The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(24)
Melanie fished the draft of our map from its hiding place behind a bookcase, and we got to work.
An hour later, everything was transferred to the larger paper, though we were still missing portions in the royal wing and details about who lived where. We’d get more over time, but for now . . .
“It’s almost a respectable map.” Melanie folded the smaller papers in with our collection of reports for Patrick, and a letter from me to Connor. “Think he’ll appreciate having the draft?”
I rolled my eyes. “It won’t be enough to please him.”
“Perhaps it will placate him for now.”
As I finished cleaning the pens, I mimicked his favorite disapproving tone. “You’re not working fast enough.”
Melanie deepened her voice into his, too. “We should have had the entire palace infiltrated with Ospreys by now.”
I couldn’t cage my laugh. “Yes, all twelve of us against thousands of them.”
“Nine. Quinn took Ronald and Ezra to raid that supply caravan.”
“Oh right.” Worry settled in my stomach again. “Nine.”
“Wil.” She leaned forward. “You know I only voted with Patrick because I do think they’re ready for that job.”
“Sure.” A shiver passed through me. Why had Patrick sent Ezra on such a dangerous mission? “I disagree, but I understand.”
“I know.” Melanie pushed herself to her feet. “Unless you need help with your hair and dress, Lady Julianna, I’m going to change and get these documents to the drop.”
“You just took a scheduled report last night.” Again, she’d stayed out later than necessary and denied it in the morning.
“Last night we didn’t have the spare map.”
“Very well.”
She beamed and pranced toward her bedroom.
I slipped the new map-in-progress in between other sheets of paper to hide it, then hurried into my bedroom and shut the door. I pulled the pins from my hair, letting the brown strands tumble down over my shoulders. A quick braid later, I was shimmying into a dark shirt and trousers when Melanie called from the other room.
“I’m going.” Her voice was high, almost giddy.
The sitting room balcony door clicked open and closed as I grabbed my dagger and waited by the door in my room. With the curtain nudged aside, I could just make out Melanie’s form moving across the courtyard, guards none the wiser.
Well. This should be fun.
I tucked my braid under a black cap and followed her.
The night was cool and breezy, with a pale odor of wraith on the air. After a quick survey of the nearby balconies—no one was out tonight—I grabbed the rail and swung myself over, one side pressed against the palace wall. My legs dangled, boot-clad toes scrabbling for purchase. I found a ledge and readjusted my weight, then wedged my grappling hook around the balcony rail. Cautiously, I climbed three stories down to the gentle sloping roof below.
I gave the line some slack, shook it, and coiled it so that it fit in a clip on my hip.
The tiles on the roof were slick, but the treads of my boots gripped and my footing was secure. One more climb down to the ground. My toes hit the courtyard with hardly a sound. The whole night held its breath as I raced after Melanie.
She was far ahead of me by now, a slim figure keeping to the shadows, nearly invisible. If I hadn’t been looking for her, I’d have never known she was there.
But she and I had the same training. I knew all her tricks.
I followed her through the King’s Seat and Hawksbill. The mansions were hulking shadows in the dark, glimmering here and there with mirrors. Fountains splashed and wind chimes rattled. There was a party in one of the houses; laughter carried from an open window. Farther away, dogs barked, and the clock tower chimed twenty-three: an hour before midnight.
When Melanie climbed over the wall surrounding Hawksbill, I followed a minute later.
In Thornton, she stayed on the streets, but I ascended to the rooftops where I could keep an eye on her. While most of the shops were closed this late, the inns and taverns were brightly lit with candles and lanterns. Gas lamps hissed at intersections, making it impossible for anyone to hide, but Melanie slipped through the crowd, unnoticed. A few times, her hand flashed out and into someone’s purse. She pocketed her prizes.
At last, we reached Laurence’s Bakery, its windows dark now. Melanie stole around the back of the building and wrestled out a loose brick near the chimney. She stashed our reports and map inside the hollow, then replaced the brick.
It hadn’t taken her three hours to get here, so—
Melanie glanced over her shoulder before she climbed onto the roof and headed south, deeper into Thornton. Now what?
Maybe she was bored not being able to steal things in the palace and simply needed to scratch that itch. But she wouldn’t hide that from me, surely.
I followed, keeping my distance as she crept across peaked roofs, climbing and leaping and scrambling where necessary. Thornton’s architecture was such that anyone with the skill—and who didn’t mind heights—could use the roofs as a second and secret road. People almost never looked up, but we had to be careful in daylight; the mirrors scattered across the western faces of buildings could give us away.
In one of those mirrors, a shadow darted across the reflection of the slender crescent moon.