I stood there, dressed in all black, clutching my mask inside my pocket, and dithered. Tobiah had said he’d bring my things to the breezeway, but the sooner I returned to the old palace, the better. Besides, did I really want to face him now? Black Knife and Tobiah had been separate people for so long; how could I just make them into the same person? How could I talk to Black Knife anymore, now that he was also Tobiah?
Then again, Tobiah had my things. There was no reason to believe he hadn’t looked at my notebook yet, but if he did, he’d know who I was, as well as what I’d done in the wraithland. I needed that back. And my daggers. I was naked without my weapons.
Shivering in the cold autumn wind, I looked up to find a growing crowd of refugees staring openly. They pointed and gawked, a few of them daring within arm’s reach. “Are you Black Knife?” one girl asked.
I flinched. “No.”
“You look like Black Knife.” She touched my elbow and leapt back. A man caught her shoulders and nudged her, and they both shuffled closer again. “You dress like Black Knife.”
“Well, I’m not him.” I edged away, trapped in the torchlight that illuminated the wall and the cook fires scattered about the camp. The refugees’ shadows grew long and distorted in the jumping light.
“Are you going to save us from the wraith monster?” asked the girl. “Everyone is leaving because of it.”
The packed horses and ponies drew my attention again. On the far side of the camp, several people tore down their lean-tos and rounded up children. The clatter of dozens of people preparing to move out finally pierced my haze, and I narrowed my eyes at the little girl. “What wraith monster?”
Her eyes grew so wide I could see the whites all around her irises. “The one that screams for a lady.”
The thing I created. I’d assumed I would have time to think and plan. But no.
It was coming for me.
My heart thundered in my ears, deafening. I had to get back to the old palace. I had to stop the wraith. I had to do something—I just didn’t know what.
“Are you going to help us, Black Knife?” The girl and her father approached again. She reached for me, fingertips brushing my thigh.
I curled my hands over my hips; only the spindle and wool were in my belt, meant as a gift for Theresa, who’d enjoy it. No daggers. No weapons. “I’m not Black Knife.”
“Please stop the wraith.” Others grew bold, moving toward me with halting steps. They were afraid of me, but not frightened enough—or simply more afraid of the wraith closing in on the Indigo Kingdom. And who could blame them, after what they’d been through?
But now, they came closer, pressing at me on all sides to touch my hair, my clothes, my face. One took the spindle and wool.
“Black Knife,” someone murmured. “You’re really here.”
“Black Knife is a girl!”
“No.” I tried to ease my way through the mass of people, but they crowded and their hands grew more demanding, landing on tender bruises. Someone grabbed my wrist. Another touched my throat.
Something in me snapped.
I yanked myself away, shoved someone, elbowed someone. I pushed myself through the crowd of dirty strangers, heedless of their anguished cries, and hurtled into the night as quickly as I could.
“Wait!” someone shouted. “The wraith is coming!” Footfalls thudded behind me. A trail of desperate men and women came after me, pleading for Black Knife’s help.
“My daughter is missing!”
“My husband is hurt!”
“Find my sister in the wraithland!”
Everyone needed Black Knife’s help. Not mine. I couldn’t solve their problems when I didn’t even know how to deal with my own.
Strangling back a sob, I threw myself into the forest and let instinct and years of practice take over. I leapt over roots, stones, and streams, dodged the familiar trees of this forest. Birds took flight around me, and at the harried crashing and cursing that pursued me. Brush snapped and someone cried out, but I couldn’t stop.
“Stop the wraith, Black Knife!”
I wasn’t Black Knife. Why couldn’t they see?
My flight through the forest turned into a fast walk and climb as the ground sloped upward, toward the mountains. The voices grew fainter as I outran the refugees and their pleas.
Finally, I collapsed to the ground in a heap of shivering and dry heaving. I could still feel their hands all over me, the phantom pressure of their groping.
“Will?”
I snapped up and scanned the area, fingers grasping for daggers that weren’t where they should be. But Black Knife stepped out of the shadows, breathing hard as he lifted his gloved hands. One was empty; the other held a small lamp, illuminating his assailable state. A full bag hung off one shoulder.
“I wasn’t sure you’d meet me,” he said. “So I followed your escort out of the city, just in case you decided not to come back.”
Still shivering, I lowered myself back to the ground and shook my head. “You couldn’t have had them leave me somewhere more convenient?” My whole body ached with terror and cold and the flood of adrenaline that hadn’t quite faded. Even breathing hurt.
“No.” He dropped the bag and sat down next to me, angling the light to fall directly in my eyes. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened?” I turned away and breathed in the damp, earthy scent of the forest. “I stood there like an idiot, trying to decide whether I would meet you, and people mistook me for you.”
“And then you panicked. Why?”
My heart pounded with memory. Trapped. Hands grabbing. Fingers biting into my flesh. “I don’t want to talk about it.” That wasn’t my voice, so wispy and weak. I tried again. “Just forget it.”
“All right.” He rested his palm on my shoulder.
I tensed, and he paused, and slowly—slowly—I forced my muscles to relax one by one. I forced myself to breathe.
Black Knife gave me a moment, then stroked my arm over and over, as though he could smooth out the wrinkles in my heart. “What had you decided?” His voice was gentle. “Were you coming to see me?”
“Yes.” I rolled over, away from him, and let the breeze cool the sweat off my throat. He wore his mask, as if that could rekindle the familiar anonymity between us, but now that I knew who he was, I couldn’t help but see Tobiah’s shape beneath the black silk and jacket and polished boots. I’d wanted to know his identity; now I wished I didn’t. “I had to get my notebook back. Did you read it?”
He dropped his hands into his lap, shoulders curled inward. “You didn’t steal my secret before I was ready. You deserve the same consideration.”
I exhaled relief. “Thank you.”
“I did go through your rooms. I wanted to make sure no one else found your belongings first.” He elbowed the bag he’d brought. “It’s all in here. The things I thought looked useful. Or incriminating.”
“Oh, Black Knife, how you’ve fallen.” I stared up at him, taking in the tilt of his head, the angles of his body, and the weariness in his eyes. This boy was not like Tobiah at all. “Now you’re helping criminals.”
“Just one.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure you’re a criminal.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I steal things. I impersonate duchesses. I am a flasher, and I’ve used my power.” More than he knew. Much more.
“Are you confessing? After all the work I did to get you out, should I take you back to jail?”
I recovered some of my earlier haughtiness, wielding it like a knife. “That filthy place? Absolutely not.”
Black Knife grabbed the silk at his throat and tugged his mask off his face. Brown hair curled downward, just brushing his eyebrows. I’d been a fool not to see it before: the sharpness of his chin, the lean body, the dancer-like movements. But I’d never have thought a prince would care enough to become a vigilante for his city. Particularly not a prince who gave the impression of perpetual sullenness and boredom, and was well-known for being a poor swordsman.
It had all been an act, though. It had been his real mask.
It didn’t matter. None of it. Tobiah was already taken. I couldn’t have Black Knife.
If only they’d been separate boys.
“The truth is,” he said, “a long time ago someone helped me—someone who didn’t have to, and probably shouldn’t have. But for some reason, she thought I was worthy of saving. Not because of who I said I was, but because she believed I’d been wronged and she needed to make things right. She had the ideals and morals of a young child; I have always admired that.” Tobiah slipped his hands into his mask, frowning at the black silk. “While I thought I was doing the right thing as Black Knife, it’s true that I ended up hurting people. I didn’t wonder what happened to flashers in the end. I don’t have a solution, but I do know that throwing them into the wraithland is wrong.”
I pushed myself up, half sitting now, leaning on one arm. Cold wind breathed up the mountain, making the forest shiver. I shivered, too.
“Here.” Tobiah dug through a side pocket of the bag and pulled out the gloves he’d given me. “Let’s put these on before you freeze.”
“I have to go,” I said, shifting to sit straight. But against my better judgment, I held out my hands. He still looked like Black Knife, with those knee-high boots, the black shirt and trousers. If I didn’t look at his face, I could imagine . . .
Gently, he slid the first glove over my hand, careful to make it fit right; his fingertips breezed over the hollow of my wrist. “There’s a safe place for you in the city.” He swallowed hard, his throat working, and he began fitting the second glove over my fingers, over my palm. Even with layers of leather and wool and silk between us, my hands had never felt so alive.
“I can’t.” My hands stayed in his, feeling like an impostor again. All of this, the wraith and war, was my fault. “There’s something I have to take care of.”
He watched me, expression impassive. “Can I help?”
I closed my eyes against the harsh lamplight, and turned my head against the strengthening wind. “I did something bad,” I whispered. “Something awful. I tried to run from it, but I’m realizing that I’ll pay for things I didn’t do if I don’t take responsibility for the things I did do.”
He squeezed my hands, and a deep undercurrent of fear filled his voice. “What happened? What did you do?” He sounded like Black Knife. Like my friend.
“I want to be someone good. Someone worthy.” The confession was for Black Knife, not Tobiah. It was easier to imagine the boy in front of me as the vigilante. “For so long I’ve felt trapped by my parents’ legacy. I thought I had to be just like them, even though I had no idea how. And lately, I haven’t known how to reconcile what I’ve always believed was true and what I’m learning might be true. I spend so much time confused now. I miss the clarity and certainty that used to drive me.”