The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(68)
Patrick would outwait me if I refused to answer. He’d easily stare at me all day, even if I fell asleep. I’d wake up to find him glaring at me. Forget the wraithland; his watchfulness would be a nightmare.
“I don’t know who—what—was yelling my name.” But didn’t I? The wind? The air? Something more?
“I see. And what were you hoping to accomplish by risking your life, your friends’ safety, and your kingdom’s future?”
“It was for my kingdom’s future that I went.”
“So you abandoned your post.”
“I didn’t abandon it.” I balled my fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms. “I moved on for a little while, and now I’m going back.”
“This is why you tried to lie to me about the resistance groups—why you didn’t want me to know that you’d almost completed your work in the palace.”
“It’s my duty to see what will eventually destroy my kingdom.” I didn’t want to tell him about the lake. I wasn’t even sure what it all meant.
“Your kingdom is already destroyed.” His words came as a low growl, and his stare was unwavering. “Nothing else can destroy your kingdom until you raise it back up.”
“You’re wrong.” I’d never had the courage to say that to him before. It was one thing to lie to him, and to declare I would not marry him, but Patrick hadn’t been wrong since he was nine years old—since before the One-Night War. But surviving the wraithland made me brave, or foolish. “You’re wrong. My kingdom is far from destroyed.”
Patrick stiffened, and smoldering anger in his eyes warned that I should back down. “Have you forgotten the night the Indigo Army forced their way into Aecor City, burning shops and homes? Have you forgotten how they murdered highborns and commoners alike? Have you forgotten how they executed your parents in the courtyard? How can you say Aecor isn’t destroyed when there’s nothing left?”
“I could never forget that, the memory that haunts me every day. Especially when you’ve sent me to live among the very people responsible for the slaughter.” My voice broke, but I forced strength back into it as I continued. “But Aecorian people still live there, and more are returning home from the wraithland. It’s under Indigo Kingdom rule right now, but the land remains. The people remain.” I climbed to my feet, shoulders thrust back, and swept one arm toward the wraithland. “I’ve seen destruction, Patrick. I’ve seen what Aecor will become if the wraith doesn’t stop. I don’t know what the answer is, but I know something must be done.”
He was on his feet, too, all panther grace as he stalked toward me. “I’m bringing Aecor back the way your parents left it. Or don’t you care about their legacy anymore?”
“Of course I care about their legacy, but I don’t know what plans they had for the wraithland. I don’t know how they expected to keep the country safe when wraith came pouring in. Maybe they thought it wouldn’t happen. Maybe they believed there was another way. But maybe they were wrong.” My ears rang in the deafening quiet and I whispered, “Maybe resurrecting Aecor the way they ran it . . . maybe that is wrong.”
Patrick slapped me.
I staggered back, clutching my cheek. He stared at his hand, his mouth hanging open and horror written across his features.
For a heartbeat, he’d become his father.
“Wil—”
“Don’t.” I held my palms toward him, and he pulled back until he bumped the desk. I grabbed my pack and shoved my things inside it.
“I didn’t mean to.” His tone had softened, and he still clutched his hand like it was some kind of foreign thing. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I know.” I hitched my pack over my shoulders and headed for the window. When I glanced back, he hadn’t moved. “Be a better man than your father.”
Then I left.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE SUN STILL burned high. I couldn’t just walk into the palace in my current condition—trousers and messy hair and ten layers of grime all over me—so I roamed the Flags and let my mind wander.
Everywhere I went, I found knives carved into fences or painted onto walls. Some were merely in support of the vigilante, while others had pleading messages underneath them:
HELP ME FIND MY BROTHER. HE DISAPPEARED FROM UNDERMARKET STREET.
THE NIGHTMARE GANG IS EVERYWHERE. PLEASE HELP.
SOMEONE ON REDWINE STREET IS USING MAGIC. IT SMELLS LIKE PEE ALL THE TIME.
STOP. NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE.
YOU SAVED MY LIFE. THANK YOU.
PLEASE STOP THE WRAITH. EVERYONE SAYS YOU’LL DO IT. I BELIEVE IN YOU.
I walked past more drawings, messages, and bounty posters with hastily sketched silhouettes of a man in a mask. Some notes were familiar, now worn away under wind and rain, while others were fresh. Down several alleys, I caught children playing Black Knife; they battled one another with sticks or pipes or wooden swords.
What would happen when I saw him again? He’d come after me when I’d left Skyvale, and not even to arrest me. What did that mean?
The clock tower chimed every hour, louder as I made my way toward Thornton, where carriages emblazoned with crests flitted from shop to shop. I kept my face turned away in case anyone recognized me. Unlikely, given my current state, but I didn’t want to be too cavalier; coming into Thornton was already a risk.