The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(67)

The lead man was tall, sharp featured, and vaguely familiar, though I was certain I hadn’t seen him before.

“The caravan is gone, son. They left four days ago.”

I let my shoulders slump. Now I’d have to walk by myself, without the protection the caravan offered.

“I’m Herman Pierce, House of the Dragon, Lord of West Pass Watch.” He didn’t offer his hand. Of course. I was just a lowly hired guard. “You will address me with ‘Your Highness.’ Is that clear?”

He was one of the king’s younger brothers—Tobiah’s uncle.

“Yes, Your Highness.” I dropped my face, taking note of the number of men surrounding us, the fading sunlight, and a silhouetted figure in the doorway to the barracks. My heart thumped. Was he here? Had he come?

“I’m going to take you where we can talk about what happened, why you went down the mountains, and why you came running back up like the very wraith itself was chasing you.”

Hadn’t he heard the voice?

“I’m also sending a letter to the caravan master requesting that you never work another job,” he said. “And when I send requests, they’re taken as orders.”

I heaved a sigh as though I actually cared. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Your employer sent someone to collect you. He got here mighty fast. I’d have let you stew here for a while.”

I glanced toward the silhouette in the doorway again. The slim figure wasn’t tall enough to be Black Knife. My heart sank.

He strode toward us, mountain lion grace and mountain lion eyes.

Patrick Lien.





PART THREE



THE KNIFE





TWENTY-FOUR


HIS HIGHNESS HERMAN Pierce had dragged me into an interrogation room, Patrick marching along behind us, and then he proceeded to question me for hours about my disappearance into the wraithland. The king’s brother was the kind of man who enjoyed watching people squirm, and I hated giving him the satisfaction. But young William Cole, who’d never been faced with royalty before, wouldn’t have been able to stand up to the prince.

“Why did you go in? You could have been killed.”

“I was sent.”

“By whom?”

“He didn’t tell me his name, just that I was to deliver a letter.” I flinched, as though afraid the prince was going to hit me, but no blow came. “Your Highness, he looked important. He told me it was urgent and that I had to deliver the letter to a twisted old oak tree. He said he’d pay me when I got back.”

“Well, you aren’t getting paid.” The prince thumped his fist on the table. He asked again about what I’d seen or done in the wraithland, and my answers were always the same. I gave as many detailed descriptions as possible—though I left out the locust attack and what I’d done. I still wasn’t sure what had happened, but I definitely didn’t want him to wonder, too.

“There was a voice as you rode up the mountain,” Herman said. “Yelling a name. Do you know anything about that?”

I shook my head, keeping my eyes wide and frightened.

He blew out a breath. “I have no more time for this. Get out of my sight.”

As though I were truly a lowly messenger boy, I ducked my face and scampered from the interrogation room.


Patrick had already gathered my belongings and acquired a pair of horses, so we were on our way out of West Pass Watch by dawn. We rode toward Skyvale in silence.

At night, in the same tense silence, we dug a fire pit as the forest gloom closed in and birds settled into their nests. Nocturnal creatures awoke, trees rustled in the breeze, and the faint scent of wraith stirred up a deep unease. Now that I knew just how potent the wraith stench could be. Now that I’d seen what kind of threat the wraithland posed.

Stones showed more emotion than Patrick as he settled on his bedroll and arranged a pot of water to boil over the fire. In stoic silence, he added dried meat, vegetables, and a packet of powdered spices. His glare never left me.

I refused to flinch.

When we reached Skyvale, Patrick led me to the Peacock Inn, where he ordered a large dinner of pork chops and bread and wine. While we waited, I unpinned my hair to let the braids hang down, removed the cloth ties, and slowly began unraveling the plaits Melanie had spent hours putting together. With a wide-toothed comb Patrick tossed at me, I untangled the grimy lengths of my hair and picked out broken locust legs, twigs, and pine needles. There’d be no real washing my hair until I got back to the palace, but letting it down now felt good.

While I finished transforming back into a girl, Patrick fetched our meal and set a plate on the bed beside me. I cleaned the plate within minutes, and then Patrick’s calm rumbled into the beginnings of a storm.

“What happened?” His voice was low and dangerous. It was that danger that had made him an attractive leader for the Ospreys, like he wore a thin film of control over everything he could do.

I pulled my jacket tighter, warding myself against Patrick and the autumn chill that blew in through the window. “I wasn’t sent to take a letter to anyone.”

“Obviously.” He crossed his arms and kept my gaze. “Someone was yelling your name. Your true name. Who were you meeting?”

The memory of something calling me back into the wraithland shuddered through me, but now, back in Skyvale, with Patrick scowling at me, everything from the wraithland felt . . . as though it had happened to a separate person, or in another life.