The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(50)

No, there was no us. He had an uncanny ability to find me, and I owed him for not turning me in to the Indigo Order when he discovered my magic. I hadn’t brought myself to ask why yet. He might still turn me in.

Nevertheless, we fought together, and we fought well. We followed leads painted on walls and fences, black knives with requests for help scrawled below. We found bounty posters that had been altered to alert him to the presence of a dangerous gang, and hints about where dealers were selling shine.

“That one.” Black Knife pointed at the street of linked houses below. All was dark and quiet. This neighborhood had no gas lamps, and the crescent moon had set below the horizon already.

“How can you tell?”

He folded the posters and slipped them into his pocket. “The smoke stains on the house. If there’d really been a fire here, other houses would have the damage as well. No, that’s a marker. It tells shine users that they can purchase here.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, I could see the smoke stains on the off-white walls. “Do you trust the information?”

“Yes.” He didn’t take his eyes off the house. “But I’m not going in until tomorrow night. There are a few more tools I need for this.”

I was glad we weren’t going in tonight. I’d already hidden a few yawns, and I had more work to do on my own before I could go to bed.

He stood and turned in the direction of Thornton. “Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Probably not.”

“Good. I’ll meet you right here at midnight.”

I pulled off my mask and tucked it back into my belt. “No promises.”

“Of course not.” He hopped across the gap between rooftops and faced me. “Oh, what would you like to be called?” If tones could be expressions, his would have been a cocky grin.

I narrowed my eyes.

“You should choose something you like. Eventually, someone will see the two of us together, and if you don’t choose a name, one might be chosen for you.”

“You’re assuming I’ll stick around.”

“I think you like the mask. It’s irresistible.”

I’d never met anyone so arrogant. “Is that how you ended up with Black Knife? From people who couldn’t tell the difference between a knife and a sword?”

He made a noise almost like a chuckle. “No. I actually did this to myself. But that’s a story for when we’re better friends.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“That’s why I’m waiting.” He performed a deep, graceful bow. “Until tomorrow, nameless girl.”

Then he was gone.


Of course I went back.

We took out the shine house easily enough, and then tracked down the supplier and manufacturer. Black Knife had an entire network of informants, signs people left on fences and windows—messages that looked like random scrawls to me, until he explained them.

During those hours of darkness, my thoughts cleared and I focused only on fighting and surviving. Black Knife was reckless when he fought, like he trusted me to keep him out of wraith beast jaws. Or maybe he’d always been like that.

Our only uncertainty came in the moments after killing a wraith beast, when a blast of mist rose up from the body, leaving both of us woozy and confused. But it always passed.

The lights of Skyvale silhouetted Black Knife as he cleaned the blood from his sword and sheathed it. “Usually, I can finish any wraith creatures within the first couple of nights after a storm. But not this time, even with your help. I think it will just get worse from here.”

“What do you think will happen when the wraith gets here?”

“Chaos,” he said. “Every refugee I’ve talked to has said so.”

He talked to refugees?

How interesting.


When we parted ways, I slipped through the Flags and over the city wall, well clear of the guard towers. Dawn was still hours away, but weariness tugged at my eyes and clouded the edges of my thoughts.

As I stepped into the dark camp of Liadian refugees, I shifted my stride to mimic Black Knife’s. I didn’t have his sword or gloves, but I doubted anyone would notice. I didn’t have his voice, either, but I could disguise mine. He was probably doing the same already.

Cool, sharp air twined through the tents and lean-tos. Within a circle of shelters, a small fire crackled, throwing a fractured glow among the handful of men guarding the camp. There were ten of them, all armed with clubs or other blunt objects. A few had short blades at their hips, and likely hidden within their clothes.

Sheep bleated at my passing, and one of the guards spun around to face me. “Who are you? Show yourself!” At his shout, the others snapped to attention, weapons raised.

My hands palm-up and out to my sides, I stepped into the light, and pitched my voice deeper. Raspier. “Who do you think I am?”

“Black Knife,” one breathed. The men all lowered their weapons.

“I’m chasing a rumor.”

The men gathered around, lowering their weapons. “What rumor?” A few narrowed their eyes as they took in my height. Tall for a girl, but not as tall as people expected Black Knife to be.

“A map in the palace shows a lake in Liadia marked with questions. What’s out there?”

The men exchanged glances. “No one at the palace believes,” said a boy not much younger than me. Small round scars dotted his face. “We were told not to speak of it.”