SIXTEEN
MORNING MADE MY head pound. My body ached from last night’s adrenaline and grief, but I hauled myself up to sit on the edge of my bed, listening to Melanie move around the apartments. After a few minutes, she left.
The clock tower chimed ten as I dragged myself from my room, feet shuffling on the floor. Breakfast was already on the table, Melanie’s half eaten. A note rested by the empty plate, as well as a small pile of invitation cards with today’s date. In spite of last night, Melanie had organized my engagements.
I poured myself a cup of over-steeped tea and sat, letting the bitter black taste work its miracles while I eyed the note in her tidy handwriting. No flourishes, except the first letter of each paragraph, and her pen strokes were always dark and even. Her handwriting was just like her: familiar, safe, and reliable.
At least until lately.
J—
I received an invitation to take a walk about the palace gardens and a tour of the greenhouse. You know how much I enjoy horticulture.
You were invited as well, of course, but I thought you might want to accept the one from Lady Meredith instead. She, Lady Chey, and several others are meeting in the ladies’ solar for needlework.
Perhaps I will see you over lunch.
M—
I flipped through the invitation cards. Indeed, there was the one from Meredith.
Quickly, I ate the rest of my breakfast, dressed, and arranged my hair in a long, simple braid—since the person who was supposed to help me with making myself look presentable had already left.
With times and locations of other engagements in mind, I headed to the ladies’ solar where the women had met before.
When I arrived, the solar was already filled with women, most of whom I’d seen last time. Meredith was busy with her needlepoint again, and Chey sat at her right, knitting in hand. A chair on the other side of the duchess held the spindle and wool I’d neglected before. Wonderful. They hadn’t forgotten.
Both women smiled brightly as I entered, and Meredith patted the chair beside her. “Welcome, Julianna! We’re happy you could join us.”
I took my seat and listened to the women discuss their projects—how they’d sew pieces together or make other objects from them. Meredith was turned toward Chey, and the others all paid careful attention to their conversation.
“There’s a rumor that last night’s storm blew in several wraith creatures.” The girl who’d spoken was one of Meredith’s ladies, young and flighty sounding. “They say Black Knife was out killing them all night.”
I lowered my eyes to inspect the carded wool.
“That’s not his duty and you know it.” Meredith shook her head. “He’ll be arrested if he’s ever caught.”
“He’s a ghost,” said the girl. “The police can’t catch a ghost.”
“He’s real.” A lady named Margot lowered her needlepoint and leaned forward. “I think Lord Daniel is Black Knife.”
Chey’s tone went teasing. “Weren’t you with Lord Daniel last night?”
Margot blushed, and suddenly I recognized her from Meredith and Tobiah’s engagement ball; the prince had said some people—like Lord Daniel—enjoyed saying they were Black Knife, even though everyone knew better.
“And did he leave you to kill monsters?” Chey asked.
“Well, he did leave once to fetch more wine.” Margot tittered and returned to her needlepoint. “He does have the best stories about defeating the monsters and glowmen.”
“Because they’re made-up stories.” Meredith shook her head. “No, the real Black Knife is no one as innocent as your Lord Daniel. What sort of man disguises himself and becomes a vigilante? One who wouldn’t make nearly as charming a bedfellow as Daniel, no doubt.”
“They say Black Knife will put an end to the wraith. I’ve heard that priests all through the Flags are making prophecies about him!”
Another rolled her eyes. “They’re Flag priests.”
“Indeed.” Chey held herself straight. “When the palace chapel priests start having prophecies—or anyone from the Cathedral of the Solemn Hour—then you may entertain the idea. But ignore anything that comes from the Flags.”
“What about the belief that Crown Prince Tobiah will stop it?” Someone snickered, and everyone looked at Meredith.
“If he does,” Meredith said, “it will be because he works hard. Not because of a silly story about a king from all four houses.”
“What story is this?” I asked. “I don’t believe I’ve heard anything about His Highness being the one to stop the wraith.”
“Oh, it’s just a story some of the commoners made up.” Meredith shook her head and flashed a smile. “You know about the four Houses, right? It’s more to do with where you were born than who your family is—though families do tend to stick to the location, if they own property.”
“Yes, that’s been explained.”
“The rumor began when His Highness Prince Tobiah took over the wraith mitigation committee. It’s well known that King Terrell and Queen Francesca are from two different houses, and his grandparents on each side are from the other two. Prince Tobiah is House of the Dragon, but he’s descended from people of all four, if you take his grandparents into account.” She gave a liquid shrug. “It’s not exactly rare for this to happen, but it is unusual. The fact that Prince Tobiah will be king one day makes him even more unusual, and you know common people. They will find signs and superstitions in anything. They need to believe someone will save them before the wraith destroys everything, so they’ve placed their hope in their future king.”
Signs and superstitions—like the mirrors that covered every western surface of the city, courtesy of King Terrell the Second. How very common of him.
“I see. Thank you for explaining.” I turned my spindle in my hands, judging the weight, the sturdiness, and the sharp end. If I needed to bash in any of their heads, or my own—whichever would help me peel real information from their inane chatter more quickly—the spindle would serve as an adequate weapon. “What are the Flag priests saying about Black Knife and the wraith?”
“Some say he works for Prince Tobiah, but that’s ridiculous because he’s a vigilante and—”
The solar door opened and all the ladies abandoned their work to stand. When the queen stepped in, they performed small, deferential curtsies. I rose, too. Murmurs of “Your Majesty” fluttered through the room.
Queen Francesca was a thin, stern-looking woman, immaculately dressed in a high-waisted gown of blue silk. Intricate embroidery, patterned with stylized suns and birds in flight, swirled over her sleeves and shoulders and bodice. When she spoke, however, her voice was soft. Meek, almost. “Good morning, ladies. Would you mind if I worked with you?”
Immediately, servants were ordered to fetch an appropriately comfortable chair for her, and better wine.
The queen came farther into the room, out of the servants’ way, and in the doorway, two young men hovered: Tobiah and James. Escorting the queen, apparently.
Both boys looked as though they’d been up late, with bags under their eyes. But while James wore an expression of careful neutrality, Tobiah’s mouth was pinched and he appeared deeply unhappy as he noticed my presence next to his fiancée.