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.
Evening descended, announced by the peal of cathedral bells in Hawksbill. Smaller bells chimed in the market district, and a small army of homeless people from the Flags wandered through, shouting.
“The heir to four houses will end the wraith!”
“Wraith is coming! The end approaches!”
It wasn’t long before police swarmed in and began making arrests.
Wanting to avoid the eyes of authority, I scrubbed my face on my sleeve, then ducked into a bakery where I could watch the commotion from the open door with a cup of hot tea, though the proprietor didn’t look overly happy about serving me.
Midway through the evening, a thunder of carriages with dragon sigils and Pierce crests drove by.
At last, night fell. When the bakery closed, I waited for the clock tower to strike midnight, and then I climbed over the wall and into Hawksbill. The fading perfume of flowers and roasted chicken and autumn foliage welcomed me as I crept through the courtyards and gardens. Laughter chimed like bells from mansions, and horses whickered in their stables. This district was deceptively peaceful.
Weary, I sneaked through the shadows of the King’s Seat and climbed up to my window. My fingers touched the handle just as Melanie pushed open the door, and we stared at each other for a long minute.
“Wil,” she breathed, and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Wil. I’m so glad you made it.”
I hugged her back, and a knot of fear loosened inside of me. She didn’t hate me for going. We were still friends.
“Come inside.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me in, kicking the door shut behind us. The sitting room was warm, thanks to the small fire burning. Vases of flowers filled the end tables and bookshelves, and dozens of envelopes waited in a basket on the table.
“What’s all this?” I dropped my bag on the floor, doing my best not to wilt back into my friend’s arms.
“You’ve been very ill for over three weeks.” Melanie motioned at the closed door to my bedroom. “Too ill for visitors. There was some improvement and people were looking forward to seeing you again, but your recovery wasn’t as swift as I’d hoped.”
“Oh. Right.” I moved through the room, glancing at the notes pinned under vases. From King Terrell. From Crown Prince Tobiah. From Meredith. Three from Lady Chey, of all people.
The letters were just as numerous, but I’d look at those later. I almost felt guilty that people had been so worried for my health, and I hadn’t even been sick.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Melanie asked. “You’re late. And I was so worried. I thought about you every moment.”
I managed a smile. “You sent Patrick after me.”
She went pale. “I—he knew. Somehow he knew that you weren’t here. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“I believe you.” Patrick had a talent for that, knowing things without being told. He could just see the truth in people’s eyes, and hear it in their breath. “It’s fine. I’m back.”
“So.” Her voice dropped. “You went into the wraithland.”
“I did. And it was—” I shook my head and considered giving her my notebook to let her read everything. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to confess all of my secrets. Not yet.
My knees buckled and I collapsed onto one of the sofas. I bent over my legs and cradled my head in my forearms.
“Oh, Wil.” Melanie dropped next to me and draped her arm over my shoulders. “Let’s just get you cleaned up. We can talk later about what happened.”
I didn’t think I’d be ready later, either, but I let her guide me to the washroom, where I ran the bath as hot as possible. While I scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed some more, Melanie went to my room. From the tub, I could hear the whoomph of sheets as she remade my bed, and the screech of hangers in the wardrobe.
“Here.” She came back in bearing a warm nightgown as I wrapped a dressing gown over myself. “Oh, your cheek. What happened?”
I hesitated, but if she was going to be with Patrick, she needed to know. “Patrick.”
The nightgown fluttered to the floor. “He wouldn’t.”
“We were arguing. He lost control.”
Melanie closed her eyes, reeling, but I didn’t have the energy to comfort her.
I finished dressing while Melanie ordered a crock of soup, and we discussed the wraithland as we ate. I told her everything—everything except what I’d done, commanding the wind with my magic, and then the voice that had chased me.
But I knew what it was. I couldn’t deny it any longer.
Somehow, with that single command, I’d brought the wraith to life.
And it knew my name.