The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(54)

Meredith sniffed. “That doesn’t mean—”

James touched my hand, drawing my attention again. “Lady Julianna, are you well?”

“I’m fine,” I breathed.

“Don’t fib, my lady.” Melanie frowned and felt my forehead and cheeks. “You’ve been holding back that cough for a week now, and you’re flushed. If you don’t get some rest, you’re sure to develop a fever.”

Tobiah glanced over, wearing an odd mix of boredom and concern. Meredith abandoned her defense of the theater and began inquiring whether I was getting enough rest.

By dessert—the most delicious-looking torte with cream and raspberries that I wasn’t allowed to eat, thanks to my condition—I gazed around listlessly until Melanie begged an excuse for us, and after a round of good nights and get wells, she helped me back to our apartments.


A few hours before dawn, I got up to finish packing.

Melanie plaited my hair, pinning and tucking it so that the length could be hidden beneath a cap. A tight tube of silk to flatten my chest and a borrowed jacket later, I was William Cole, a young guard hoping to pay his way into Bome Boys’ Academy; I was reaching above my station, no doubt.

“You look very handsome,” Melanie said, adjusting my hat once more. “All the ladies will swoon.”

“I don’t think ladies are allowed on this trip.” I checked myself in a mirror. The only thing missing was a sword, but I knew where to get one. “Just don’t tell Patrick where I am, right?”

“I won’t. I promise.” Melanie hugged me. “You’d better come back on time, or I’m going after you.”

“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to enter the wraithland or risk revealing yourself here.”

“But—”

I shook my head. “Swear you won’t.”

She let out a small sigh. “All right. I won’t.”

It was still dark when I hefted my pack onto my shoulders and climbed out the window, leaving Melanie staring after me.

I hoped I’d been right to trust her.





NINETEEN


IN THE PREDAWN hours, the caravan clattered into movement. Guardsmen shouted and vendors cheered as horse hooves clopped the packed dirt. The larger wagon wheels had been folded up, allowing the smaller set to run along the grooves of the old railroads. A deep, metallic hum filled the air.

Trains, of course, hadn’t been used in one hundred years—not since magic was banned—but the Indigo Kingdom had found a way to make the old tracks useful anyway. The route curved around the Midvale Ridge; autumn washed down from those heights, all red and gold and russet. On foot, the journey to West Pass Watch took two days, with an extra half day added for the wagons.

I was assigned to the rear guard, following in the caravan’s dust. Lovely. But I kept my silence and mimicked the way the men walked, one hand on my stolen sword as though I could cut down anyone if they dared threaten the merchandise. The sword wasn’t my best weapon, but it was a requirement for this job.

The other men chatted amicably as morning wore on, discussing the rations they’d brought and the previous guard work they’d done. Many, it seemed, had made a habit of working as hired guards, and knew one another well. It paid better than the Indigo Army; that much I knew.

“What brought you here, boy?” one of the men asked.

I shrugged and let my voice fall deeper—but not so much that it sounded like I was a girl pretending to be a boy. “It’s work.” The words rattled around in my chest as I adjusted my stride.

“Is this your first job?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Huh. You hold those weapons like it isn’t.” He eyed my belt, heavy with my daggers as well as my sword. My pockets and hidden compartments in my pack were filled with my usual equipment.

I shrugged again.

“Get in lots of fights back home?”

I shot him an annoyed glare. “Are you here to make friends or do your job? I’d rather not die in a refugee ambush, so kindly shut up.”

One man flicked his little finger at me, and the others grumbled among themselves for a moment before one said, “There was a caravan ambushed by refugees not two weeks ago. It was a caravan heading east, and they killed several merchants and guards. Refugees died, too, at least.”

Revulsion washed through me. Those hadn’t been refugees. Those had been Ospreys, posing as guards.

Just like me.

They must have been so frightened when the other guards brought down their swords.

I pushed away thoughts of Quinn and Ezra. Right now, I needed to work.

Eventually, the men lost interest in me, letting me lag behind. I kept close watch on the trees, listening for any sounds out of the ordinary. Ospreys practiced stealth in the woods as much as in the city, keeping to the shadows, keeping our voices low, and keeping alert because anything could happen to a handful of children—now teenagers—alone in the woods.

In contrast, the caravan was noisy with the hum of wheels on steel, hooves striking dirt, and the voices of men unworried about attack. The forest animals had gone quiet with our passing and would be no use as indicators of anything else.

Our shadows shortened before us and we paused to eat rations and let the horses drink from a stream that ran down from the mountains.