The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(29)

“What can you tell us of your time in the wraithland?” Fredrick’s tone turned patronizing. “If discussing it won’t be too difficult.”

Clint cleared his throat. “We do realize you’ve only just escaped. The horrors you must have endured would mark anyone. But we learn so much every time we speak to a survivor. If it weren’t so dangerous, we’d send more teams to study it. That you survived something that many trained men haven’t—that speaks very highly of you.”

It was nice of him to try to stick up for me, but I’d already made myself look weak. I’d have to rectify that.

Everyone listened, taking notes as I described the same events I had for King Terrell and Prince Tobiah my first day here. I kept my voice strong, letting it slip only when I spoke of the harrowing escape from my home—Julianna’s home—and nights in the wilderness with beasts prowling all around us. I needed my performance to be realistic and inspiring.

“We’ve heard reports of violent storms,” Tobiah said. “Did you notice an increase in activity after the wraith came through?”

I nodded. It was better to confirm these things. Everyone knew the wraith was terrible, and that it was coming. I didn’t want to give them a reason to underestimate it. “Before it arrived, summers steadily grew hotter, and winters colder. I’m sure you’ve noticed the same changes here. When the wraith hit the barrier and halted, we didn’t notice a drastic change, but when the barrier collapsed, the night immediately grew hotter.” I laced my fingers together and allowed my expression to harden, like armor against memories. “I couldn’t sleep much during the journey here. The howling. And it was so, so hot. But it snowed sometimes, too. Flakes as big as your hands. They melted as they hit the ground.”

That was one of the more uncommon rumors about the wraithland, but I’d heard it from a few different groups of refugees. It was legitimate enough for me.

They asked about other phenomena in the wraithland, questioning the same details multiple times from different angles. Each time I gave the same answers, biting back frustration over the repetition. They were only trying to be thorough, to coax out details I might not be aware I’d overlooked. Their questioning would have been more useful if I’d actually been to the wraithland.

At last, they were satisfied I knew nothing more.

I sipped the wine someone had set in front of me, then leafed through the papers from Tobiah. “The wraith began after centuries of industrialized magic, correct?” That was what my parents had taught me, and what I’d taught the younger Ospreys when it came time for them to learn.

“That’s the theory,” Clint said. “The overuse of magic triggered a cataclysmic reaction we haven’t been able to reverse.”

“But it has slowed,” Tobiah added. “If you put out the fire, it stops producing smoke. Maybe not immediately, but given time . . .”

“Hasn’t magic use ceased, though? The Wraith Alliance has been in effect for a hundred years, after all.” I pushed away the memory of my hand pressed against an old crate, magic on my lips as I bade it awaken. Any wraith created would have been minuscule.

Tobiah shook his head and gazed out the window for a moment. “When I was younger, I met a girl who told me that it was safe to use magic for emergencies.”

Me. He meant me.

“She’d grown up in Aecor, where people used to believe it was only great amounts of magic that contributed to the wraith problem. I was young, about eight, and curious. I became obsessed with learning all I could about wraith. I spent hours in the library, studying. Over the next few years, I met with every expert on magic and wraith in the kingdom, but they all said the same thing: all magic contributes to the wraith problem, even a little bit. And they all agree that magic is still being used. Today. Now.” He glanced at the men around the table, who nodded. Then, to me: “Ten years ago, Aecor was an independent kingdom in the east, not just a territory of the Indigo Kingdom.”

I held my breath.

“It wasn’t part of the Wraith Alliance. Then, though people were cautioned to use only small amounts, most didn’t listen. There were no consequences, so they used what they wanted.”

No, that wasn’t what I’d been taught. That wasn’t what I’d done.

“With Aecorians using magic as they wished, the wraith approached quickly. But since we conquered Aecor, the laws there have changed. Magic is forbidden, just as it is everywhere else.” Tobiah glanced at his uncle, the shadow of a frown flashing across his face. “And the wraith has slowed its approach. It has measurably slowed.”

My voice was hoarse. “This fact is confirmed?”

Everyone at the table nodded.

“That’s why the Indigo Kingdom is doing better than it has in almost a century,” said Colin. “There’s hope that the wraith will stop. The economy is stabilizing. There’s less violence.”

If there was hope, I hadn’t seen it. The Skyvale I’d always known was dirty, hungry, and flooded with refugees. And that didn’t seem to be changing.

“How are you measuring its movement?” I asked.

Clint rose and revealed a large wall map of unfamiliar landscape, with hashes of colored ink in bands across the plains. “Here. Once a month, we send a rider to place a marker at the edge of the wraithland. We track its progress on maps like this.”