The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(35)

“I have my reasons. As I’m sure you have your reasons for fighting and stealing.”

Wind howled through the alley below, bringing only the normal odors of the city: sweat and smoke and waste. The thuds and squeaks and cracks of humanity’s presence softened as Skyvale residents headed to bed.

“I’m not admitting to anything—”

He laughed. Laughed. “No, I don’t imagine you ever would.”

I hefted a dagger in his direction, and he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry. You were saying?” There was still a hitch of laughter in his voice as he made himself comfortable again.

“If I were going to fight and steal, it’d be because I had no choice. It would be for survival.”

“When does fighting and stealing become more?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Like what? Murder?”

“How interesting that’s where your mind turned.”

“Well, it was recently suggested that my life might be easier if I’d let someone die.” I squeezed my dagger hilt. “But I left one of these in a glowman’s hand to keep that from happening, you see.”

Black Knife shrugged. “I thought that was simply a diversionary tactic, to allow you time to get away.”

“It served two purposes.” I smirked. “But I’m not a murderer, and I wouldn’t just let someone die. Even a menace like you.”

He cocked his head, leaving his hands motionless in his lap. “Do you think others feel the same way? About stealing and whatnot, I mean.”

I hesitated. “Some. Maybe most. There are parts of Skyvale where people feel they cannot afford to be civilized. Desperation makes them dangerous. But I’ve seen others who would fight and steal regardless of their circumstances. Like those glowmen, and the gangs that supply them with chemicals and wraith. They just like the thrill of violence. They like hurting people, even children. They like making things burn.”

“That’s a very bleak outlook.”

“No. It means I know to be careful. You can’t always tell which way someone leans.” I shifted my weight to keep blood flowing through my limbs.

“And you lean toward desperate danger.”

I scoffed, gesturing at his black uniform and the array of weapons. “I suppose you think your reasons for fighting are nobler than mine.”

“I was going to ask about your circumstances. What led you to this life.” He paused. “Hypothetically, that is.”

Not that it was any of his business: “Hypothetically, I fight and steal to help others.”

“The other Ospreys. The children I saw.”

The Ospreys. The victims of the One-Night War. The people still of Aecor. Yes. I leaned toward desperate danger; I would do anything for my people.

In Hawksbill, the clock tower chimed midnight. Starlight, and a sliver of moonlight, set the mirrors aglow, half illuminating the boy across from me. His long, lanky body appeared relaxed, but I’d seen him spring up and fight frighteningly quick before. I could not relax.

“I think I agree with you,” he said at last. “Most people want only to survive. Perhaps, if they were able to afford to be civilized—as you put it—even the gangs and glowmen would be kind and generous and law-abiding.”

The thought made me snort. “That’s an optimistic view.”

“You make optimism sound like an accusation.”

“Maybe you haven’t seen as much of the city as you think.” Hadn’t he heard the glowman the other week? When I’d asked why he attacked my people, he’d simply claimed they looked easy.

Black Knife waited a moment before asking, “What about flashers? Do you think they’re deliberately using their magic to bring the wraith closer? Do you think they like making things burn?”

Every muscle in my body tensed. I wanted to leap to the other roof and strangle him, but that would get me nowhere—except maybe shoved to the street below. I took measured breaths until I could speak calmly.

“I need to go.” My thighs ached as I stood.

In only a heartbeat, Black Knife pushed himself up and crossed the gap. I raised my blades, but he grabbed my forearm and twisted me around, bending my wrist so the dagger fell to the rooftop. With one arm around my waist and his free hand clutching both of my wrists, his breath came in harsh gasps by my ear. “Who are you?”

Trembling with how easily he’d disarmed me, I hissed, “Take off your mask. Then we can discuss identities.”

His breathing grew deeper and even. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Let me go.” Dull pain throbbed through my wrist where he’d bent it.

“Once you tell me what you think about flashers. Do you think they’re just like gangs and glowmen, and eager for the end?” His body was warm against mine, even as the night cooled around us. Gusts of wind brought the scent of an oncoming storm. Veils of clouds blew eastward, shrouding the stars.

“No,” I said. “I think most are desperate. Everyone knows about the wraith, but it’s hard to care about that when your children are starving or cold or sick, or when gangs are demanding tolls for traveling streets you can’t avoid. They have nothing but this one ability, and the people in power forbid it. They’re terrified to use magic, but more afraid not to.”