“That’s why I’m here,” James said. “To look after Tobiah. So that he can be who he is without worrying about danger.”
It seemed to me James was being too hard on himself. Tobiah wasn’t easy to look after, given his vigilante habit. James wouldn’t be reassured, though. His sense of duty wouldn’t allow it.
“Why don’t you wash up?” He motioned to the bloodstains on my gown. “There’s nothing else you can do until your friend arrives.”
“I hate feeling powerless.” I wiped clean my pen and closed the bottle of ink. “I hate not being able to help.”
James’s jaw clenched as he glanced toward the prince’s closed door. If anyone understood, he did. “Sergeant Ferris will escort you to your quarters.” He looked at one of the indigo-jacketed men in the sitting room. “Sergeant, attend Princess Wilhelmina.”
I stood and lifted an eyebrow. “Who is being guarded?”
“You, Your Highness.” James rose to his feet again, too. “Patrick risked you today. What if his aim had been off? What if the wind had picked up? The queen regent and Lady Meredith are being guarded closely, as well.”
As closely as I? They were probably permitted knives at meals. “Very well.”
James leaned close. “Now that you’ve identified yourself, you’ll simply have to get used to a bodyguard following you at all hours. Do you think Tobiah enjoys my constant company? It is the duty of a member of the royal family to stay alive.”
A darkness flashed through his eyes: his failure today, the failure of King Terrell’s bodyguards not even a week ago. He needed me to obey, to take the guard and keep myself safe. And with the wraith boy in the palace, we all needed to be even more alert.
He was correct. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t also guarding the rest of the palace from me.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” I grabbed the leather-bound notebook I used as a diary and strode after the young sergeant James had indicated. A moment later we were out the door, the wraith boy following at a short distance.
It wasn’t a long walk from Tobiah’s apartments to mine. Both suites were located in the Dragon Wing, the area typically reserved for Indigo Kingdom royalty. My presence here was indicative of both the respect Tobiah held for me, and the respect he had for my dangerous abilities. He kept me close because he needed to watch me.
Sergeant Ferris led me in silence, though he cast a few curious looks toward me.
As we approached my door, I made my expression stony. “Yes, Sergeant?”
He ducked his head. “Pardon, Your Highness.”
“If you have a question, ask it.”
He hesitated, but curiosity won over. “You are Black Knife?”
Though an afternoon of sitting over writing materials had made every muscle in my shoulders and neck stiff, I drew myself up to my full height, nearly even with my guard. “What do you think, Sergeant?”
He snapped to attention at my door and held his position. “Your Highness.”
I entered my sitting room, allowing myself to feel a sliver of satisfaction—at least until I remembered the wraith boy trailing in after me, a white shadow jacketed in indigo.
“Stay in the corner,” I told him. He obeyed, hands clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed.
I moved toward the table to lay down my notebook, but stopped. Something was different.
When Tobiah had summoned me to his quarters this morning, I’d run off quickly, not bothering to close the jars of ink, or clean my pens. Now, the bottles were corked or capped, and the ink-stained nibs soaked in a shallow cup of water, rusting.
A folded paper was pinned beneath a bottle of blue ink, a quick W scrawled on the corner.
Someone had been in my rooms. Or still was.
I snatched a clean pen off the table and clutched it like a knife, moving through the room without stealth; any intruder already knew I was here.
One by one, I opened doors and scanned the shapes and shadows of the music room, the game room, and the dressing room for hints of the intruder. But there was nothing untoward. Just the same opulent suite I’d become intimately acquainted with in the days since the Inundation. The same brocade silk curtains, the same glossy, wood-paneled walls, and the same gleaming brass knobs and hinges and other finishings. There were no strange shapes in the pockets of darkness by full bookcases, or under the ornately carved tables, or in the curtain surrounding the tub in the washroom.
Everything was quiet. The windows here faced the back of the palace, giving me a view of the ruined gardens and woods beyond. Protesters’ cries were muted, and I heard no scrape of shoes on rugs or brush of clothes on wood.
Whoever had been here was gone now.
My fist relaxed around the pen, and I lit a candle when I returned to the table.
After King Terrell had been assassinated, Tobiah had told me that people always wanted to kill kings. Now that my identity was out—as well as my magical ability and the way I’d allegedly spent time as a vigilante—I had to be careful, too. Particularly since I was alone here. Had Melanie stayed with me—