“About the locations of the Red Militia?”
She nodded. “Patrick won’t talk, but I’ve managed to wrest a couple of hideouts from those who’ve declared allegiance to you, like that Sergeant Wallace.” Her voice dipped. “The ones who won’t talk are scared of Patrick and his generals. I can’t say I blame them, but I don’t trust anyone who won’t give up someone they claim to fight against. I’m having them watched.”
We didn’t have enough trustworthy people to have everyone else watched, but I didn’t argue. “So the hideout?”
“There’s an old factory in the lowcity. A handful of Red Militia live there. We hope.”
We continued east, moving between low, rain-battered buildings. They were spaced close enough that roof hopping would be easy, but it was hard to say if they were sturdy. I doubted they’d hold our weight.
Building inspection and improvement: I added those to a long mental list of things Prince Colin had neglected and I needed to fix.
“So you decided to look into this hideout on your own? Without your best friend?” I allowed a note of suspicion into my tone.
“I’m head of secret intelligence.” Melanie looked up at a sharp bang, but it was just a loose board in the wind. “This mission was a secret. I didn’t want to involve James because I knew he wouldn’t approve—”
“James never approves.”
“And I don’t trust anyone else not to leak what’s happening. Patrick is the kind of man who will give seven people seven different stories so he can unearth a traitor. If I go to the factory and no one’s there, I’ll know it’s just his paranoia, and I won’t have betrayed my source’s trust. Anyway, you’re here now.”
“You don’t trust anyone? Even the other Ospreys?”
She shrugged. “I trust that they want what’s best for you. Paige. The Grays. The others in Skyvale.” Her voice hitched; we’d been separated so long now. “They wouldn’t betray your confidence, but the fewer people who have all the facts, the less of a chance that anything gets back to Patrick or his people.”
“Those sound like Patrick’s words.”
“I know.” She stopped walking and crossed her arms. “When Patrick and I were together, it was exciting. Secret. I thought I could smooth out those pieces that made him harsh and reckless. I thought I could dig up his good parts and make them shine brighter.”
“It’s not your job to do that.”
“I know that, too. Now. And I know he wasn’t ever going to change, because he doesn’t want to.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But for all his faults, he does have virtues. He’s an incredible strategist. He wins wars in spite of the odds. And he knows how to keep secrets.”
“Oh, does he ever.”
Her smile was faint, fleeting in the darkness. “I learned a lot of important lessons from Patrick, including how to be careful. And this situation with the Red Militia applies, particularly since I’m trying to use his own tricks against him.”
“All right.” I hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I understand why you went with him during the Inundation, but don’t leave me again, Mel. I need you.”
She put on a smirk. “Clearly. That wraith boy, Prince Colin, and now you’re dressed as Black Knife.” She swiped the mask from my belt. “The clothes definitely suit you, but this is unsettling. What’s going on?”
“It’s not just unsettling, but a long story, too.”
“We have time.”
“Not for the whole thing. Saints, I’m not even sure I should tell you the whole thing. There are too many secrets that aren’t mine to tell.”
A salty tang rode the breeze, chasing us as we moved deeper into the lowcity. Houses and shops and courtyards grew ever more shabby, some rotting away from the salt and marsh.
“All right,” Melanie said at last. “Don’t betray anyone’s secrets. But tell me this: do we still hate him? Just a few months ago you were lecturing me on what a menace he is, and now you’re wearing his uniform.”
My memory conjured up the black-clad boy stopping me before I killed a thug, forgiving me my use of magic, following me out of the city because he was worried. And the way he’d trusted me not to look when we’d kissed.
That boy—I didn’t hate him at all. “I miss him.”
“Well. That’s different.” Her voice was soft, just under the howl of wind cutting around a corner.
“It is. Things I believed were straightforward aren’t, really. Everything’s so complicated.”
She took my hand. Even through our gloves, her fingers warmed mine. “No matter what else changes, we won’t. I still love you, even if you dress like a vigilante now.”
“Really?”
“Well, I’m obligated to mock you for the rest of our lives.”