The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(22)

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. The creature made a sound between a scream and hiss before it whipped around me, toward the water.

I couldn’t let it escape. It would just find someone else to attack, and I could only imagine the kind of damage it would do if left unchecked.

I lunged for the beast, driving my blade deep into its side. Too deep. As I tried to pull it out, the snake-lizard swung around and the hilt slipped from my hand. My sword went skittering across the paving stones and the creature crouched as though to leap onto me.

My hands found my daggers, but I was too slow. The wraith beast’s front feet hit my shoulders and I dropped backward, trapped under the weight of the beast. Venom glistened on the fangs—

I jerked up my daggers and thrust both blades into its throat at the same time as I brought up my knees and shoved it off me.

The beast rolled away, blood pouring from its wound. It didn’t attack again, but its chest still moved with breath.

One eye on the creature, I bent to rinse my daggers in the river, then find my sword.

“Black Knife,” someone breathed.

I spun to find the family still huddled in the entrance to the street, away from the fighting, but close enough to watch.

Without a word, I snatched my sword and dragged the good edge along the snake-lizard’s neck once more, just to be sure. White mist poured upward; I moved out of the way.

“Thank you, Black Knife!” one of the women called. “Thank you for saving my daughter!”

“Don’t.” It was my fault the wraith had come. My fault Skyvale had been transformed into this nightmare. My fault it would only get worse.





EIGHT


THE NEW PATROLS were such that climbing up the front of the palace would be asking to get caught. That made my placement at the back of the Dragon Wing convenient for sneaking in and out.

When I climbed to my balcony and hopped over the rail, my landing was silent.

A light shone in my sitting room.

I’d left the suite dark, but obviously someone was there now. A maid might have come looking for me. Sergeant Ferris, maybe. Still, I made sure my daggers were loose in their sheathes, ready to draw, and I slipped into my bedroom.

The room was dark. Quiet. I stepped deeper into shadows as I pulled the door closed behind me.

Light flared: the gas lamps in my bedroom hissed to life, and a portly man appeared next to the door.

Prince Colin Pierce. Overlord of Aecor Territory.

My daggers were in my grasp before my eyes finished adjusting to the blaze of light, but Prince Colin held up a hand. “Better not, Princess. There are those who aren’t certain you weren’t the one to assassinate my brother.”

“You know I didn’t touch King Terrell.”

“Do I?” He motioned toward my weapons. “Seems to me you’re capable of reaching well-guarded locations and using those weapons. You are Black Knife, after all. Suppose I was to tell someone I saw you creep back into your quarters like a thief, after you were forbidden to leave the palace? What would everyone say?”

“Suppose you did. Oh, how awkward the questions would be for you. Why were you sneaking into a young lady’s bedchambers? What were you planning on doing to her?” My pulse thrummed in my throat; that was a good question.

He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, dear Wilhelmina. All I’d have to say is that I was invited here. You want Aecor, after all. Everyone knows what you are: Black Knife, identity thief, flasher, wraith animator. You can claim you’re trying to apprehend your friend Patrick Lien as much as the rest of us, but for all I know, you were out there warning him of our plans and tactics.”

Blood pounded through my ears. He was threatening me. “What do you want?”

His smile crept up like a spider. “What do you think I want?”

“Aecor. You want me to give up my kingdom.” And if I resisted . . . then what? He’d instigate an investigation? Happen upon proof I’d gone out as Black Knife?

“I want you to give up everything.” His gaze slid down my body, as heavy as a touch. An awful crawling sensation made my breath hitch and my body shudder. Phantom hands slithered across my skin, bruising, and a desperate part of me wanted to rush forward and drive my daggers into his chest.