The chair was wedged into the door tightly enough that I could step onto the wooden seat, but I didn’t want to risk it creaking. I went for the more awkward but quiet option: stepping over and around it.
Straddling the corner of the chair, I glanced into the room. Several oil lamps illuminated the space, but there were no signs of people. Only a smaller chamber with doors at intervals. Some had windows showing offices, though the glass had long since broken and been swept out.
I finished my gangly move over the chair and held my weapons in guard position while Melanie came after me.
We were two paces into the room when the lights went out, pitching the factory into blackness.
“The queen and Patrick’s pet.” The woman’s voice came from just in front of us. “You’re right on time.”
THIRTY-TWO
A THOUSAND QUESTIONS raced through my mind, but only one mattered: How could I get out of this alive?
“If you know who we are,” I said, “you know that we’re more than able to take care of ourselves.” I tightened my grip on my sword and dagger. The dark was disorienting, but Melanie and I had fought in all sorts of conditions. We knew how to maneuver and defend ourselves without risking the other.
“Certainly.” The woman’s voice was cool and smooth, higher than average.
“Claire.” Melanie warmed my side and kept her voice steady. “Nice to hear you again. Please turn on the lights.”
Melanie knew this woman, but it didn’t sound like they were friends.
A snap echoed, and all the oil lamps flared to life, revealing a dozen men and women. All were armed, but none had their weapons drawn.
The speaker—Claire—had about ten or eleven years on us, but not height; she came up to my shoulder. Her black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she stood with her arms crossed and one hip cocked. A smirk pulled at her mouth.
No, not a smirk. A short scar sliced the corner of her lips, giving her the look of perpetual attitude. Otherwise, her expression was blank, focused on assessing Melanie and me.
“You said you were expecting us.” Melanie clenched her jaw.
Either Patrick or Claire had planted Melanie’s sources to leak the information at the right time, or—
Claire had called Melanie “Patrick’s pet.”
No, Melanie wouldn’t betray me. Even now, she stood ready to protect me from the small group of Red Militia. She hadn’t even known I’d be out tonight.
“Yes,” Claire said. “I have several ideas for entertaining you. My favorite is to hold Her Majesty here while you scurry back to your castle friends and tell them to send away the Indigos and release Patrick. Then they can have their queen returned.”
A few others nodded.
“There’s a flaw in your plan.” I stepped forward to take eyes off Melanie, giving her a chance to find an escape, but the motion made everyone lift their hands to their weapons. Yet they didn’t draw, supporting my next point. “Imagine how upset Patrick would be if he learned you held the queen hostage. What would that tell the people of Aecor? Patrick’s goals would be derailed. No one would accept him as a leader of Aecor if he was involved with the people who held me hostage.”
Claire shook her head. “You place so much of your safety in Patrick’s hands, even while keeping him in your dungeon.”
Unsaid was her counterargument: that Patrick would claim to break ties with the Red Militia, reminding everyone he was in prison while the riots and hostage holding were happening. And I’d come back with the point that Patrick was in prison for assassination and betraying me. And we’d go in circles about blame and who was at fault.
Melanie bumped my arm twice, the signal that she’d plotted an escape, but we’d have to fight for it.
No, I wouldn’t fight. Not this time. As an Osprey, I’d have disabled them and left. Black Knife would have insisted we find police to help the wounded.
But as a queen, I had to behave differently. I couldn’t jump to violence every time.
So what would Queen Wilhelmina do?
I sheathed my weapons. “Mel.”
She wanted to resist—I could feel it in the way she tensed—but she didn’t hesitate to slide her daggers back into her sheathes.
The Red Militia dropped their shoulders, hands falling away from weapons.
“Let’s talk.” I met Claire’s eyes; hers were steel gray—an unusual color here.
“About what?”
“You lured us here, didn’t you?”
“I sent information when I heard someone was looking.” Her glare shifted to Melanie. “I wasn’t sure who I’d catch, but I couldn’t feel luckier.”
“If my source is working for you,” Melanie said, “he’ll be in prison by dawn.”
“Are you loyal to your queen?” Claire lifted an eyebrow and inclined her head toward me.
“Of course.”
“Then leave that boy where he is.” Claire did smile this time. “Astor, find somewhere for us to have a nice conversation. Laura, take three and check if the building is secure. The rest of you find something useful to do.”