I folded the letter, sealed it, and wrote Connor’s name on the back. Then, trying not to think about how I was intentionally delaying my return to the Ospreys, I cleaned pens and organized ink jars until the clock tower chimed an hour before midnight.
Melanie knocked. “Ready?”
I nodded, and we changed into black sweaters and trousers, armed ourselves, and slipped out into the darkness.
Without speaking, we made our way through Hawksbill and climbed over the wall, then kept to the streets in the market district. Perhaps she was working on an excuse to break away once we delivered the report.
It didn’t matter. When I wiggled loose the brick at the back of Laurence’s Bakery, there was already a note inside.
Both of you to the Peacock Inn. Bring the report.—P.L.
My heart sank. Patrick arranging a meeting in the middle of our deception—that could only mean bad news.
While Melanie fitted the brick back into the hole, I checked the area for observers.
A dark silhouette stood out against a mirror. Black Knife raised his hand in a wave, and I could almost hear him calling me “nameless girl” and his snide comments about my entourage.
“Ready?” Melanie pulled up her hood. “I guess it’s a good thing we both came after all, or one of us would have had to go back and fetch the other.”
“Sure.” When I glanced up again, Black Knife was gone. I’d seen him only because he’d allowed it.
That answered the question of whether he was following me.
We’d have to be extra careful on our way in and out of the palace from now on.
“Is something wrong?” Melanie touched my shoulder. “You look distracted.”
“I’m fine. I just thought I saw someone.” Why didn’t I tell her about Black Knife? Well, she wasn’t exactly honest with me, either. “Let’s make sure we’re hard to track, just in case.”
She smirked. “As though we’re ever not.”
And still Black Knife had spotted us. We’d have to change our drop location.
On our way through Thornton, we threaded through crowds, lifting hats and scarves to disguise ourselves from rooftop pursuit. I jostled someone, nicking a silver bracelet as I apologized; the Ospreys could sell it and buy the younger boys new boots. Once we entered White Flag, though, we kept our hands to ourselves. People here were as poor as we were.
There were no gas lamps in the Flags, which meant most of the decent people headed indoors soon after dark, if they could manage. Only gangs, drunks, and homeless people stayed on the streets at night, and to the latter we tossed the hats and scarves we’d picked up in Thornton. All throughout our walk, I kept an eye on the rooftops, watching for the familiar silhouette of Black Knife. But there was no one, at least as far as I could see.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t there.
The Peacock Inn wasn’t much to look at. The brick building boasted deteriorating columns and fading peacock feathers painted on the shutters. The windows here were just holes, no glass, so the patrons’ shouts and laughter and boasting fell from the inn like punches. Along its western face, the required mirrors were cracked, their reflections distorted.
I checked the rooftops one last time as we ducked inside the hot, noisy taproom. The stench of smoke and stale beer made my stomach roll as we wove through the crowd. A man’s hand strayed toward my leg, but retreated when I flicked my dagger from its sheath.
“I hate coming in this way,” Melanie muttered as we made our way to the stairwell at the back of the taproom.
“Me too.” Besides a few battered weapons and trinkets, there wasn’t even anything good to steal. But with Black Knife out there, we needed to stick to the ground. We needed not to draw attention to ourselves.
The stairs groaned and creaked as we ascended. A heavy, musty scent huddled on the top floor, all dust and disuse; lots of people didn’t stay the night here, but came for the cheap beer and general camaraderie.
Weariness tugged at me as I knocked in a quick pattern, then pushed open the door.
A single candle lit the room: Patrick studied a stack of papers by its light, the knifelike planes of his face made sharper in the shadows, while Theresa and Connor dozed sitting up on the bed. Tattered blankets and old clothes covered them.
“I wasn’t expecting you for a few more hours.” Patrick didn’t even look up from his work. We’d receive his attention only when necessary.
“We both went to the drop,” Melanie said. “We came right over.”
“It takes two of you to deliver a report now?” Patrick shoved his papers to the other end of the desk and looked up at us, palm flat up and waiting.
Theresa and Connor yawned and sat straight at the sound of voices. Theresa’s eyes were bloodshot, and the skin around them puffy and irritated. She’d been crying. Connor had, too.
A chill swept through me as I dropped the report into Patrick’s hand. “What’s wrong? Why did you send for us?”
“There’s been some news.” He cracked the report seal and began reading, ignoring the curious way Melanie looked at him. Whatever his news was, we wouldn’t hear any more about it until he was finished with our report. It was bad, though, whatever it was. Undercurrents of unease flowed from all of us—except Patrick. He was as stoic as ever.
I lit a few more candles and checked that the window shutters were fastened, then took my perch on the windowsill. Theresa looked stricken as Connor scurried over to stand beside me. His curly hair was too long, and rumpled from sleep. Red splotched his face.
“Hey,” I murmured, slipping him the folded letter I’d written earlier. It seemed so pointless now. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head, and his voice was rough with threatening tears. “Patrick said not to say anything until he was ready.”
Because only Patrick got to make announcements.
I pressed my hand onto his bony shoulder, the only measure of comfort I could offer now.
Melanie and I exchanged glances as she dropped to the bed beside Theresa. Before, they’d looked as though they could be sisters, with their lean bodies hardened from work and a constant hunger that was never sated. Now, the difference between them was startling. Melanie’s skin was clean of the ever-present grime that covered the Ospreys, and her face and arms were filling out, thanks to regular meals. In contrast, Theresa’s collarbone stood sharp and shelflike.
We waited in tense silence while Patrick flipped pages and sighed. Finally, he pushed the report away and looked from Melanie to me, disappointment clear in his expression. “That’s it? You didn’t find anything about the resistance groups?”
My stomach dropped. In my annoyance over the summons and catching Black Knife spying on me, I’d forgotten that I changed the report.
“What?” Melanie surged up from the bed, shock written on her face. “We did find the resistance groups. Rather, I did.”
Everyone stared at me. Seconds stretched.
“What did you do?” Melanie grabbed for the paper. Her mouth hung open as she skimmed through the letter written in her handwriting. The pages fluttered to the ground. “Wilhelmina. Did you change my report?”
I lifted my chin. “Yes.” There was no denying it, and trying to explain would accomplish nothing. It would make me look weak. Heart hammering, I faced Patrick. “I wasn’t ready for you to know about the groups.”
“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” His face showed no trace of his emotions, but his eyes revealed the calculated way he studied and reevaluated me.
“I knew you would find out.” I slipped off the windowsill and linked my hands behind my back. “I’ve even done all the work to ensure the Indigo Kingdom will no longer pursue them.”
“So you simply didn’t want me to know.” He stood. “It isn’t your decision whether to withhold information. If I’m to resurrect Aecor—”
“I do get to decide.” My voice trembled, but only just. “I do get to decide, because I’m going to be queen. Aecor is my kingdom.”
Patrick turned to Melanie. “Do you have the list?” He was so calm, as though I hadn’t just betrayed him, betrayed Melanie, and betrayed the Ospreys.
“Not with me. I’ll include it in the next drop.” Her shoulders were tense, and her voice tight. Normally, she was one of the best at disguising her feelings, but around Patrick, she was transparent. She worshipped him. They all did. And I . . . I wasn’t sure what I’d just done.
He was angry. He wouldn’t show it, but there was a hardness about him. More hardness than usual.
I put aside that worry for now, but didn’t relax my posture. “What is the news you mentioned earlier?”
Patrick leveled his gaze on me. “Later. I have further instructions for you regarding your time in the palace.”
Further instructions? Did he not hear me say that I was going to be queen? Not him?
“I want you to kill—”
“No.” There was so much force behind the word that I hardly recognized my own voice. “I will not kill anyone. I’ve told you before: Ospreys are not murderers.”
The room was silent again. Connor was back on the bed, sitting close to Theresa, who just looked on with red eyes.
“I will be Queen of Aecor. Infiltrating Skyvale Palace is one thing. Because of what Melanie and I have done there, Aecorian soldiers will be returned to their families. Resistance groups will be safe while the Indigo Army searches incorrect locations.”