The Orphan Queen

by Jodi Meadows

  The idea fizzled as quickly as it arrived. After what I’d done in the wraithland, I never wanted to use magic again.

  Since I’d experienced the wraithland, everything was different.

  A shadow peeled from the others. Black Knife gestured upward.

  I followed him onto the rooftops, relishing the feel of using my muscles. This was a familiar exertion.

  When we stood atop a tea shop, Black Knife studied me without speaking. Shadows cloaked his eyes as he circled me—I turned only my head to watch him—and there was something heavy and thoughtful about the way he moved. Then, he must have worked out whatever he’d been trying to decide, because he motioned for me to follow.

  We took off at a quick walk at first, and then faster until we were running through the city, as though on a chase. He leapt; I leapt. He ducked under an overhanging beam; I ducked, too. Over apothecaries and chandleries and inns, we raced into Thornton where we dodged the bright streetlamps and mirrors. Cold air stung the back of my throat, and breath misted white.

  Out here in the city, I felt real. Alive. There were always questions with Black Knife, but still, I knew what to do: we squabbled, fought criminals and wraith beasts, and made the darkness our cloak and armor. Though we constantly threw ourselves into danger, these nighttime excursions felt safe.

  Safer than my life with the Ospreys, or at the palace, or my uncertain future as queen.

  Black Knife vanished around the corner of a bank.

  I followed only seconds later, but he was gone. Gasping for breath, I paused under a stone-and-glass breezeway that connected two shops, and checked the dim rooftops. There was nothing.

  Darkness gaped above me as gloved hands reached down through a trapdoor in the breezeway. I laughed and took his hands, and after some pulling and hushed laughter, we both tumbled inside the breezeway. He pushed the door shut.

  Ambient light bled through the glass windows, which rattled in the wind. The breezeway wasn’t large, only wide enough for two people to walk abreast, and about five strides long where it arched over an alley.

  From the center of the walk, I could see several familiar shops, plus the roof of Laurence’s Bakery.

  So that was how he’d caught me so often.

  “What happened to your mask?” Black Knife stood at the other end of the breezeway, unstrapping the crossbow from his hip, but he was watching me. “Did you lose it?”

  “It got dirty in the wraithland.”

  “Hmph.” He dug through a pouch on his belt and tossed me a small paper-wrapped parcel. “I brought you a new one anyway. It will fit better.”

  I snatched the package out of the air and pulled a flap of paper from inside a crease. The paper unfolded, and a delicate silk mask tumbled into my fingers, followed by a pair of leather gloves lined with wool and silk. All black. Of course, I’d known Black Knife must be someone wealthy enough to afford all of his weapons and perfect black clothes, but not so rich that he was too lazy to spend his nights as a vigilante. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They’re useful. You need to hide your identity out here.”

  All I did was hide my identity.

  Even this, fighting and bickering with Black Knife, was hiding. But I loved it. I loved it more than Julianna Whitman’s life, definitely more than William Cole’s life, and even more than the life I’d planned for myself.

  And how often did I get to keep things I loved? Never.

  “I’m not like you.” Carefully, I wrapped his gifts back inside the paper.

  “I thought you liked this. What we do.” He cocked his head. “Was I wrong?”

  “No.” That was the problem. “You weren’t wrong.” I pressed the parcel to my chest. “I used to hate you, you know. I thought you had a vendetta and that innocent people were paying the price. But then you saved my friend, and you showed me mercy. You gave me a second chance.”

  “I believe you’re a better person than you think you are.”

  “You’re so optimistic. It’s not what I expected from a vigilante who calls himself Black Knife.”

  “Well, I considered Optimistic Knife, but I didn’t think anyone would take it seriously.”

  The paper crinkled against my chest as I shook my head, not bothering to hide my weak chuckle. “I’ve seen the notes people leave you. The city needs you. They want your help.”

  He shifted his weight toward me. “The city could need you, too.”

  What was he imagining? That we’d just continue for the rest of our lives like this, fighting crime and not knowing each other’s real names?

  “I’m not like you,” I said again. “I can’t give this city what it needs. I have other obligations.”

  Black Knife was motionless, a shadow statue across the breezeway. His silk hood glimmered in the faint light. “Did you find what you were looking for in the wraithland?”

  Could I tell him the truth? He knew I had magic. What would he think if I told him about the wraith wind, and how it had called my name?

  When had Black Knife become someone I considered confiding in? If I wasn’t careful, I’d want to tell him about my parents and the Ospreys and how everything was so confused now because I wasn’t sure we were doing the right thing anymore.

  And all I wanted —all I really wanted—was this. The mask. The hunting. The night.

  His footfalls were whisper quiet. “Will?”

  I turned away.

  “What happened here?” Gloved fingertips brushed my cheek, so, so gentle. “Someone hit you. Who?”

  I covered the fading bruise. “It’s nothing. I handled it.”

  “I’m sure you did.” He pulled away. “You said you’re not like me. Who are you, then? What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “The kind you can’t help with.” The words came out more harshly than I intended, but he didn’t even flinch.

  “I might,” he said. “Or I might know someone who can help.”

  “I don’t want your help. Not with this.”

  “With what?” He was relentless.

  I leaned my forehead on the glass. “I hate you.” It didn’t sound remotely convincing.

  “You like your secrets, I know. I like mine, too.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  Maybe telling him just a little wouldn’t hurt. He already knew so much about me. What would a little more change? “I’m part of a group. The Ospreys.”

  He waited.

  “I’m supposed to be a sort of leader—eventually—but I’m not right now. Someone else is. He’s the one who hit me.” I closed my eyes and hugged myself. “I’ve certainly taken worse injuries, but I never expected it from him. He’s always been so careful.”

  “What made him change?”

  “The wraithland. I wasn’t supposed to go. He didn’t know until I was already there.”

  “You really don’t like to tell people your plans, do you?”

  “Not if I can execute the plan on my own.” I straightened and wiped my forehead smudge off the glass. “I’m not interested in being rescued or saved. I’ve been part of the Ospreys for almost ten years and I’m committed to our cause.”

  “It was for the Ospreys that you went to the wraithland?”

  I nodded. “I had to know what would happen when the wraith reaches us. And if there was any truth to the rumors about Mirror Lake.”

  “Is there?” There was a hopeful tilt to his voice.

  “It’s complicated.” I touched my pocket, and the ridges of the barrier scales I’d taken from the village. “The truth is, I found something much, much worse.” The voice calling my name haunted me.

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “Another night. I can’t right now.”

  “Very well.” He was quiet for a moment, letting the silence between us soak in. “Do you still think what you’re doing with the Ospreys is right?”

  “Yes.” At least, I hoped. “I’m not as sure about our methods anymore.”

&n
bsp; “What methods are those? Stealing? Something worse?”

  “We stole to survive!”

  He held up his hands like surrender. “I know. We had this discussion. I’m just trying to understand, and you won’t give me anything but vague answers.”

  “Because I can’t!” I slammed my fist against the window, and he stepped back. “If you don’t want vague, don’t ask questions. Don’t bother trying to understand.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He hesitated, then touched my hand on the glass. The fingertips of his gloves were soft against my skin. “Will, I think we are more alike than you realize.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Black Knife. I started this fight because I was angry. I wanted to show certain people that I wasn’t a puppet.” An embarrassed chuckle escaped him. “Of course, I wore a mask, so no one ever knew it was me. But eventually all my anger was burned away by a deeper understanding of Skyvale and everything that was wrong with it. I still do this because it’s right. Because Skyvale needs someone and no one else was stepping up. Now I’m Black Knife because it’s the best way to help my kingdom,” he whispered.

  Maybe we were alike after all.

  Our eyes met. Strange, how familiar he’d become. “Who are you?”

  His eyes were gentle, as though he smiled beneath that mask. “You know I can’t tell you any more than you can tell me who you are.”

  His hand was still on mine. Our shoulders brushed. Our arms pressed together. I could hardly breathe against the swelling in my heart. I turned up my face, overcome with a wild recklessness.

  “Will.” He spoke hoarsely, but he didn’t stop me.

  I cupped my free hand over his cheek, letting the cool silk slide beneath my fingers; his face was sharp and angular, and his jaw tensed, as though he was worried I’d lift the mask. But I left it as I rose to my toes and pressed my mouth against his, only that thin silk between our lips.

  He gasped and pulled back. “I don’t—”

  Shame welled up inside me. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” I was such an idiot.

  I shouldn’t be here. I needed to get back to the palace, offer as much information about the wraith as I could, and then return to my real life as an Osprey. As a future queen of orphans. It would be best if I never saw Black Knife again.

  Black Knife closed his eyes. His mask puffed as he exhaled through his mouth.

  The packet with his gifts dropped as I retreated toward the trapdoor. “I’d better go.”

  I’d barely taken three steps when he grabbed my arm and spun me around. His hands were tight around my forearms; his body angled toward mine. When I stepped back, my shoulders hit the window with a thud.

  He kissed me, just another touch of our mouths through silk. His breath came hot and ragged. “Don’t leave.”

  “I’ll have to, eventually.”

  He couldn’t rescue me, and I didn’t want him to. I’d chosen my path long ago.

  “Don’t leave now, though.” He released my forearms and touched my face, gloved fingertips gliding over my temple and cheekbone and chin. “Stay here a while longer?”

  “For now, I suppose.” When I closed my eyes and let my head drop back, he kissed me again, light and sweet and restrained with the silk of his mask still between us. It wasn’t enough.

  Haltingly, I slid my hands up the sides of his neck, beneath the base of his mask. The barest hint of stubble scraped my fingertips as I folded the layer up.

  “Will—” He touched my hands, halting my progress.

  “I won’t look.”

  His eyes were wide, dubious, but he released my hands and let out a shaky breath.

  “Wait.” I withdrew and pushed back my hood, and fumbled with my scarf, pulling it from around my throat. One last look into his eyes, I lifted the scarf to cover mine. His fingers grazed my temples, pushing back my hair as I tied the scarf behind my head. His fingertips ran down my throat, down my collarbone and arms.

  The world was dark when Black Knife lifted my hands to his face.

  He’d taken off his mask.

  I slipped one hand to the back of his neck, my fingers sliding into strands of soft hair, and pulled him close.

  Our lips touched with soft, hesitating movements, and for a moment, I thought he might pull back again. But Black Knife sighed my name as he kissed a trail of sparks down my cheek and throat, and I lost myself in memorizing the curves and contours of his face. His cheekbones, sharp and prominent. His nose, aristocratically strong. His jaw, angular and firm. When we kissed again, a low moan vibrated in his throat.

  His arms wound around my waist, pulling my hips closer to his. His hands splayed out on the small of my back; the very tips of his fingers dug against my clothes.

  I touched his throat, his chin. Pressing upward, I explored the ridges of his brow and temples. The soft fan of his eyelashes breezed over my palm. He was forbidden to look at, but I mapped his features with my hands.

  And when he kissed me again, all warm invitation, my thoughts swirled away, like drops of ink in water. I wanted more and more.

  “Wait.” His breath came in short gasps as he took my wrists and pulled my hands away from him. “I need a moment.” He rested his forehead on mine and breathed. Breathed.

  I leaned back against the window. His chest expanded under my palm; his heart raced like mine.

  Then came the susurrus of his mask going back on. “Can this really work?” I whispered, pushing up my blindfold to look at him. Black silk covered his face, like always. “Neither of us knowing the other’s real name? Both of us wearing masks all the time?”

  He touched his mask, a distant look crossing his eyes. “Just because I wear a mask doesn’t mean you don’t see the real me.” He took my hands and squeezed. “And just because I don’t know your real name doesn’t mean I don’t know who you truly are. I’ve seen you rush to help the people you love, and the pain you feel when you’re afraid they’re hurt. I saw the way you raced to help that boy, and made sure all your friends were safe before you left that night.”

  I’d been right to be wary of this boy. He paid attention to everything.

  “But can this really work?” He gazed beyond me, and a frown creased between his eyes. “I don’t think so. No. We both have obligations we won’t be able to ignore when masks come off.”

  Or go on, in my case.

  Those were unappealing thoughts. “Are you going to tell me how you chose your name? Are we good enough friends for that now?”

  His tone was a smile. “So you’re admitting that we’re friends?”

  “We’re something.” I smoothed my hair off my face and sighed. “In some ways now, you know more about me than my own best friend.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re a flasher? A radiant?” His eyebrows drew in; I could see just the tips of them through the holes in his mask.

  “No,” I whispered. “Nor how conflicted I am about it now.”

  He moved closer to me, so our bodies were just a breath apart. “I’m conflicted, too.”

  I stepped into his embrace and rested my cheek on his shoulder. His heart beat against mine.

  He spoke into my hair, muffling his voice. “I was worried about you.”

  “Optimistic Knife didn’t have complete faith I’d return in one piece?”

  “I did. Until you weren’t back when you promised. You have no idea how relieved I was to see you earlier.” He squeezed me a little. “I wanted to collapse with gratitude.”

  “I’d have picked you up.”

  He gave a soft snort. “No, you’d have laughed, and I’d have deserved it.” He kissed my temple. Once. Twice. Then, with a soft groan, he pulled away. “It will be dawn soon.”

  “I bet you look wonderful in the sunlight. Very . . . inky.”

  He captured my jaw in his hands, turned my face up, and kissed me again. “Come here tonight.”

  I lifted an eyebrow and glanced at his mouth, hidden bene
ath that mask.

  The cloth shifted, and I could almost see the grin beneath the blackness. My hands could half feel the way his smile would move under my fingers. “Bring your new things.” He tilted his head toward the packet of gifts that I’d dropped earlier. “Bring your sword, too. I’ll show you how to do more than just jab it into scorpions’ eyes.”

  “My way is just as effective as yours.” But in the back of my mind, I wondered whether he’d seen me use magic on the scorpion’s chains, or what he’d think if he knew what I’d done in the wraithland. He might not trust me so much then.

  I slipped away from him and knelt to pick up the mask and gloves.

  “I’ll see you tonight, nameless girl Will.” He pulled open the trapdoor to let me out, but when I knelt beside him, he touched my cheek, my hair, my lips. “I think about doing that all the time.”

  Pleasure and guilt and uncertainty coiled inside me. Without another word, I left.

  Dawn lit the sky in golden tendrils as I reached the palace and climbed up to my balcony, barely avoiding being seen by one of the guards.

  Black Knife still didn’t know about the other times I’d used my magic. Already there were so many secrets between us. What were a few more? Even if he did find out, surely he wouldn’t begrudge my safety.

  Except now the wraith was alive. Now it was searching for me.

  I glanced over the violet city, half wondering if I’d see Black Knife climbing over the wall, too, but saw only indigo-coated guards changing shifts below, maids leaving grand mansions on early morning business for their employers, and delivery carts rumbling down the streets, making stops at all the prominent houses. Cathedral bells tolled with the dawn.

  Exhaustion dragged at me as I hauled open my balcony door and slipped inside. Curtains covered the glass, blocking out the light; cool darkness cloaked my bedroom, with only faint embers in the fireplace to see by.

  I crossed to my bed and laid the package from Black Knife on the corner, and changed into my nightgown.

  He’d been right when he said it wouldn’t work. We both had our obligations. He was a distraction from my duties to the Ospreys, and I was a distraction from whatever his real life was. Nevertheless, as I climbed into bed and drifted, it was with the scent of him still on me, and the memory of his mouth on mine.