thing I brought help.”

James shifted his attention to Connor, who’d been hovering by the door with a feigned look of meek amazement at the splendor surrounding us. As though the last thing on his mind was which items to pocket and fence.

I gave a small shake of my head. I’d
taught
him that look. “I need you to do anything you can to save Crown Prince Tobiah.”

His manufactured expression faded into honest surprise. “Anything?” And the implied word:
magic
?

“If he dies, there will be a war and no way to stop it. Aecor will be crushed, and we will be prisoners or worse. He
must
live.”

Connor swallowed hard and moved toward the bed. He peeled down the blankets concealing Tobiah’s chest and stomach, revealing clean bandages and dark veins spiderwebbing his too-pale skin. Shadows circled his eyes. His lips were ashen.

“You brought a ten-year-old to heal the future king?” James didn’t quite scowl, but the uncertainty was there.

“I’m twelve,” Connor said.

“Well that makes all the difference.” James stared at his cousin, expression hard. He must have been terrified; he wasn’t usually mean. “Can you help?”

“I’m not sure.” Connor closed his eyes and seemed to search; whatever he saw made him shudder. “He’s really bad.”

“Try anyway.” My voice sounded hoarse.

“I’ll do what I can.” He rested his hands on the bandages. “This will take a while.”

“Another of the infamous Ospreys.” James pulled away from the bed as Connor grew as still as the prince. “And another flasher.”

“We aren’t all flashers. Connor’s the only other one.” As far as I knew. And it was only an accident I knew about Connor. Even among friends, we had to be careful.

“A healer and an animator. Powerful duo.” At my sharp look, James smiled a little. “Tobiah told me about a girl he’d met during the One-Night War. When your identity was made public, I figured it out. Besides, I already knew you’re a flasher.”

“I see.” I motioned at a chair near the bed, a basket of yarn and needles beside it. “Does the prince knit?”

James shook his head. “The queen regent has been in and out. Lady Meredith visited briefly.”

“And his uncles?”

“They were here long enough to see Tobiah’s condition and begin memorial preparations.”

Disgust turned my stomach. “He’s not dead.”

“There’s no reason to expect him to live.”

“But he will. He must.” I glanced at Connor and Tobiah, neither boy moving. “No one can know about this.”

“Count on silence from all quarters.” James excused himself to speak with the stone-faced soldiers in the parlor, and through the closed door I heard orders for discretion, an oath, and someone ask what was happening.

Which meant the only thing they knew was that the foreign flasher princess had brought in a boy in the middle of the night, and they were being sworn to never speak of it again.

As though
that
wouldn’t evoke more curiosity.

I paced the room, weary but restless as I listened to footsteps thudding in the other rooms of Tobiah’s apartments. Guards and maids and physicians. Connor muttered to himself, something about arteries and ligaments and organs. Sweat formed and dripped down his face.

This was taking so long. True, I’d seen Connor use his magic only once, and that was to heal a rabbit’s broken leg—nothing nearly like this—but shouldn’t he be finished by now?

I moved toward the oak bookcases. Gilt-lettered spines shone behind small curios: a golden spyglass, an aged wooden box with intricate carvings on the lid, and a framed paper behind glass. The paper was yellowed, and the writing so exact and regular it couldn’t have been made by hand.

“Pre-wraith artifacts,” James said, returning to the room. “Tobiah is fascinated by the things people created with magic a hundred years ago. Common things, like paper and clothes and trinkets. There were bigger things, too, of course: trains, faster methods of communication, and ways of clearing the land for farming. But it’s the smaller items that really intrigue him. Everyday conveniences we’ve abandoned.”

“I didn’t know that about him.”

“It’s not exactly material for polite discussion these days.” James checked the bed, but there was no change. “Tobiah hides a lot of who he is. You can understand, I’m sure.”

“You’re very perceptive, Captain.”

He indicated a stack of framed ink drawings leaning against the bookcase, waiting to be hung. They must have been delivered this morning. “I finally got to see some of your artwork.”
He pulled out a drawing of Black Knife, sword in hand.

My heart thumped as my eyes followed the lines of ink, remembering the way my pen had slid across the paper without instruction from my head. I’d
hated
Black Knife when I’d started that, but he’d recently saved Connor from a glowman, and our following encounters had been . . . not bad.

“You’re talented.” James put the drawing into the stack again, hiding it between flowers and landscapes—other things that were more appropriate for a young lady to have spent her time creating. “Which I knew, having inspected your forged residency documents.”

Connor gasped and stepped away from the prince. “That’s it.” He blinked a few times, as though to clear his vision from whatever he’d been seeing. “That’s all I can do.”

“Thank you, Connor.” I stuffed down my disappointment; there was no change in the prince’s appearance. “James, is there somewhere for Connor and the other three to stay? I left them in the front hall under guard, but who knows what they’ve done by now.”

He heaved a sigh. “For the sake of my security teams, are they all like you?”

Able to sneak in and out of guarded buildings, fight opponents twice their size, and pocket valuables without anyone noticing? “I helped train them.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Connor,” I said, “you can trust Captain Rayner. He’s a friend.”

After James and Connor left, I paced the room for a few
minutes, trying not to check Tobiah for signs of life. Finally, I sat at his writing desk and dug through his pens and ink and paper. I settled on a stiff nib, heavy blue ink, and plain palace stationery.

Tobiah,

Thank you for the letter you so quickly left in my room. In response to your request for forgiveness: there’s nothing to forgive.

We had masks and secret lives, and it was so easy to forget our obligations while we both wore black and met in the dark. Wherever our futures are, you’ve helped shape mine for the better.

With gratitude,

Wil

Postscript: What do you think about this handwriting? I found it on a man in Thornton who was copying valuable books and selling them as though they were originals. You might want to have someone look into that, if he lived through the Inundation.

Quick and light. That was all I could manage with him barely breathing mere feet away.

The boy I loved existed beyond his black mask, a fact I hadn’t fully reconciled. But no matter my muddled feelings, he was meant for someone else. She didn’t love the part of him that was Black Knife—she didn’t
know
—but she cared for the prince; he’d been warm toward her.

I wanted Black Knife. She wanted Tobiah.

He’d decided who he needed to be.

While the letter dried, I cleaned the pen and organized his jars of ink by color and shade. James returned just as I folded the letter and tucked it under the golden spyglass on the bookcase. “They’re settled in?” I asked.

“Yes. They ate everything in sight and had the silverware in their pockets before anyone noticed. You’re sure this is a wise idea? I will have to answer to the queen regent about their presence.”

“They’re all that’s left of Aecorian high nobility.” We both glanced at Tobiah, still pale, but his breath was more even and deep, as though he slept easier. “They’ve fought all their lives to reclaim Aecor and this”—I gestured around the room—“sort of world that was taken from them. There’s bound to be an adjustment period. They will learn.”

“I’m assigning guards on them at all times.”

“That’s probably not a bad idea.”

“You didn’t tell me you gave Ferris the location of Patrick Lien and the others.”

In my haste to get Connor to Tobiah, I’d forgotten to bring it up. “Was he arrested?”

James shook his head. “Fisher’s Mouth was empty. If he was there, he left no trace. Where’d you get your information?”

“Same place I got my knife.” I touched the handle. Had Melanie told Patrick we’d spoken? Or had he left Fisher’s Mouth so quickly because he was paranoid? I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment while James described how many soldiers and police officers had been pulled from other duties to chase this lead, probably giving Patrick and his half of the Ospreys space to slip out of the city.

“You should go to bed.” James motioned toward the door. “You look exhausted.”

And I was exhausted, but I wasn’t leaving. I marched across the room and took the chair near Tobiah’s bed. I’d tried to make two things right tonight, and already failed at one. If I’d gone after Patrick myself . . . but I’d made a choice.

I had to see it through.