THIRTY-ONE
ALONE AGAIN, I sat back and struggled to breathe. Black Knife was Tobiah. Tobiah was Black Knife.
The boy I loved was my enemy. The boy I couldn’t stand to be near.
It also meant Tobiah had known who I was from the very beginning—from the moment I stepped into the king’s office and our eyes locked. I’d been so worried he would know me from Aecor. It had never occurred to me I should worry that he’d know me from all of his crime fighting.
He didn’t know I was Wilhelmina, though. That secret, at least, was still mine.
I sank lower onto the bench, and sank deeper into my confused emotions.
But how—how—could they be the same? One boy smiled all the time, even if I never saw it, and the other was so thoroughly unimpressed with everything and everyone. One boy sought me out and fought for my attention, maybe even my affection, and the other ignored my existence except when manners forced him to acknowledge me.
And he was getting married. Tobiah was engaged.
They couldn’t be the same. They needed to be different boys so I hadn’t fallen in love with a boy I couldn’t have.
He’d tried to stop me, though. And he’d stopped himself, when I was ready to lose myself.
While I’d been quietly falling in love, it had never occurred to me he might already have someone. Even if he didn’t love her, they’d be married as soon as he set a date. How very human of him to fall for someone with such a perceived low rank.
Shame, betrayal, and longing seeped through me, filling every pore. Black Knife became a whirlpool that sucked at my thoughts.
At least knowing it could never work meant I didn’t have to stay the hurt boiling inside of me. I just had to contain it for now, and figure out my next moves: what to do about Patrick, and what to do about the thing I made in the wraithland.
Drip drip drip.
Soon, regardless of our actions tonight, our kingdoms would be at war. After all, he couldn’t just give up Aecor to me. Could he?
But why would he? Kissing wasn’t a good enough reason, and I couldn’t think of any political advantages to releasing a valuable piece of land, even if it was to stop a minor war. He’d be viewed as a weak king from the start. His uncle, the Overlord of Aecor Territory, would be furious. Tobiah wouldn’t be able to do it.
No, tonight would be the last time I’d see him. If I ever did again, it would be from across a battlefield.
Nightmares chased me for hours.
Only the occasional thump of boots and the steady drip of water kept me from drowning in memories of the wraithland: white mist swirling all around, lonely whispers breathing my name, and something intangible reaching for me.
What was I going to do about the wraith that knew my name?
A heavy gown swished in the hallway, jerking me from uneasy sleep.
“My lady!” a guard cried. “You can’t go down there—”
“I can, and I will.”
I sat straight and wiped my face clean, trying to look as though I’d been waiting for my visitor.
A minute later, Lady Chey stood outside the bars, her hands behind her back and a satisfied smirk on her lips. “Well, this is exactly what I’ve been waiting to see.”
I didn’t move to greet her, or curtsy, or even change my expression. I put on my silence like armor.
“I knew you weren’t Julianna.” She shifted her weight to one hip, making her russet gown sway. “I knew Julianna years ago, when we were children.”
My expression remained neutral.
“I traveled to Liadia with my family,” she said, “and she and I became friends. We wrote letters for years before the kingdom went under martial law. Before the wraith ate up her land. In that last letter, she was so afraid of what was happening. She talked about being imprisoned in her own house, with guards leering at her from the halls. She said how the king had gone mad with his victory over the wraith—even though no one thought the barrier would hold. She wanted to leave, to come here and stay with me, but she couldn’t escape her own rooms.” Chey swallowed hard, and blinked away evidence of her sorrow. “There were tearstains on the paper. It smelled of wraith. She must have written the letter just days before their barrier fell.”
My eyes ached with grief for that girl. Terrified. Alone. Having visited the wraithland myself, I knew how horrific it could be.
“And then you came. When I heard Julianna was here, I was thrilled to think she might have escaped.” Chey dragged in a long breath. “Imagine my disgust when I found you instead. Pretending to be my friend. Stealing the identity of a dead girl.”
I gave a slight nod. “I imagine you were furious.”
“Everyone knows what you are now. I’ve made sure of that.”
Certainly, she had tried. “Good-bye, Chey.”
“You don’t get to dismiss me.” She stepped closer to the bars. “You don’t get to do anything ever again, except sit there and rot. Oh, and I brought you this.”
She tossed a small wooden object into the cell, followed by a lump of white clouds, and then strode off, as regal as ever.
Only when the swish of her dress and stomp of her footsteps faded did I get up to see what she’d left for me.
It was a spindle and wool.
A guard fetched me. The sky was black as I was escorted to the city gates and kicked out with the refugees.
Maybe it was my imagination, but there were fewer people here than usual. Many of the refugees wore backpacks; some had ponies with clothes and supplies dripping from overstuffed saddlebags. Hooves stomped. Bridles and halters clinked.