Connor glanced downward, but his generosity didn’t surprise me. I squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s bad out there,” Kevin said. “Everyone is hungry. Thirsty. Most people don’t have anywhere safe to sleep. We were lucky. The refugee camps are empty. A few refugees might have sneaked into the city with the returning residents, same as we did, but most kept moving east. They didn’t want to stay here, where it’s so dangerous.”
It was hard to blame them. “All right, we need to go. Connor, at least. The rest of you can follow tomorrow, if you want to stay here the rest of the night.”
“Where?” Connor asked.
“To the palace. That’s where we’re going to stay.”
“Why do you need me right now?” That sounded suspiciously like a whine, but when I frowned, a look of understanding unfolded over his face. “I’ll get my bag.”
The others looked as though they wanted to ask “Why Connor,” too, but they just gathered their belongings instead. While they were busy, I took an envelope off the small desk. It was sealed with red wax and a thumbprint, and the front bore my name in Melanie’s handwriting.
The Ospreys hadn’t noticed her earlier. They’d been sleeping when she’d come to deliver the letter, and even when they’d awakened, none of them had noticed something new in the room. What if it had been dangerous? They could have been hurt, or worse.
But when I looked up to find them watching me, they all wore closed, embarrassed expressions. I stuffed away my need to scold. In the days since the Inundation, I’d been miserable in my pretty cage, but they’d been hungry, and cold, and hurt. While this was an especially dangerous time to be unguarded in the city, I couldn’t blame them for their exhaustion.
“Did a messenger come for you today?” I placed the letter in my pocket and headed into the hall.
“Yes.” Theresa slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Were they really from you?”
I nodded.
“We didn’t know. We couldn’t be sure.”
“Don’t worry, Rees. That’s why I came to get you.”
The five of us moved downstairs silently, picked our way through the dim taproom, and went outside to find a dozen men—police and Indigo Order officers—waiting for us.
Sergeant Ferris stepped forward. “Princess.”
“Oh good. An escort.” I grinned and let my hand drift toward Melanie’s knife, but didn’t draw it. The gesture was merely a reminder. “Send your best people to Fisher’s Mouth in Greenstone. You’ll find Patrick Lien there.”
People scrambled to follow that particular order.
I could go with them. Leave Connor with instructions and go apprehend Patrick myself. But the words wouldn’t come. I needed to be somewhere else.
“In the meantime, take me to Captain Rayner and Prince Tobiah.”
FOUR
“WHERE DID YOU get a knife?” James didn’t bother to greet me as I entered the prince’s bedchambers. The gas lamps were dark, but the wood-paneled walls gleamed in the candlelight.
“It just appeared.” I touched the handle; my escorts had tried to take it from me, but I’d asked if they’d seen what I’d done to the Hawksbill wall and they spent the rest of the silent ride eyeing me warily.
There was a question in the way James lifted an eyebrow: had I made it appear?
I snorted. That would have been a handy magic. “Someone gave it to me.” I shut the door behind me and moved toward Tobiah’s bed. He was still and sallow, barely breathing. Brown curls fanned across his forehead, and strain carved a line between his eyes. He was so still. “Has he awakened at all?”
“No.” James walked up beside me, his elbow brushing mine. If anyone knew what happened between Black Knife and me in the breezeway, it was James. “The physicians have made him as comfortable as possible, but it’s only a matter of time. Hours. Perhaps minutes.”
“Good thing I brought help.”
James shifted his attention to Connor, who’d been hovering by the door with a feigned look of meek amazement at the splendor surrounding us. As though the last thing on his mind was which items to pocket and fence.
I gave a small shake of my head. I’d taught him that look. “I need you to do anything you can to save Crown Prince Tobiah.”
His manufactured expression faded into honest surprise. “Anything?” And the implied word: magic?
“If he dies, there will be a war and no way to stop it. Aecor will be crushed, and we will be prisoners or worse. He must live.”
Connor swallowed hard and moved toward the bed. He peeled down the blankets concealing Tobiah’s chest and stomach, revealing clean bandages and dark veins spiderwebbing his too-pale skin. Shadows circled his eyes. His lips were ashen.
“You brought a ten-year-old to heal the future king?” James didn’t quite scowl, but the uncertainty was there.
“I’m twelve,” Connor said.