The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(90)

“You don’t trust anyone? Even the other Ospreys?”

She shrugged. “I trust that they want what’s best for you. Paige. The Grays. The others in Skyvale.” Her voice hitched; we’d been separated so long now. “They wouldn’t betray your confidence, but the fewer people who have all the facts, the less of a chance that anything gets back to Patrick or his people.”

“Those sound like Patrick’s words.”

“I know.” She stopped walking and crossed her arms. “When Patrick and I were together, it was exciting. Secret. I thought I could smooth out those pieces that made him harsh and reckless. I thought I could dig up his good parts and make them shine brighter.”

“It’s not your job to do that.”

“I know that, too. Now. And I know he wasn’t ever going to change, because he doesn’t want to.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But for all his faults, he does have virtues. He’s an incredible strategist. He wins wars in spite of the odds. And he knows how to keep secrets.”

“Oh, does he ever.”

Her smile was faint, fleeting in the darkness. “I learned a lot of important lessons from Patrick, including how to be careful. And this situation with the Red Militia applies, particularly since I’m trying to use his own tricks against him.”

“All right.” I hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I understand why you went with him during the Inundation, but don’t leave me again, Mel. I need you.”

She put on a smirk. “Clearly. That wraith boy, Prince Colin, and now you’re dressed as Black Knife.” She swiped the mask from my belt. “The clothes definitely suit you, but this is unsettling. What’s going on?”

“It’s not just unsettling, but a long story, too.”

“We have time.”

“Not for the whole thing. Saints, I’m not even sure I should tell you the whole thing. There are too many secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”

A salty tang rode the breeze, chasing us as we moved deeper into the lowcity. Houses and shops and courtyards grew ever more shabby, some rotting away from the salt and marsh.

“All right,” Melanie said at last. “Don’t betray anyone’s secrets. But tell me this: do we still hate him? Just a few months ago you were lecturing me on what a menace he is, and now you’re wearing his uniform.”

My memory conjured up the black-clad boy stopping me before I killed a thug, forgiving me my use of magic, following me out of the city because he was worried. And the way he’d trusted me not to look when we’d kissed.

That boy—I didn’t hate him at all. “I miss him.”

“Well. That’s different.” Her voice was soft, just under the howl of wind cutting around a corner.

“It is. Things I believed were straightforward aren’t, really. Everything’s so complicated.”

She took my hand. Even through our gloves, her fingers warmed mine. “No matter what else changes, we won’t. I still love you, even if you dress like a vigilante now.”

“Really?”

“Well, I’m obligated to mock you for the rest of our lives.”

I squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

Steering clear of police patrols, we hurried to the blocks of factories that hulked over the houses and shops, silhouetting starlight. As a child, I’d never been permitted east of Castle Street. Coming here now—even years older and having seen the worst parts of Skyvale—sent thrills of disobedience through me. “Which one is it?”

“Water processing and filtration. There.” Melanie pointed to a large square building with pipes running along the roof and walls. Rusted metal gleamed with water droplets.

“Let’s look around and meet on the far side in ten minutes.”

She nodded.

The darkness was a curse and blessing. I crept around the north side of the building, feeling my way along the crumbling stone wall. I kept my steps silent on the gritty flagstones—heel, ball, toe—hyperaware of every scrape and hiss of gravel. Though I listened hard for voices or breathing, there was only me. The only scents were salt and water and waste.

At last I came to a metal door. In the darkness, I felt out the shapes of a lock and knob, but I didn’t test them. I continued on, counting three more doors. There were no windows on the ground floor. No evidence of Red Militia occupation.

Melanie was already at our meeting place. “Anything?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “Doors. No guards.”

“Same.” Her frustrated sigh was barely perceptible. “No sign there’s anyone here.”

There might be footprints or scrapes on doors or walls, but those would be visible only during the day. And they wouldn’t necessarily be from Red Militia.

“I saw a few windows up high, but Patrick would have warned them to stay out of view.”

Definitely. If we couldn’t hear voices conveniently plotting the next insurgency, that left one option.

“We go in.” We had to be sure this was their hideout before we brought in police or soldiers, and alerted the Red Militia of information leaks.

She blew out a breath. “All right.”

“Any idea of the layout?”

“Very little. I didn’t spend much time away from Patrick.” She jerked her chin to the south side of the building. “But I found what looks like a loading area. There might be people holed up near there, but I bet it gets drafty.”