The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(88)

I exhaled relief. “Thank you.”

“I did go through your rooms. I wanted to make sure no one else found your belongings first.” He elbowed the bag he’d brought. “It’s all in here. The things I thought looked useful. Or incriminating.”

“Oh, Black Knife, how you’ve fallen.” I stared up at him, taking in the tilt of his head, the angles of his body, and the weariness in his eyes. This boy was not like Tobiah at all. “Now you’re helping criminals.”

“Just one.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure you’re a criminal.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “I steal things. I impersonate duchesses. I am a flasher, and I’ve used my power.” More than he knew. Much more.

“Are you confessing? After all the work I did to get you out, should I take you back to jail?”

I recovered some of my earlier haughtiness, wielding it like a knife. “That filthy place? Absolutely not.”

Black Knife grabbed the silk at his throat and tugged his mask off his face. Brown hair curled downward, just brushing his eyebrows. I’d been a fool not to see it before: the sharpness of his chin, the lean body, the dancer-like movements. But I’d never have thought a prince would care enough to become a vigilante for his city. Particularly not a prince who gave the impression of perpetual sullenness and boredom, and was well-known for being a poor swordsman.

It had all been an act, though. It had been his real mask.

It didn’t matter. None of it. Tobiah was already taken. I couldn’t have Black Knife.

If only they’d been separate boys.

“The truth is,” he said, “a long time ago someone helped me—someone who didn’t have to, and probably shouldn’t have. But for some reason, she thought I was worthy of saving. Not because of who I said I was, but because she believed I’d been wronged and she needed to make things right. She had the ideals and morals of a young child; I have always admired that.” Tobiah slipped his hands into his mask, frowning at the black silk. “While I thought I was doing the right thing as Black Knife, it’s true that I ended up hurting people. I didn’t wonder what happened to flashers in the end. I don’t have a solution, but I do know that throwing them into the wraithland is wrong.”

I pushed myself up, half sitting now, leaning on one arm. Cold wind breathed up the mountain, making the forest shiver. I shivered, too.

“Here.” Tobiah dug through a side pocket of the bag and pulled out the gloves he’d given me. “Let’s put these on before you freeze.”

“I have to go,” I said, shifting to sit straight. But against my better judgment, I held out my hands. He still looked like Black Knife, with those knee-high boots, the black shirt and trousers. If I didn’t look at his face, I could imagine . . .

Gently, he slid the first glove over my hand, careful to make it fit right; his fingertips breezed over the hollow of my wrist. “There’s a safe place for you in the city.” He swallowed hard, his throat working, and he began fitting the second glove over my fingers, over my palm. Even with layers of leather and wool and silk between us, my hands had never felt so alive.

“I can’t.” My hands stayed in his, feeling like an impostor again. All of this, the wraith and war, was my fault. “There’s something I have to take care of.”

He watched me, expression impassive. “Can I help?”

I closed my eyes against the harsh lamplight, and turned my head against the strengthening wind. “I did something bad,” I whispered. “Something awful. I tried to run from it, but I’m realizing that I’ll pay for things I didn’t do if I don’t take responsibility for the things I did do.”

He squeezed my hands, and a deep undercurrent of fear filled his voice. “What happened? What did you do?” He sounded like Black Knife. Like my friend.

“I want to be someone good. Someone worthy.” The confession was for Black Knife, not Tobiah. It was easier to imagine the boy in front of me as the vigilante. “For so long I’ve felt trapped by my parents’ legacy. I thought I had to be just like them, even though I had no idea how. And lately, I haven’t known how to reconcile what I’ve always believed was true and what I’m learning might be true. I spend so much time confused now. I miss the clarity and certainty that used to drive me.”

My hands dropped to my lap, and a heartbeat later, cool leather touched my cheeks as he cupped my face in his palms. He kissed me, sweet and sad and full of longing. When I drew back and looked at him, unshed tears glimmered in the corners of his eyes. “You could be telling my story.”

Thunder rolled in the distance, almost a voice. I could half hear my name in the sound, so much evidence of what I created.

I touched my lips, the leather gloves cool against my skin. “Don’t kiss me again.”

Hurt flashed across his face, but he nodded. “I won’t.”

“I said before that there’s only one side of you I want. But that’s not the side that matters. You’re promised to someone else, and you will need to give your whole self to her, and to your kingdom.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten what I promised my father.” His voice turned cool. A little bitter. “I wish things were different.”

“Wishing has never changed anything for me.” When I climbed to my feet, he followed.