The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(64)

I let my gaze follow the length of the barrier, running north. It curved around the manor house and grounds, and then was lost beyond the fog and forest.

This was what magic use created. This was why Black Knife hunted flashers, and why the Indigo Order was merciless, and why the Wraith Alliance had been written. This was terrible, the worst thing I’d ever seen—and I’d seen so much—so why had my parents refused the treaty? Why had they allowed magic use to continue, if this was the consequence?

Because they believed magic was acceptable in emergencies, as long as it wasn’t relied upon? That was what I’d always thought, though with little proof, but what if there was more to it than that?

I returned to the very edge of the lake until the toes of my boots grazed the water. The depths were crystalline, offering a perfect view of fish and plants and barrier scales scattered along the green bottom.

The water was cold with autumn, but it didn’t feel strange or magical when I dipped my fingers in, then shook off the droplets. The only thing unusual about Mirror Lake was that there was nothing unusual about it. It reflected a clear, unblemished sky, with healthy branches hanging over the water. And these things were normal outside the reflection, too.

It was as though the wraith didn’t touch the lake. Because of the barrier pieces?

Maybe my parents had wondered if there was a magical solution to the wraith, and didn’t want the Wraith Alliance to prevent them from pursuing that option. That seemed possible.

For an hour I roamed around the edge of the lake, pausing to fill pages with notes and drawings of the landscape.

In the village, Ferguson gave a loud, annoyed snort.

“Just a minute,” I muttered. Bossy horse.

Wind picked up as I was sketching the shape of the silver scales. My paper rustled, and the ink dried on my pen. I shivered and found another angle, protecting my work from the wraithy grit that rose, but the wind followed me, twisting around my body like a serpent.

Run away, the wind whispered. Hide now.

Ferguson whinnied and yanked at his lead. Whites shone around his eyes and his cries grew more panicked.

Hands shaking, I wiped off my pen nib, closed the ink bottle, and threw them in their case. Wind tugged at my clothes, dragging everything sideways. With my supplies secured, I scrambled to my feet and adjusted the black mask, scanning the area for anything dangerous—anything the wind might be warning me about.

There was nothing.

Ferguson stamped and jerked against his lead as rain hissed all over town. But the sky was still that hazy blue.

Rain flew upward from the earth, and the sky became a wide, sucking mouth. Clouds shot up from the ground and became teeth.

I screamed and ran for Ferguson. Water poured up my trouser legs and jacket, caught inside my mouth and nose, even through the silk mask. I grasped around my face, struggling to keep from drowning as I ran toward the edge of town.

Run away. Hide now, the wind chuckled in my ears.

Ferguson wrenched himself free from the tree where I’d tied him. Hooves thumped, coming closer, louder and louder as rain drove harder.

Blackness swarmed in from the west, and the sky went dark—everywhere except directly over the water. Dots of darkness flaked off where they flew too close over Mirror Lake, and then I could see nothing beyond my outstretched arm. Just rain.

For a moment, the only thing I could hear was my ragged breathing as I ran. My footsteps pounded the wet ground as I reached for Ferguson. He’d been close just a moment ago.

Then came the buzzing. It was loud, low, and a constant drone that filled my ears completely.

Something small hit my arm, like a pebble. Another struck my cheek. A lump crunched under my boot and then the swarm descended.

Bugs—thousands and thousands—hurled themselves onto the village. They flew down in torrents, thudding and beating in the rain. Prickly legs scratched at my hands and forearms, climbed up my jacket and trousers. They caught on the silk of my mask, creeping in through the eye slit to touch my face.

I screamed and scratched at the bugs, but they poured into my mouth. I spat them out, but I couldn’t breathe against the hard little bodies all trying to crawl up my nose. Their legs pried at my lips. They skittered around to the back of my neck and into my hair.

I turned back and ran for the lake, but the bugs and rain were so dense I’d lost all sense of direction. I slammed into a building, bugs crunching between my body and the wall, long legs pricking at my skin.

My heart raced as the droning grew deafening. I stomped and kicked, but there were so many bugs and they were everywhere. Panic brought one note of clarity: I would die.

No.

I had to do something.

Anything.

I coughed, spitting bugs. My voice was garbled. “Air!” I thrust my hands out, though leggy little bugs just caught on my fingers and crawled up my sleeves. “Wake up!”

Thunder joined the droning. Drumming built inside my head as the bugs crept inside my shirt and into the strip of silk binding down my breasts.

I clawed the bugs away from my mouth. “Save me!”

“Wilhelmina!”

Wind blew from all directions, harder than the rain, more relentless than the bugs. I staggered and fell as the wind shouted my name again and again.

And then everything went silent.





TWENTY-THREE


I AWOKE FLAT on my back with my limbs splayed akimbo, resting on a prickly bed. Sunlight beat into my eyes. My clothes were dry, though I vividly recalled rain. And insects.