“I should look for him. The Ospreys won’t trust a messenger.”
“No.” James watched as the men transferred Tobiah to the stretcher and moved him inside. “No, that’s not a good idea. Not with the people calling you the wraith queen, or after what you did during the Inundation. It’s too much. They’d panic. We can’t risk it.”
It was a risk I was willing to take if it meant saving Tobiah’s life. But James held all the power here, so I just nodded. “I’ll write a message. I’ll draw Patrick’s face, and I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I want him caught, too.”
“And what about your pale friend?” James’s jaw flexed as he settled his glare on the wraith-white figure, now no bigger or differently shaped than any other seventeen-year-old boy. “I can’t allow him to roam the palace, but I doubt a cell would hold him.”
“I’ll put him somewhere safe.”
“Will you be all right?” James reached for my arm, but stopped short of contact. The wraith boy might see it as a threat.
I touched his arm instead. “When Patrick is in the deepest dungeon, the wraith vanishes, and all of my friends are safe: then I will be all right.”
TWO
BY THE TIME the clock tower chimed seventeen, I’d sent messengers to the Peacock Inn and half a dozen other Osprey hideouts in the city. The messages contained orders for all four of my Ospreys to come to the palace immediately; the other four were with Patrick, including my best friend, Melanie.
Saints, I hoped they were safe. Even the ones who’d left me.
Especially the ones who’d left me, because Patrick wasn’t always concerned about whether they survived the missions he assigned. We’d lost so many friends through his leadership, and I’d never challenged it. Not until it was too late.
Now, I sat at a table in Crown Prince Tobiah’s parlor, finishing the last strokes of a sketch of Patrick’s face: close-cropped hair, a hard scowl, and a scar above one eyebrow. Even from paper, he commanded attention.
“That’s the last one for you.” James took a chair next to me and met my eyes. “We have scribes and messengers copying your drawings for the police and bounty notices. You don’t need to make more. That isn’t your job.”
“What is my job? Pacing the palace and hoping Patrick slips up? Because that’s the only way he’ll be caught.”
James’s mouth pulled into a frown. “The queen regent is offering five thousand crowns for Patrick’s capture.”
“You’ve just persuaded me to go find him myself.”
His smile was tolerant, like I’d made a joke. “It’s been suggested that you offer a reward, as well.”
“Even if I knew what the Aecorian treasury looked like, I don’t have access to it. Strip Prince Colin of his overlord title and we’ll continue that conversation.”
“Would that I could.”
He’d been awake for only hours, and was recently injured himself. He didn’t need my derision on top of everything else. I made my tone gentler. “How is Tobiah?”
“Same.” James lowered his eyes. “The physicians are with him. They said the bolt came out cleanly, which will help the healing process. But they told me not to expect miracles.”
We fell quiet, neither of us willing to bring up James’s miraculous healing this morning. Why shouldn’t we expect miracles from Tobiah, too? But the questions were there, hanging between us. We’d have to talk about it sometime.
Anyway, where was Connor? What about “come immediately” lacked urgency?
“What about him?” James tilted his head toward the wraith boy standing in the corner, where he’d been the whole time I worked. He was hunched over like a scolded hound, waiting for attention.
“He can’t do anything.” After the shooting, he’d refused to leave my side. I could have ordered him somewhere else, but where? “Wraith is destruction, not healing.”
At my words, the wraith boy turned his head, and a thin smile sliced across his face, widening until he showed teeth and gums.
I shivered as he turned back to the corner. James paled and angled himself away from the wraith boy.
“And you?” I touched the back of his hand. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” James drew a deep breath. “I should have saved him.”
“But you—”
He shook his head. “I should have seen Patrick. I should have been watching the rooftops more closely. Tobiah rushes into what he thinks is best and forgets to look out for danger. He can be reckless.”
I closed my eyes, recalling the black-clad boy with a sword sheathed at his back. Easily, I could picture the way he leapt off rooftops and ran toward the crash and growl of danger. Glowmen, wraith beasts, or ordinary criminals: it didn’t matter what it was or who was involved; he would intervene to rescue victims and drag perpetrators to the nearest police station. “I remember.”