The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(80)

Home, home, home: the word thrummed in my head like a second heartbeat, distracting. I glanced at James behind me.

“When people came here from across the sea, Aecor was flat. Like any place that’s mostly coastal plains and marshes, it flooded. But the people loved the sea and couldn’t bear to leave, so radiants raised a plateau on which to build the city. Sandcliff Castle is carved from the land below it. It was built of this land, with this land’s magic, and for this land’s people. The keep held my ancestors for nine generations.”

Prince Colin’s smirk slithered onto his face.

Finally, the main gates finished opening to reveal Castle Street, a wide avenue leading up the hill and to the main keep.

People crowded along the sides of the road, lifting small children onto shoulders, while others climbed onto buildings or statues—anything that might offer a good view. Others leaned out windows and filled balconies. Their shouts shook the entire city.

The most prestigious shops lined Castle Street. They were meant to entice and impress visitors. Even now, with the city packed onto the street, merchants waved packets of spicy-smelling food, trinkets, and lengths of cloth. Black-coated police wove between the people, but no one paid them mind.

My heart pounded in time with the rising cry of my name: Wilhelmina, Wil-hel-min-a. The roar made my head spin with giddiness, and not even the gloom of Prince Colin’s stiff figure beside me could dim the fierce pride boiling in my heart.

Behind me, Melanie laughed and added her voice to the chorus calling my name. The Gray brothers roared.

We moved steadily up the road, our guards keeping the people back. Their whoops and applause were thunder in my ears as evening faded into twilight.

Halfway to the castle, the crowd began to shift.

Little by little, they pressed closer. While the people at the gate had been eager to see us—me—I caught a group here shaking fists, and others with signs calling me an Indigo whore and traitor queen.

“What’s happening?” Prince Colin shouted at his guards. “What are they doing?”

Suddenly Ronald and Oscar were flanking me, their horses pressed so close to mine our knees touched.

“We’ll take you to the tunnels,” Ronald said. “It will be safer.”

“No!” I would not enter my family’s castle like a thief, never mind my criminal history.

“Wil, it’s not safe.” James had kicked his horse ahead of ours, and one hand rested on his sword. “Look, it’s getting worse.”

People spilled into the streets. Police moved to corral them, but were largely ignored.

The jeers crescendoed, with people forcing their way to the front of the crowd. Some hefted clubs or wooden planks. A small, metal object flew through the air ahead of me: a chain link.

Melanie gasped.

“We can’t make it to the tunnels anyway,” I said. The crowd was so thick, impenetrable. People climbed onto the buildings lining the streets to shout from above.

One person threw himself toward the street, but fell short and took down three protestors. The gap closed immediately, trampling the jumper and his victims.

“Saints,” I breathed. My pulse raced as adrenaline spiked. This wasn’t just a protest; this was a mob.

“At least put your head down.” Ronald pressed his hand on my back, pushing me toward Ferguson’s neck. Stiff mane hairs tickled my face. No matter how hard I resisted, Ronald wouldn’t let me up. He leaned his weight onto me, and when I tried to twist my head, he called for his brother’s help. Oscar’s hand fell on the back of my head, heavy.

Cacophony sounded all around, people calling for Prince Colin’s head and the Indigo Army’s surrender. Thousands of voices filled the air, and with the brothers’ hands holding me down, I couldn’t even peek. The only thing I could see was a sliver of road where Ferguson and Ronald’s horse didn’t quite touch. Dirt, bits of metal, and debris were scattered across the paving stones. A patch of red-brown shimmered and splashed, and my small breathing space filled with the odor of blood.

Shouts roared. Our group jostled. Ronald’s hand slipped while Oscar’s fell away.

I pushed myself up to find lines of Indigo Kingdom and Aecorian soldiers surrounding us like a wall of bodies. Those in the front had created a wedge to drive apart the rioters who’d moved into the street. In the uncertain light, I caught glimpses of metal flashing: swords had been drawn.

The din was incredible, making the street tremble. Wood, stale food, and hunks of dirt zipped through the air. On rooftops and balconies, men and women drew bows and daggers.

They wanted to kill us.

The brothers jerked closer to me, and Ronald screamed. An arrow shaft protruded from one arm.

“No, no.” This wasn’t happening. Not here. Not at home. This should have been a celebration.

“Wil! Get down!” Melanie looked like she was about to climb onto Ferguson. If she lifted herself too high, she could be hurt. I started to duck again, but an explosion in the convoy—followed by an ear-piercing shriek—split the air.

“Wilhelmina.”

It came from behind us, overpowering every other voice in the city.

The wraith boy. Chrysalis.

Then the screaming began. At first just one or two people. Then more. Cries for people to run, flee, the wraith queen was angry—

Questions formed on the Ospreys’ faces.