The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(45)

With a wild cry, I charged him again. His sword arced through the air, forcing me back again. I couldn’t get inside his guard.

“Stop!” He took three long strides so that my back was against the stone wall, next to the thug.

I kept my eyes on the sword as I feinted and ducked beneath his guard. Pebbles dug against my palms and thighs as I rolled to my feet again. Strands of sweat-dampened hair obscured my vision. I dragged my arm across my forehead to peel back the hair, and the figure in black took advantage of my distraction and batted my dagger out of my right hand.

“Stop,” he said again. “You’re not a killer.” He knocked the other dagger away from me. Both of my blades whumped onto the hard-packed dirt.

My hands fell to my sides as clarity shrieked through me.

It was Black Knife.

And I’d just used magic.

I swayed on my feet and stared at him, heart hammering with the surge of adrenaline. “Stop following me.”

“Are you all right?” He stayed where he was, sword loose in his grip. I wanted to run, but it wouldn’t take much for him to pin me against the wall, sword point at my throat. The man already stuck there—stuck by my magic—groaned. His head lolled, but he didn’t wake.

Lightning flared and thunder rolled through Skyvale. I willed my legs to move, to get me out of here before Black Knife realized what I’d done.

Could he have seen it? No, it was too dark. Heard? Unlikely, given the wind gusting and cutting around corners. The air was heavy with moisture and that waiting sensation. Waiting for the storm. Waiting for Black Knife to make a move.

“What did you do to him?” Only the vigilante’s eyes were visible as he stepped around me—toward the man I’d almost killed.

As Black Knife sheathed his sword and inspected the man, I gathered my weapons and backed away. Long, silent steps. Shoulders hunched. Daggers ready. I kept my breath slow and quiet, desperate to soothe the frantic beating of my heart. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t force myself to calm down. Not with Black Knife right there, with evidence of my magic.

I made it five steps: across the street, to where the fiddler had been.

“He’s been fused to the wall.” Black Knife swore and spun around. In heartbeats, he closed the distance between us. “Did you do this?”

“I’m leaving.” I dared another step away, but Black Knife caught my elbow and ducked my dagger when I swung it around. “I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you.” He trapped both of my wrists in his hand as he drew a length of black cord from a pouch on his belt. “You could have killed him. He’ll probably die anyway, if I don’t find someone to help him.”

My whole body trembled as I tried to jerk my arms away. I couldn’t even pull my dagger around to cut him.

When an icy wind cut through the street, I shook so hard that my blades fell from my hands again, and Black Knife had me bound—wrists and ankles. He was fast.

Or my mind was slow. Maybe both.

The man melted to the wall, the girl with her fiddle, the report about Quinn and Ezra, Patrick’s declaration of our future together—

It was all too much.

A heavy sob choked out of me.

At least if Black Knife turned me in to the Indigo Order, I wouldn’t have to face Melanie. I wouldn’t have to bother chasing the rumor about the lake.

I wouldn’t have to worry about ruling a kingdom when I didn’t know how.

“What’s wrong with you?” He stood and looked down at me.

I sat in the street, hunched over myself. I couldn’t remember dropping, but now my thighs were pressed against my chest, and my wrists and ankles were bound together. When I tugged, there was no slack. It wouldn’t be long before I lost feeling in my hands and feet.

“What happened?” He loomed over me, a tall, dark shadow in the night. The sky shuddered with another peal of thunder. Black Knife knelt, sighing heavily. “I’m going to find help for your friend over there. If he dies—” The vigilante shook his head. “Pray he doesn’t die. Then I’ll come back and decide what to do with you.”

I pulled against my bonds, but they only tightened.

“Stay put.”

It started to rain as Black Knife vanished down the street. Heavy drops soaked my clothes, making me shiver, and the man on the wall groaned loudly.

I’d never used my power to hurt anyone. I’d thought about it—sometimes letting the fantasies play a little too long—but I’d never given in to the impulse before.

If he died . . .

As rain fell in deafening sheets, I pushed my face into the crevice between my body and my knees, taking deep breaths to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t worry about that man—whether he’d deserved it or I’d crossed a line. I had to free myself. I had to get back to the palace and form some kind of plan.

I had to think.

Carefully, I felt around the cords binding my hands and feet. The knots were unfamiliar, though, at least by touch, and it was too dark to see. Pulling on any loop or end might result in a worse tangle. Dare I use magic again? No; he’d smell the wraith on the air and know what I’d done. He’d begin developing a theory about what, exactly, I could do.

If only I could reach my daggers.

I could scoot. I pulled up my head and waited for the next flash of lightning.