The Orphan Queen

by Jodi Meadows

  A black-gloved hand caught my wrist.

  “Don’t.” It was a man’s voice, low and dangerous.

  I spun and kicked, connecting with a lean figure all in black. He stumbled backward and drew his sword from his back; he was but an outline in the darkness. I lunged for him, and metal clashed against metal as he blocked. My dagger slid down the length of his sword as I reached around to stab with the other. He caught my wrist again and heaved me away.

  With a wild cry, I charged him again. His sword arced through the air, forcing me back again. I couldn’t get inside his guard.

  “Stop!” He took three long strides so that my back was against the stone wall, next to the thug.

  I kept my eyes on the sword as I feinted and ducked beneath his guard. Pebbles dug against my palms and thighs as I rolled to my feet again. Strands of sweat-dampened hair obscured my vision. I dragged my arm across my forehead to peel back the hair, and the figure in black took advantage of my distraction and batted my dagger out of my right hand.

  “Stop,” he said again. “You’re not a killer.” He knocked the other dagger away from me. Both of my blades whumped onto the hard-packed dirt.

  My hands fell to my sides as clarity shrieked through me.

  It was Black Knife.

  And I’d just used magic.

  I swayed on my feet and stared at him, heart hammering with the surge of adrenaline. “Stop following me.”

  “Are you all right?” He stayed where he was, sword loose in his grip. I wanted to run, but it wouldn’t take much for him to pin me against the wall, sword point at my throat. The man already stuck there—stuck by my magic—groaned. His head lolled, but he didn’t wake.

  Lightning flared and thunder rolled through Skyvale. I willed my legs to move, to get me out of here before Black Knife realized what I’d done.

  Could he have seen it? No, it was too dark. Heard? Unlikely, given the wind gusting and cutting around corners. The air was heavy with moisture and that waiting sensation. Waiting for the storm. Waiting for Black Knife to make a move.

  “What did you do to him?” Only the vigilante’s eyes were visible as he stepped around me—toward the man I’d almost killed.

  As Black Knife sheathed his sword and inspected the man, I gathered my weapons and backed away. Long, silent steps. Shoulders hunched. Daggers ready. I kept my breath slow and quiet, desperate to soothe the frantic beating of my heart. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t force myself to calm down. Not with Black Knife right there, with evidence of my magic.

  I made it five steps: across the street, to where the fiddler had been.

  “He’s been fused to the wall.” Black Knife swore and spun around. In heartbeats, he closed the distance between us. “Did you do this?”

  “I’m leaving.” I dared another step away, but Black Knife caught my elbow and ducked my dagger when I swung it around. “I’m leaving.”

  “I can’t let you.” He trapped both of my wrists in his hand as he drew a length of black cord from a pouch on his belt. “You could have killed him. He’ll probably die anyway, if I don’t find someone to help him.”

  My whole body trembled as I tried to jerk my arms away. I couldn’t even pull my dagger around to cut him.

  When an icy wind cut through the street, I shook so hard that my blades fell from my hands again, and Black Knife had me bound—wrists and ankles. He was fast.

  Or my mind was slow. Maybe both.

  The man melted to the wall, the girl with her fiddle, the report about Quinn and Ezra, Patrick’s declaration of our future together—

  It was all too much.

  A heavy sob choked out of me.

  At least if Black Knife turned me in to the Indigo Order, I wouldn’t have to face Melanie. I wouldn’t have to bother chasing the rumor about the lake.

  I wouldn’t have to worry about ruling a kingdom when I didn’t know how.

  “What’s wrong with you?” He stood and looked down at me.

  I sat in the street, hunched over myself. I couldn’t remember dropping, but now my thighs were pressed against my chest, and my wrists and ankles were bound together. When I tugged, there was no slack. It wouldn’t be long before I lost feeling in my hands and feet.

  “What happened?” He loomed over me, a tall, dark shadow in the night. The sky shuddered with another peal of thunder. Black Knife knelt, sighing heavily. “I’m going to find help for your friend over there. If he dies—” The vigilante shook his head. “Pray he doesn’t die. Then I’ll come back and decide what to do with you.”

  I pulled against my bonds, but they only tightened.

  “Stay put.”

  It started to rain as Black Knife vanished down the street. Heavy drops soaked my clothes, making me shiver, and the man on the wall groaned loudly.

  I’d never used my power to hurt anyone. I’d thought about it—sometimes letting the fantasies play a little too long—but I’d never given in to the impulse before.

  If he died . . .

  As rain fell in deafening sheets, I pushed my face into the crevice between my body and my knees, taking deep breaths to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t worry about that man—whether he’d deserved it or I’d crossed a line. I had to free myself. I had to get back to the palace and form some kind of plan.

  I had to think.

  Carefully, I felt around the cords binding my hands and feet. The knots were unfamiliar, though, at least by touch, and it was too dark to see. Pulling on any loop or end might result in a worse tangle. Dare I use magic again? No; he’d smell the wraith on the air and know what I’d done. He’d begin developing a theory about what, exactly, I could do.

  If only I could reach my daggers.

  I could scoot. I pulled up my head and waited for the next flash of lightning.

  It took two flares before I spotted light shimmering off the rain-dulled metal. Scooting with my hands and feet tied was incredibly awkward, but eventually I began to make progress. The distance to the nearest dagger grew shorter, even as the rain grew harder. Water soaked my clothes and plastered my hair against my head. My teeth chattered as I stretched my fingers and brushed the hilt of my dagger.

  “Trying to cut your way free?” A dark shape detached from the rest of the shadows, and Black Knife knelt in front of me again. One toe of his knee-high boots pinned the blade to the ground, and my fingers scraped off the wooden hilt. “The police are coming, so answer me quickly.”

  I stared at him, my jaw tense as I forced myself motionless.

  “What did you do to that man?”

  Silence had always been my favorite response, but if I kept quiet, he’d leave. I’d be arrested for magic.

  “I hurt him.” Rain clattered all around us, steady and unceasing. A chill-wrought shudder in my chest echoed. “I tried to kill him.”

  This, not even an hour after insisting to Patrick that Ospreys weren’t murderers.

  “I saw what you did, saving that girl.” He shifted his weight and braced one knee on the muddy ground; he kept my dagger pinned, and out of my reach. “You are an intriguing puzzle. A thief. A sister. A warrior. More than that.” He paused and cocked his head, as though to study me from a slightly different angle. “Now you rescue a girl and maim her attacker with magic. I don’t know what to do with you, nameless girl.”

  “Let me go.” In spite of my best efforts, my voice shook with cold. My hands and feet ached as blood circulation slowed. I clenched and unclenched my fists, struggling to maintain feeling in my fingers.

  “Are you going to use your magic again?” His voice deepened, and his words were almost lost beneath the cacophony of rain and thunder. “Do you like burning things? Because this didn’t look like a last resort.”

  “I have as many reasons as you to want the wraith stopped.” Maybe that was true. I didn’t know his reasons, after all. But mine were strong. I had an entire kingdom to protect.

  “Perhaps so.” He touched my bonds, a pale contact I could barely feel through
the cold and wet. It took all my will not to jerk back, away from him. “I’m going to free you,” he said almost gently, “but I want something in exchange.”

  “I’m not telling you my name unless you tell me yours.” A shiver racked through me.

  A note of weary humor touched his voice. “Fortunately, I wasn’t going to ask your name. No, I want something else. I saw the way you rushed to help that girl. You were fast getting there—faster than I was. And she’ll live because of what you did.”

  Quinn wouldn’t live, though. Neither would Ezra. They were my people, and they were dead.

  The rain slammed harder and I fought off another violent shiver. Black Knife shivered, too.

  “That girl will live, and she doesn’t have to be the only one.” Black Knife leaned closer, lifting his voice to be heard over the pounding of rain. “Come with me. Help me tonight. Help me save others.”

  I had saved that girl. It had been selfish, driving pain that had compelled me down from the rooftops. Knowing she would live to fix her fiddle and play again because of my intervention—I liked that. Not enough to want to accompany Black Knife, but if it was the vigilante—who didn’t seem to want me arrested—or the police, I’d choose the enemy I knew.

  “You won’t turn me in for what I did?”

  He hesitated. The percussion of rain made the seconds linger on, but at last he shook his head. “Not this time. I think you deserve a second chance.”

  I nodded toward my hands and feet, still caught up in the silk. “Untie me.”

  There was something in his tone, like relief. “I hoped you’d say that.” He got to work quickly.

  A few moments later, I stood, stretching my arms and legs. Sharp sensation assaulted my hands and feet.

  Rain obscured the man fused to the wall, still unconscious, thankfully.

  I’d almost killed him.

  I’d almost killed him.

  “The police will get him out.” Black Knife grabbed my daggers, flipped them, and caught the flats of the blades. He offered the hilts to me, like he believed I wouldn’t attack him. “You should, perhaps, wear a mask.”

  I took my daggers and slid them into their sheaths at my hips. “I don’t have one.”

  “I have an extra.” Black Knife felt around his belt and pulled free a damp slip of pitch cloth. He pressed it into my hands, this thin, delicate thing; it was a hood that went over the whole of one’s head, not just the face. “I keep a spare in case I lose mine.”

  When I slid the silk over my head, it smelled faintly of boy and musk. It was light enough to breathe through, even when waterlogged, and kept the bite of chill off my face and throat. I adjusted my hair under the hood. “Thank you.” The words were strange and soft under the rumble and racket of the storm, but he must have heard anyway, because he nodded.

  “Let’s go find someone who needs our help,” he said. “Before the police arrive.”

  I looked at him, both of us in black masks, and struggled to reclaim the usual hostility that bound us together. “Sure. But if you try to talk to me or ask me anything, I’ll stab you.”

  He started down the road. “That sounds fair.”

  As the thunder of police boots joined the thunder in the sky, Black Knife and I ran deeper into the Flags, disappearing into the shadows. We fought thieves and thugs, gangs and glowmen. We didn’t speak, but there was nothing to say, not when there was so much work to do.

  When the storm passed and dawn touched the eastern horizon, I offered back the mask.

  “Keep it.” His tone warmed, even as howls and animal cries rose from within the city: wraith beasts, blown in with the storm. “You might need it again.”

  SIXTEEN

  MORNING MADE MY head pound. My body ached from last night’s adrenaline and grief, but I hauled myself up to sit on the edge of my bed, listening to Melanie move around the apartments. After a few minutes, she left.

  The clock tower chimed ten as I dragged myself from my room, feet shuffling on the floor. Breakfast was already on the table, Melanie’s half eaten. A note rested by the empty plate, as well as a small pile of invitation cards with today’s date. In spite of last night, Melanie had organized my engagements.

  I poured myself a cup of over-steeped tea and sat, letting the bitter black taste work its miracles while I eyed the note in her tidy handwriting. No flourishes, except the first letter of each paragraph, and her pen strokes were always dark and even. Her handwriting was just like her: familiar, safe, and reliable.

  At least until lately.

  J—

  I received an invitation to take a walk about the palace gardens and a tour of the greenhouse. You know how much I enjoy horticulture.

  You were invited as well, of course, but I thought you might want to accept the one from Lady Meredith instead. She, Lady Chey, and several others are meeting in the ladies’ solar for needlework.

  Perhaps I will see you over lunch.

  M—

  I flipped through the invitation cards. Indeed, there was the one from Meredith.

  Quickly, I ate the rest of my breakfast, dressed, and arranged my hair in a long, simple braid—since the person who was supposed to help me with making myself look presentable had already left.

  With times and locations of other engagements in mind, I headed to the ladies’ solar where the women had met before.

  When I arrived, the solar was already filled with women, most of whom I’d seen last time. Meredith was busy with her needlepoint again, and Chey sat at her right, knitting in hand. A chair on the other side of the duchess held the spindle and wool I’d neglected before. Wonderful. They hadn’t forgotten.

  Both women smiled brightly as I entered, and Meredith patted the chair beside her. “Welcome, Julianna! We’re happy you could join us.”

  I took my seat and listened to the women discuss their projects—how they’d sew pieces together or make other objects from them. Meredith was turned toward Chey, and the others all paid careful attention to their conversation.

  “There’s a rumor that last night’s storm blew in several wraith creatures.” The girl who’d spoken was one of Meredith’s ladies, young and flighty sounding. “They say Black Knife was out killing them all night.”

  I lowered my eyes to inspect the carded wool.

  “That’s not his duty and you know it.” Meredith shook her head. “He’ll be arrested if he’s ever caught.”

  “He’s a ghost,” said the girl. “The police can’t catch a ghost.”

  “He’s real.” A lady named Margot lowered her needlepoint and leaned forward. “I think Lord Daniel is Black Knife.”

  Chey’s tone went teasing. “Weren’t you with Lord Daniel last night?”

  Margot blushed, and suddenly I recognized her from Meredith and Tobiah’s engagement ball; the prince had said some people—like Lord Daniel—enjoyed saying they were Black Knife, even though everyone knew better.

  “And did he leave you to kill monsters?” Chey asked.

  “Well, he did leave once to fetch more wine.” Margot tittered and returned to her needlepoint. “He does have the best stories about defeating the monsters and glowmen.”

  “Because they’re made-up stories.” Meredith shook her head. “No, the real Black Knife is no one as innocent as your Lord Daniel. What sort of man disguises himself and becomes a vigilante? One who wouldn’t make nearly as charming a bedfellow as Daniel, no doubt.”

  “They say Black Knife will put an end to the wraith. I’ve heard that priests all through the Flags are making prophecies about him!”

  Another rolled her eyes. “They’re Flag priests.”

  “Indeed.” Chey held herself straight. “When the palace chapel priests start having prophecies—or anyone from the Cathedral of the Solemn Hour—then you may entertain the idea. But ignore anything that comes from the Flags.”

  “What about the belief that Crown Prince Tobiah will stop it?” Someone snickered, and everyone looked at Meredith.

&nbs
p; “If he does,” Meredith said, “it will be because he works hard. Not because of a silly story about a king from all four houses.”

  “What story is this?” I asked. “I don’t believe I’ve heard anything about His Highness being the one to stop the wraith.”

  “Oh, it’s just a story some of the commoners made up.” Meredith shook her head and flashed a smile. “You know about the four Houses, right? It’s more to do with where you were born than who your family is—though families do tend to stick to the location, if they own property.”

  “Yes, that’s been explained.”

  “The rumor began when His Highness Prince Tobiah took over the wraith mitigation committee. It’s well known that King Terrell and Queen Francesca are from two different houses, and his grandparents on each side are from the other two. Prince Tobiah is House of the Dragon, but he’s descended from people of all four, if you take his grandparents into account.” She gave a liquid shrug. “It’s not exactly rare for this to happen, but it is unusual. The fact that Prince Tobiah will be king one day makes him even more unusual, and you know common people. They will find signs and superstitions in anything. They need to believe someone will save them before the wraith destroys everything, so they’ve placed their hope in their future king.”

  Signs and superstitions—like the mirrors that covered every western surface of the city, courtesy of King Terrell the Second. How very common of him.

  “I see. Thank you for explaining.” I turned my spindle in my hands, judging the weight, the sturdiness, and the sharp end. If I needed to bash in any of their heads, or my own—whichever would help me peel real information from their inane chatter more quickly—the spindle would serve as an adequate weapon. “What are the Flag priests saying about Black Knife and the wraith?”

  “Some say he works for Prince Tobiah, but that’s ridiculous because he’s a vigilante and—”

  The solar door opened and all the ladies abandoned their work to stand. When the queen stepped in, they performed small, deferential curtsies. I rose, too. Murmurs of “Your Majesty” fluttered through the room.

  Queen Francesca was a thin, stern-looking woman, immaculately dressed in a high-waisted gown of blue silk. Intricate embroidery, patterned with stylized suns and birds in flight, swirled over her sleeves and shoulders and bodice. When she spoke, however, her voice was soft. Meek, almost. “Good morning, ladies. Would you mind if I worked with you?”