The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(40)

“Yes, indeed, Your Highness.” She curtsied deeply. “A list of resistance groups in Aecor, just waiting to hear of your triumphant return.”

I sat back and grinned. “The list is real.”

“Yes.” She withdrew a sheet of paper from her pocket. “I took the liberty of copying it and lifting a few blank pages of his stationery. The list is in Fredrick’s handwriting, which we already have samples of, and regular black ink, so you should be able to write the false list this afternoon. I’ll go back to plant it when you’re finished.”

“Excellent. Melanie, you are amazing.” I stood and hugged her tightly.

“Yes, I do try.”

I bounced on my toes as giddiness surged up inside of me. We were on the verge of completing our objectives. The draftees. The resistance list. The map. The intelligence on opposing forces. Soon, we could return to the old palace and begin contacting the resistance groups in Aecor. Patrick would tell them that I was alive. That I was coming to save them. Aecor would be mine.

But what about the lake in Liadia? It might be nothing—just a rumor, as Clint had said—but if the rumor were meaningless, why wouldn’t he tell me more about it? What was so secret there wouldn’t even be a record of it in the crown prince’s desk?

Once we returned to the old palace, Patrick would initiate the next phase of his plan. I’d be taken to Aecor to meet with various groups, giving them hope and confidence and inspiration to fight the overlord’s rule. I’d be spirited from place to place, quietly igniting a revolution among my people.

And then, on the tenth anniversary of the One-Night War, we’d strike against the Indigo Army. There’d be no time to investigate rumors once we left Skyvale Palace.

Let alone rumors that might take me to the wraithland.

“I also took the initiative of writing tonight’s report for Patrick.” Melanie held her hands behind her back and flashed a pert smile. “I’ve told him that we’ve accomplished all of our goals, except for the map in progress, but I don’t think that will take much longer. If you’ll write an addendum with details about your meeting yesterday and breakfast this morning, I’ll deliver everything tonight.”

I leaned my hip against the table and watched Melanie flutter about the room, pointing out the most valuable books and trinkets she wanted to take when we returned to the old palace.

Maybe her post-delivery excursions were nothing. She was working so hard on our mission—harder than I was, it seemed. Maybe she’d just needed time to get away. To breathe. I couldn’t fault that.

Maybe I could trust her with the mystery of the Liadian lake.

“I’ll finish the report tonight.” I forced my tone neutral, not at all like a test. “And I’ll take it to the drop.”

She spun, annoyance flickering over her face before she smoothed it into a calmly raised eyebrow. “But if anyone comes looking for you—”

“No one visits that late at night.” I stood straight and crossed my arms. Silk slithered over silk. “Or is there another reason you need to be the one to take it?”

I just wanted the truth.

Her sour expression as she turned away said everything. There was no reason to insist she make the drop if she weren’t intentionally hiding something.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s both go.”

“Fine.”





FOURTEEN


I SPENT THE afternoon in my room, rewriting the report to exclude mentions of the resistance groups. Instead, I said simply that we were closer. I left in the parts about the Indigo Kingdom troops in Aecor and the Aecorian soldiers being sent home from the wraithland; their recall was already in motion and would be difficult to hide from Patrick once the men began returning to Aecor.

Besides, he needed to think we were getting something done here.

Once I sealed the new report, I wrote several copies of the false list in Fredrick Goldberg’s handwriting. There was no reason to wait; the sooner the Indigo Army moved away from the real groups, the better.

As long as Patrick didn’t know we’d succeeded.

Finished with the forgery work, I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

The palace stationery was fine paper that absorbed ink nicely, with no bleeding or feathering. I mentally sorted through the different handwritings I’d acquired over the years. The general’s was fun, with lots of spiderweb-thin curls, but I’d just used that. Once, I’d used a tailor’s handwriting to rewrite a delivery card—the clothes had mysteriously ended up at the Peacock Inn where Ospreys stayed—but I wasn’t as familiar with that one, since I’d used it only that time.

After a moment’s more thought, I selected a pointy, flexible nib from my collection and dipped it into thick, blue ink. The handwriting had belonged to a priest in one of the Flags. He had a fondness for wild flourishes on almost every letter; the writing always made Connor smile when I used it, and we could both use a smile now.

Connor,

The palace is boring. I spend a lot of my time moving from social function to social function. The other day, I was expected to spin yarn with a bunch of the palace ladies. You’re not missing anything good except the food. This morning, I had fresh strawberries and cream. It was so rich my stomach hurt, but you would have liked it.

I hope you’re still practicing those exercises. Don’t forget to work on them every night, and keep up your medical studies with Oscar. I want to hear about everything you learned when I get back.