The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(96)

Wind tore at my mask and pushed between my fingers; if I lifted up my arms, I might be able to fly.

Tendrils of heavy, white mist wove around the cracked columns and statues of a nearby mansion, and the screaming became a whisper. My name fell into the cracks of other sounds: between the splashes of a fountain, the crackles of the fire, and the gasps of my breath.

“Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina. Wilhelmina.”

The whole world was calling my name.

No, not the whole world—just the wraith I’d brought to life.

All this mist was here from the wraithland, and it was alive. Sentient. I hadn’t created a beast, but living wraith. It stank, sharp and acrid and toxic, and even as I watched, the stone statues twitched and began to move, while rose beds—those that hadn’t yet burned—began to petrify.

Wraith was everywhere in this city, and it had come to find me.

I stretched out my hands to encompass the whole area, just as I had in the wraithland. “Go back to sleep.”

“No.” The world spiraled into a thousand voices. “Please. We’ll die.”

It was going to argue with me?

But even as I was about to give the order again, feathers of mist began to break off and sink to the ground, lifeless but still toxic.

No—no, this was a bad plan.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Wake up! Stay awake.”

The air shimmered and thunder struck, and life crackled down the tendrils of wraith.

“Become solid!”

The odor of wraith seared my nose so that my eyes watered and I couldn’t see straight, but when I wiped at my eyes, the white mist was coalescing in the street. Heavy, pained groaning came from the wraith as wisps of mist flew at it from all over the city.

“Wilhelmina.” Its voice grew less wild, more contained as the wraith amalgamated into a single, solid mass.

Head spinning, I hooked my grappling hook onto the wall and began descending to the street. If this corporeal thing was just as destructive as the incorporeal, I needed to be ready to command it—or fight it.

Powdered glass crunched under my boots when I landed and took a few tentative strides toward the swirling mist. My hand stayed on my sword. My glare stayed on the wraith. Distant were the sounds of flames and screams and thunder; my focus tunneled on the pitiful cries the wraith made, the desperate way it said my name as though I’d save it from this torture.

The last of the mist sucked into the new form, and I gasped.

It was a boy.

A corporeal, wraith-white boy who shivered in the rain and wind. His wiry body was hairless, unclothed, and when he looked up, his eyes were wide and round and as blue as the midday sea.

He climbed to his feet and turned a complete circle, inspecting the demolished area. Shattered fountains. Statues in a terrifying state of almost-movement. “Where is Wilhelmina Korte?” Glass dug at his bare feet, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I must find Wilhelmina Korte.”

I ripped off my mask and drew my sword. “I am Wilhelmina Korte.”

The wraith boy stared for a heartbeat, then dropped to one knee. His body folded like a sheet of paper. “My queen.”

I squeezed the hilt of my sword and took a step toward the boy. He was real. Alive. A person. Wind tugged at the mask in my left hand, a small black banner. “You’re what saved me in the wraithland,” I said.

The boy looked up and met my eyes. His body didn’t move, though. His shoulders stayed curled toward the ground, so the way he lifted his face made it look as though his neck were broken. “You commanded me, Queen Wilhelmina. You commanded me, and I will do anything you desire.”

Cold spiraled through me, freezing every sliver of awe I’d held only a moment ago. He wasn’t a person. What had I made?

“But there will be consequences.” His teeth shone when he smiled wickedly. “There are always consequences.”

“What are you?”

“Yours to command, Queen Wilhelmina Korte.”

A quiet gasp alerted me of an audience. Lights in the windows of the surrounding mansions brightened and dimmed as people pressed to see us, staring down at the wraith boy and me. They’d seen what I’d done. Who I was.

“Wil?” The voice made my heart pound. “Wilhelmina?”

I turned to find Crown Prince Tobiah in an Indigo Order uniform, James at his side, and an army at their backs. My name rippled down the ranks.

“The lost Princess of Aecor is Black Knife,” someone said. “Wilhelmina Korte.”

“Wil?” Tobiah stepped forward.

At once, the wraith boy was on his feet. His fingers elongated, his spine lengthened, and he lunged for Tobiah with uncannily strong, fast legs.

“No!” I took off at a run, several paces behind. “Stop!”

Tobiah and James whipped their swords up to guard, and the men at their back echoed the motion, but it wasn’t necessary.

At my cry, the wraith boy halted and spun to face me, his body back to normal proportions.

The prince’s army wasn’t so easily stopped, though. Dozens of men rushed toward the wraith boy, their boots stomping the street like drums. They were going to kill him.

I threw myself in front of the boy, my arms out wide, my sword pointed at the ground. “Don’t!”

In the space of a breath, Tobiah’s expression shifted from confusion to fear, and he stepped in front of me, his sword lifted to defend me. James hurried to protect Tobiah.