The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(91)

So they’d likely find an office or someplace closed off. I followed her around the corner.

Faint light glimmered as the moon began its descent; it was just enough for me to make out the paved drive wide enough for three wagons, and several sets of double doors. Definitely a loading area—and a well-maintained one, considering Aecor had stopped using industrialized magic a hundred years ago.

The trouble with using these doors was that they were so big. Wind would howl in and alert occupants to our presence.

Well, we didn’t have much of a choice.

The second door we tried was unlocked. We slipped into a vast, echoing chamber, careful not to let the metal door slam behind us.

In the dim interior, I cocked an eyebrow at Melanie with a question. Had she noticed the silent way the door swung open and closed? Granted, we hadn’t opened it very far, but it’d had the ease of movement that came with often-oiled hinges.

She tilted her head, and understanding dawned on her face.

Someone very careful had been here.

Melanie and I pressed our backs against the wall, taking in the expanse of the room.

Rows of cleaning stations filled the space, some so high they required two ladders to reach. When the factory had been functional, salty or marshy water was pumped into cisterns, which radiants cleaned and purified. Good water was pumped out, into the city for general use.

Dust and grime covered every surface, but not a hundred years’ worth. Someone had been here. Maybe not now or yesterday or a year ago, but I’d lived in the old palace more than half my life. I knew what a century of neglect looked like, and this wasn’t it.

Unease gnawed at me as I scanned the area, but I found no movement, no sign anyone had noticed our entrance. If there were occupants, they were beyond the double doors at the far side. A chair held one open, and yellow light fell across the stone floor in a narrow banner, angled away from us.

Definitely suspicious.

As Melanie and I made our way through the immense room, I imagined the noise of water rushing through the pipes, radiants working in unison, and supervisors’ shoes tapping the stone floor as they marched through to keep everyone on task.

I forced my breath long and even as we approached the next set of doors and the lit room beyond them. Hopefully, we could get in, see any signs of Red Militia, and get out.

“I’ll go first,” I mouthed. Because she was my friend, but also one of my people. My heart beat hummingbird fast as I drew my sword and a dagger.

Melanie nodded and followed suit.

The chair was wedged into the door tightly enough that I could step onto the wooden seat, but I didn’t want to risk it creaking. I went for the more awkward but quiet option: stepping over and around it.

Straddling the corner of the chair, I glanced into the room. Several oil lamps illuminated the space, but there were no signs of people. Only a smaller chamber with doors at intervals. Some had windows showing offices, though the glass had long since broken and been swept out.

I finished my gangly move over the chair and held my weapons in guard position while Melanie came after me.

We were two paces into the room when the lights went out, pitching the factory into blackness.

“The queen and Patrick’s pet.” The woman’s voice came from just in front of us. “You’re right on time.”





THIRTY-TWO


A THOUSAND QUESTIONS raced through my mind, but only one mattered: How could I get out of this alive?

“If you know who we are,” I said, “you know that we’re more than able to take care of ourselves.” I tightened my grip on my sword and dagger. The dark was disorienting, but Melanie and I had fought in all sorts of conditions. We knew how to maneuver and defend ourselves without risking the other.

“Certainly.” The woman’s voice was cool and smooth, higher than average.

“Claire.” Melanie warmed my side and kept her voice steady. “Nice to hear you again. Please turn on the lights.”

Melanie knew this woman, but it didn’t sound like they were friends.

A snap echoed, and all the oil lamps flared to life, revealing a dozen men and women. All were armed, but none had their weapons drawn.

The speaker—Claire—had about ten or eleven years on us, but not height; she came up to my shoulder. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she stood with her arms crossed and one hip cocked. A smirk pulled at her mouth.

No, not a smirk. A short scar sliced the corner of her lips, giving her the look of perpetual attitude. Otherwise, her expression was blank, focused on assessing Melanie and me.

“You said you were expecting us.” Melanie clenched her jaw.

Either Patrick or Claire had planted Melanie’s sources to leak the information at the right time, or—

Claire had called Melanie “Patrick’s pet.”

No, Melanie wouldn’t betray me. Even now, she stood ready to protect me from the small group of Red Militia. She hadn’t even known I’d be out tonight.

“Yes,” Claire said. “I have several ideas for entertaining you. My favorite is to hold Her Majesty here while you scurry back to your castle friends and tell them to send away the Indigos and release Patrick. Then they can have their queen returned.”

A few others nodded.

“There’s a flaw in your plan.” I stepped forward to take eyes off Melanie, giving her a chance to find an escape, but the motion made everyone lift their hands to their weapons. Yet they didn’t draw, supporting my next point. “Imagine how upset Patrick would be if he learned you held the queen hostage. What would that tell the people of Aecor? Patrick’s goals would be derailed. No one would accept him as a leader of Aecor if he was involved with the people who held me hostage.”