The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(6)
Melanie and I worked the remainder of the night, collecting enough supplies to last the Ospreys three or four weeks, if they were frugal. After sleeping for a few hours in the inn, we left Skyvale, picked our way through the refugee camps that huddled outside the city, and headed east toward the old palace in the mountains, where the Ospreys had lived for almost nine years.
We ascended into cooler air and patches of heavy mist, which softened the carpet of leaves on the worn road. Birdcalls and wind in the trees obscured any sounds we might have made.
Half an hour later, mist gave way to the moss-covered stone walls of the old palace. East Pass Watch was an ancient fort-style castle, with several towers and tiny windows meant to be defensible on the cliff side. Kings of the past had tried to build additions to the castle several times, until it was an awful mishmash of eras, pieced together with pride and sweat and contempt. No wonder it had been abandoned almost two hundred years ago in favor of the newer palace in the valley. Sometime in the last century, a section of the south wing had collapsed, and now ivy crawled into every crevice, camouflaging the castle as it destroyed it.
Drafty and dirty, heavy with the weight of age-old battles, this was the only home we’d known since Aecor. Most of the Ospreys didn’t even remember Aecor or the orphanage. Just . . . this.
“Glad to be home.” Melanie hiked her bag into a better position on her shoulder, then spent a moment tugging free pinned strands of hair.
But this wasn’t home, no matter how long we spent here.
I whistled the four-note signal as we approached the castle wall, and high up in the ramparts a shadow slipped away.
The last few minutes of trudging through the main curtain and bailey seemed unusually long, thanks to my heavy load, but a silhouette in the entrance to the state apartments urged us onward. Patrick Lien waited with his hands behind his back and his shoulders squared. “I got your report,” he said as we approached. “I can’t believe you let Black Knife live.”
“I’m not a murderer.”
“You know that doesn’t make a difference to him. He’d capture you if he had the chance.”
Patrick was the oldest of the Ospreys, and while I was the heir to Aecor, he’d become the natural leader of the group. He didn’t know about my magic—I didn’t think—but that didn’t make his statement any less true. Black Knife would gladly arrest any of the Ospreys. We were thieves, after all. That we’d witnessed our parents’ murders, been kidnapped, and wanted only to take back what was ours would be inconsequential to his judgment of us.
When I didn’t respond, Patrick’s expression grew harder. “Anything else?”
“We checked the guard routes around the King’s Seat,” I said. “They’re the same as before. Sneaking out and back in won’t be a problem.”
“Good.” He glanced at the bags we carried and gave a sharp nod. “Put those away and clean up. We’ve been working on your documents all morning. They should be ready for your inspection.” He held open the heavy door for us before vanishing into the hall.
I pretended not to notice as Melanie gazed after him. Like General Lien, Patrick cut an imposing figure. Unlike his father, he’d never hit anyone out of anger. Of that he’d always been very careful.
But would it have killed him to help carry our supplies?
Biting back weary grunts, we hefted our bags and headed toward the general supply room. This whole wing was ours; we’d appropriated and restored—as much as we could—a large section of the state apartments nine years ago. But there were so few of us, we took up only a small portion of what was once a spectacular and prestigious place to live.
After we unloaded and washed the worst of the grime from our hands and faces, we walked to the common area, lively with the other ten Ospreys’ chatter.
The windows had been thrown wide to invite in as much light as possible. The upper frescoes were darkened with age, and peeling, but we’d given the lower walls a fresh coat of white. It made the chamber seem brighter, especially when the sun shone directly through the east-facing windows. When it got cold, we shuttered all the windows and stuffed rags into the cracks, but these days of early autumn were still fine.
The others were huddled around a big, round table with papers strewn across the old wood like memories. Seven boys and five girls: we were a small group, all that was left of Aecor’s high nobility.
Ronald and Oscar Gray—the eighteen-and seventeen-year-old sons of a now-dead duke—waved and went back to discussing whatever medical notion had caught their attention this week. Connor sat beside them, wide-eyed and attentive while words such as arteries and blood clots were used.
Across the table, Paige Kendall, Theresa Markham, and Kevin Walton, the other older Ospreys, were working with Ezra Bradburn and Carl Darby over a handful of maps, asking the younger boys to point out the locations of various lords’ holdings.
Melanie and I took seats at the table, both of us restraining relieved groans. Last night’s fight had left bruises.
Patrick didn’t glance up from the document he was studying. “Now that you’re back, we’ve got a lot to cover and I’ve just received word of a new hunt.” He looked at Quinn. “This one’s yours and your brother’s.”
Quinn sat up straighter. “What is it?”
“In a moment.” Patrick stood and Quinn shrank a little, but the excited light didn’t leave her eyes, even as everyone else quieted and looked up. “Now that Wilhelmina has returned, we’ll finish these documents and go over the plan. I want everyone to be absolutely clear on their parts in this, especially Wil and Melanie.”