The Burning Hand
Author: Jodi Meadows
Date: 2015-12-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Young Adult; Novella; High Fantasy; Magic; Fiction; Young Adult Fantasy; Short Stories; Adventure; Dystopia
Description: The city of Skyvale's problems have reached the palace. Told from the perspective of Tobiah, the crown prince with a dangerous secret, and set two years before the heart-racing action of The Orphan Queen, this 100-page digital novella brings to life one of Jodi Meadows's most beloved characters. Tobiah Pierce is no longer simply a prince. He wanted to be more and do more after he watched his tutor's brutal murder and uncovered a plot that threatens the safety of Skyvale. With the help of his cousin, James, and the guidance of a girl who knows her way around the city's rooftops, Tobiah is gaini
Publisher: Katherine Tegen Books

CONTENTS

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight

9. Excerpt from The Mirror King

1. Five

2. Six

10. Back Ads
11. About the Author
12. Books by Jodi Meadows
13. Copyright
14. About the Publisher

Guide

1. Cover
2. Contents
3. Chapter 1

I
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ii

ONE

RED FLAG WAS a mess.

A literal mess. Birds pecked at oil-shimmering puddles, cupped in the broken cobblestones. In dark alleys, trash was piled halfway up the walls. Sometimes, the garbage rustled and jumped with feral cats or dogs poking through, searching for food. Smeared graffiti painted the rotting wood buildings. Only the requisite mirrors were kept somewhat clean; they covered every west-facing wall in the city, no matter the district’s or neighborhood’s wealth.

Or lack of, in this case.

I jumped one more roof, more confident now. I’d been practicing late into the nights, and it was paying off. At first, I’d grappled with constant soreness all down my hips and legs, but these last couple of nights I’d jumped from the Hawksbill wall to a nearby Thornton roof without almost dying.

Now, from my position on the corner of a bakery rooftop, I watched people settle into nooks in buildings’ walls, and pull their belongings into their arms as they fell asleep. They were out within seconds, but at the slightest noise, they’d jump awake and hug their bags or bundles.

Last week, when I’d first come to Red Flag with Romily, I’d asked why they didn’t go home.

She’d jerked back and glared at me. “They don’t have homes. What they’re holding? That’s everything they own, unless they managed to stash something in a private spot.”

Every night since we’d met—since Lord Hensley killed Professor Knight—Romily had shown me more of Thornton, then went on to Red Flag, where it was safer to move around. Well, safer from the police. They didn’t like coming to the Flags any more than anyone else did, so their general patrols were cursory and posed little threat to someone sneaking on rooftops.

A figure appeared in the alley below. My heart jumped. Romily? But no, this person was larger. A confident stride. Broad shoulders. Hensley. He stopped in the middle of the street, waiting.

In the shadows, another figure shifted. I caught four more from the edges of my vision. Hensley’s guards? He definitely needed them here. He was a well-dressed man in a very dangerous neighborhood. The Nightmare gang controlled these streets.

Then again, Hensley was a very dangerous man; maybe he could hold his own here.

As the homeless hiding around nooks and crates and other makeshift shelters noticed the presence of armed men, they began to sneak away, one or two at a time. A growing sense of tension filled the air until even the scavenging animals vanished.

The area grew silent, save the keen of wind around buildings. And then, even that died.

Again, I scanned the streets nearby for my young trainer. Nothing. She wasn’t on the nearby rooftops, either. I double-checked the location—Silver Sky Bakery—even though Hensley’s presence was proof that this was where Romily had said to meet. She hadn’t been late to any of our lessons, but maybe she had a hard time getting out of her house. If anyone understood that, I did.

Still, I needed her now. Lessons weren’t over, but when she’d said Hensley was meeting with the leaders of the Nightmare gang, I knew we had to be there.

“This is stupid,” James had said before I left. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

I’d waved away his concerns. “Hensley killed Professor Knight to keep his secret. Knight died keeping mine. I have to see this through.”

He’d just sighed and helped me with the clothes Romily had acquired for me. I’d sent her into Thornton on a quest for a solid black uniform—nothing from the same shop. She’d come through with a surprising eye for style. The cloth and cut were things I’d have chosen for myself. The rest of the money I’d given her had stayed in her pocket to help her family. Or herself. Whatever she wanted to do with it.

She should be here now. She, as much as I, wanted Hensley stopped.

My calf muscles cramped from crouching too long. Slowly, I adjusted my position, keeping one eye on the mirror as I lay flat on the roof. I was still getting used to the idea of dodging mirrors with every move I made, but I was improving.

Hensley and his guards hadn’t moved from their positions. The only change was Hensley’s posture, shifted to one hip, his arms across his chest.

“Do you think they’re coming?” The guard’s voice was soft. So was the thump his body made when it hit the ground.

Everyone looked from the dead man down the path the knife had taken. All Hensley’s guards drew weapons.

Bile tickled the back of my throat. Too easily, I recalled Hensley killing Knight right before my eyes. And now another man lay dead before me, because of his association with Hensley. He had to be stopped.

“No one questions me.” A tall woman strode out from the shadows, a rust-colored tattoo marking her face. Other men and women followed, coming from side streets and nearby buildings, carrying long knives, chains, and rusted pipes. A few had shards of mirrors adhered to wooden handles.

“You made me wait.” Hensley didn’t move for a weapon; he was a weapon. “I’m a busy man and I don’t have time for games.”

“Do you think I’m playing a game?” The woman’s face was shrouded in darkness; only the tattoo’s movement gave a hint of her expression: unamused, perhaps angry, definitely deadly.

“I think you made me wait to make me uneasy.” Hensley lifted a hand, palm up, and appeared to contemplate his fingers for a heartbeat. “But I must admit, I’m not familiar with the sensation of unease. Just the screams of those who attempt to annoy, manipulate, and betray me.”

Hatred slithered through me, causing my whole body to shudder.

The Nightmare leader appeared unruffled. “Very well. Let’s skip the rest of the threats and posturing. Tell me about your firefly.”

My heart pounded. This was what I’d come here for.

Hensley shifted and put his arms behind his back, all businessman now. The dead guard was forgotten. Unimportant now, even though Hensley’s men were outnumbered three to one.

Maybe the Nightmare gang didn’t know Hensley was a flasher. That the Burning Hand was literal, not just some name.

“You know that my product is the highest quality. I assist in manufacturing the firefly myself. The key is heating everything to just the right temperature. It’s a delicate process, but well worth the effort.” Hensley’s tone was smooth, smiling. “I believe you’re associated with one of my dealers already.”

The woman bowed her head. “I’m aware of him. Mercush Ries. He started using, I believe. He seems . . . content.”

Mercush. That was Romily’s brother. The reason she, too, hated Hensley more than anything.

Hensley nodded. “Always happy to hear about satisfied customers. But as you know, I was recently forced to terminate my prime distributor.”

Knight. He meant Professor Knight. I wanted to be sick.

“Mercush Ries isn’t as useful as he once was,” Hensley continued. “I need an organization like yours to help me reach the people who want firefly.”

The woman’s voice was smooth. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? Working with the Nightmare gang is a big commitment. We don’t tolerate delay and our orders are always large.”

“I am ready.”

Her weight shifted to one hip. “I have arrangements with other shine manufacturers. What else can you offer to make me consider breaking those ties?”

She was testing him. She was already interested in the firefly or she wouldn’t be here. But like most people, she was greedy; she wanted more than just the firefly, and from a wealthy lord like Hensley, she had a chance of getting it.

“First,” he said, “firefly isn’t shine. There’s no comparing the two. Most shine is low quality and never delivers the desired effects beyond the first hit. Firefly, on the other hand, reliably produces the user’s preferred sensation. As I said, quality is important to me. As the only manufacturer of firefly, I can personally ensure that every batch sent out is just as good as the last. There is no variation. Just a reliable product made with the utmost pride and care.”

The Nightmare leader seemed to ponder this for a moment. “That’s well enough. But my current providers do sell high-quality shine, and at half your price.”

“Again, shine is no comparison to firefly.” Hensley’s smile was oil-slick, and he nodded. “But I know what you want. Something no one else can offer quite like I can. Protection.”

She cocked her head, and for the first time, I had a sharp view of her face. High, wide cheekbones, long nose, narrow eyes. She was younger than I’d expected. “Protection from whom? The police won’t venture here. They fear the Nightmare gang as much as anyone else.”

So much for no posturing. Even at court, it was hard to find a bigger ego.

But maybe it was well deserved. The Nightmare gang frequently eluded attempts at capture.

Lord Hensley nodded, as though he empathized with the Nightmare woman’s confidence on some deep, emotional level. “I have ties with not only the police, but the Indigo Order as well. Even King Terrell himself. As long as our agreement holds, I can turn their eyes away from the Nightmare gang and Red Flag. I will give them something else to focus on and warn you of any raids or attempts on your organization.”

Several seconds ticked by. She said the Nightmare gang didn’t need protection, but I knew how many resources my father put into following leads and setting up raids. Their efforts didn’t always work, but it was probably annoying for the gang to stay vigilant.

“That sounds like a fair arrangement.” She smiled, shifting the tattoo on her cheek. I couldn’t tell what it was from my position on the roof, but whatever it was, it seemed to have eyes.

Hensley held out a hand to shake.

“Oh no.” The woman sounded amused, but her face was hard again. The tattoo settled into something that almost looked like a cat. “I’m not touching you.”

So she did know about his magic. Interesting.

Hensley chuckled darkly, dropping his hand to his side. “You aren’t the only one who refuses.”

“When will you make the first delivery? We have many potential customers waiting.”

Without hesitation, Hensley said, “At the current rate of production, I’d say a week.”

Seven days.

That was how long I had before the firefly that ruined Knight’s life—and would soon kill Romily’s brother—would destroy even more people in my city.

TWO

THAT WAS IT. After a back-alley meeting and agreement, they were going to go their separate ways.

I had to do something. It was too late to prevent or interrupt the meeting, but maybe I could dissolve the agreement before the firefly was delivered.

Or before they left the alley?

I checked my tools. The sword was no ranged weapon, which meant engaging closer than I would prefer. I’d brought along a knife as well, but it was more decorative than functional; the balance was poor and the hilt was identifiable as belonging in a much wealthier area than Red Flag. Or even Thornton. Throwing the knife, even if it were meant for such things, would end with Lord Hensley hunting through Hawksbill and the King’s Seat to find me.

At least my mask was different, now. That was another thing I’d given Romily money for—a length of black silk, which I’d later taken back to my rooms to cut and sew into a hood that covered my entire face, save my eyes. Sewing might be a generous way to describe the process that led to several dots of blood marking the fabric, but eventually I managed to make something serviceable. It didn’t block my peripheral vision like the silver mask, and it was much, much lighter.

The Saint Fade Christopher mask had gone to Romily to be melted down and sold.

Below, the alley was clearing. Hensley and his four remaining guards went toward the main street, while the Nightmare gang was dispersing into the shadows once more.

Saints, what I wouldn’t give for a ranged weapon right now. I could shoot Hensley somewhere painful but unlikely to kill him. His shoulder or leg, maybe. That way he couldn’t burn me to death, and I could get some answers about his firefly.

Or maybe it was best I didn’t have anything right now. I was a fair swordsman, but James kept beating me. This was no time to engage. Not without a plan.

Resigned and furious at my own inability to do anything, I started to push up to stand.

Someone shouted.

A knife whizzed and a line of fire sliced my ear. Behind me, the knife hit a mirror with a loud crack, followed by a crackle of breaking glass. That was a five-crown fine.

I pressed my hand against my ear, feeling blood against the silk hood. I crouched low as I scanned my surroundings.

There, on a nearby roof, stood a rust-tattooed man with a belt of throwing knives. Near him was a woman with a handheld crossbow.

Of course the Nightmare gang had people up here to watch from above. They hadn’t seen me because I’d been flat on the roof, out of the way of the mirror—until I stood. And I hadn’t looked for them because I was an idiot. It was amazing I wasn’t dead.

But there was no time to chastise myself now. I had to get out of here.

In the same motion, I grabbed the knife the Nightmare had thrown and surged to my feet. With all my strength, I hurled the small knife in the direction of the woman with the crossbow. Then I threw my jeweled knife at the knife-thrower.

Both knives wobbled and fell short of their targets, but I didn’t waste time. While both the man and woman were distracted by the glint of sapphire and gold, I took off toward the nearest roof. I jumped, hit the next building with a thud, and kept running.

“I’ll get the gold knife!” called the man. “It’s worth a fortune.”

The woman’s footfalls thunked behind me. “There’s a spy up here!”

A heartbeat later, another set of footfalls joined in, and then another.

Red Flag stretched ahead of me, huge and unfamiliar, lit only by the glint of starlight in mirrors. How was I supposed to find my way in all this? Where was Romily?

I didn’t have a choice. I ran on, even as the Nightmare gang gained behind me.

A crossbow bolt zinged past just as I ducked behind a chimney—and tripped on a loose shingle.

I stumbled and dropped to my knees, but before I could catch myself, I was tumbling down the steep roof, elbows banging and knees thudding. Rough shingles jabbed at my ribs. I scrambled to grab something—anything—but suddenly there was nothing below me.

Falling, I flailed until the side of my hand hit a gutter with a numbing whack, and then grabbed the gutter with my other hand. The metal bit into my skin. Wood groaned as nails tore from their places, and the gutter gave way under my weight.

I tried to push the gutter out of my way and reach for the roof again, but it was too late. I was on my way down, the sticky night air suddenly too thin for my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

A pile of trash caught me.

Stray animals hissed and yipped, darting out of my way as I slid down the heap of garbage, making a racket so loud that it would draw every Nightmare member within a mile.

I tumbled onto the ground, landing with one arm pinned beneath me and my face pressed against something soft that reeked so bitterly that it immediately killed my sense of smell. Gagging, I pushed myself up and straightened my mask.

Everything hurt, particularly my hands, from the gutter, and my ego, from tripping and falling off a roof.

By the time I made it to my feet, I was surrounded.

Ten Nightmare grunts. Great. Four of Hensley’s guards. Even better. Plus, the Nightmare leader and Hensley themselves, just to complete my humiliation.

I exhaled a low oath. Now what? If Lord Hensley caught me—

No. I wouldn’t let him.

I drew my sword and put my back to the wall and trash.

One of the Nightmares laughed. “I’m almost afraid he’s going to impale himself.”

My face heated and I was grateful for my mask, but any smart retort died on my lips. Hensley was leaning toward the Nightmare woman.

“Know him?”

She shook her head. “I assumed he was one of yours.”

Hensley narrowed his eyes and stepped toward me, his magic-wielding hands at his sides. “Not one of mine. Though there have been some reports of a masked vigilante. I came across one recently wearing the mask of Saint Fade Christopher. . . .” His voice held a note of amusement, like he expected I was the same person.

He started to reach for me. To rip off my mask?

I didn’t think.

I reacted.

I lunged toward him and sliced my sword through the air.

He jerked back.

Not fast enough.

My blade hit resistance, but the force and momentum were too strong. The sword went through Hensley’s right wrist. His hand came flying off.

He screamed wordlessly and then everything was chaos. Nightmares rushed in, their weapons raised. One of them had my jeweled knife pointed at my heart. Two of Hensley’s guards hurried to help him, while the others joined the Nightmares.

Before I realized, everyone was moving. I swung my sword and dodged a punch. Metal clacked and fire raced across my thigh. I gasped and lashed back with my blade, but it was too late. I’d left myself unguarded and the Nightmares took advantage of it.

Pain sizzled where a chain lashed across my ribs. I gasped and doubled over, and someone laughed as they slapped my sword from my grip.

That was it. Suddenly, kicking me was a game.

One shoved me into the pile of trash and they surrounded me. A huge metal pipe crashed against my hand, numbing up to my shoulder. With a pathetic groan, I tried to pick myself up to make some kind of defense, but a man’s boot fell to my chest and shoved me back down.

Through the wall of bodies around me, and my dimming vision, I caught the Nightmare woman leaving with several of her people. Lord Hensley and all his guards were already gone, his hand with him, likely.

“Maybe we’ll cut off his hand.” One of the women took up my sword and drew it back to strike.

I struggled for my feet, but one of the men had come around behind me to press his big, meaty hands on my shoulders and neck. Another waved my jeweled knife in my face for a second before pressing the tip against the hollow of my throat. My breath hissed and the edges of my vision dimmed. Someone else bashed my knees as I struggled to lift my legs to kick.

I couldn’t move.

A man grabbed my hand and stretched out my fingers. “Watch your aim,” he joked.

The woman lifted my sword above her head. My vision was so foggy I could barely see it as she brought it down. I tried to brace for pain, but I could hardly think. No matter how I struggled to escape, it was futile. I was going to lose my hand. And then my life.

The pain never came.

“I really like that shiny knife.” It was a girl’s voice. “I want it.”

The pressure on my throat lightened. I gagged and pressed my hands against my masked face as the men holding me down took to their feet.

There was no time to catch my breath, though. When I looked up, I caught sight of the Nightmares facing off with four girls, my age and younger. The girls were holding their own, though. Armed with daggers and long knives, they ducked in and out of the Nightmares’ guard, slashing and cutting until the rust-colored tattoos turned red with blood and their clothes were damp.

I staggered to my feet and scraped my sword off the ground where the woman had dropped it. She was already down, a purple bruise marking her temple.

I pressed into the fighting to add my mark on the Nightmares, but it was too late. The girls cut and sliced, and one by one the Nightmares dropped to the ground. Alive, but weak with blood loss. The girls had been very careful to avoid main arteries, which would have killed them.

My sword clattered back to the ground, drawing the girls’ gazes.

One girl stood at the fore of the group. She wore a plain, serviceable shirt and trousers, and boots that hugged her calves like a second skin. A long, dark brown braid hung over one shoulder, and she held a pair of daggers at her sides. Blood dripped from one of the points. “You all right?” Her dark gaze swept over me, unimpressed.

I couldn’t answer. Every muscle in my body ached. Bruises were forming all over my arms and legs, and even breathing set my ribs on fire. Struggling to remain upright, I gave a faint nod.

She frowned. Of course I wasn’t all right. I’d been beaten half to death and it seemed likely I had a broken rib. But she glanced at the other girls—one black-haired girl who might be Braid Girl’s sister, and two a few years younger, but no less skilled with their weapons—and seemed to shake away any thought of helping me.

“Get the knife,” Braid Girl said, and the black-haired girl dashed for the Nightmare who’d been trying to kill me with my jeweled knife. The gold hilt gleamed in weak light reflected by the mirrors.

“That’s mine.” The words were pale. Pointless. I had no hope of taking it back from them. As if to prove the point, my legs gave out and I hit the dirt with painful jolts to my knees. But everything else hurt so much, this hardly made a difference.

“Ours now,” said the black-haired girl. “Seems we earned it, too.” She flipped the knife around a few times.

I looked at Braid Girl again. There was something about her. Not beauty, though there was a knifelike beauty to her sharp cheekbones and the way she lidded those dark eyes, but a fierceness. A promise that, even though she’d brought these other girls into a fight with the most dangerous—to my knowledge—gang in Skyvale, she’d never let them get hurt. And that was beautiful.

“Get some help,” Braid Girl said, and then the four of them turned down the alley.

“Who was that?” one of the younger girls asked.

“Someone with more problems than a stolen knife.” Braid Girl turned to the black-haired girl. “Let me see it?”

Her friend tossed the knife; Braid Girl caught it by the hilt.

“Nice. This should go a long way.” She spun it and tested the balance. “Ew. Selling the parts is all it’s good for. We’re doing it a favor.”

The other three laughed as they disappeared around a corner.

I picked myself up off the ground and took a step after them, but one of the Nightmares groaned. Even if I’d been physically capable of following after those girls, there wasn’t time.

Before the Nightmares woke up, I needed to get the police here and have them taken in—and do that without revealing my identity. If that got out, Hensley would really have a reason to hate me.

Resignedly, I stripped off the Nightmare’s belts, shoelaces, and anything else I could use as restraints, and then bound their hands and feet together. In my head, I created a list of things I needed to add to my vigilante gear: gloves, ties, ranged weapons, painkillers. . . .

Painkillers. The way everything hurt right now, a whole new body wouldn’t go amiss.

How was I going to explain this when I got back to the palace?

THREE

IN THE MORNING, I felt even worse.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” James asked as he came into my room.

I groaned and started to pull the covers over my eyes, but that hurt too much. “Your assumption that I’ve been sleeping is, I’m afraid, incorrect. I’ve been listening to the clock tower chime every hour.”

“So you know it’s nearly ten and you missed our training session. And breakfast. And the first hour of lessons. And you must know that”—he whipped the blankets off the bed—“you’re making me miss classes, too, because your father caught me on my way out and asked me to check on you. He thinks you’ve fallen ill.”

Of course Father had sent James up, rather than come himself. That would have been much too paternal.

“The real problem is that it’s hard to move. I have almost no memory of coming in last night.” Vaguely, I recalled nearly dying on my way over the Hawksbill wall, briefly passing out somewhere near the Chuter mansion, and trying four times to get my grappling hook over the edge of my balcony. Not to mention the tense moments of praying the passing guards didn’t see me hunched in the shadows. “I am ill, though.”

James backed away.

“Ill with the knowledge of what’s happening in Skyvale, right under Father’s nose. What kind of king doesn’t see his latest favorite for the firefly-making monster that he is? What kind of king doesn’t notice his people suffering under the tyranny of the Nightmare gang, or shine, or firefly, or just poverty. Do you know how many homeless people I saw just last night?”

James thrust open the curtains, letting in the blinding midmorning light. “How many?”

“I didn’t count. It was too depressing.”

“Are you going to get up?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure I can.” But I pushed my elbows back and gave it a try. Fire sliced down my ribs, and all through the bruises collected from last night. I groaned and fell back. “No. At least not yet. I’ll work up to it.” I started with my toes. They moved well enough. That was something.

“Well, your father has noticed your late mornings. Master Blanc has noticed your absence from his sword lessons. If you’re going to keep up these late nights, you’ll need to come up with an excuse. Particularly if you’re going to get injured. Are you going to live?”

“The pain says yes.” My eyes were heavy with the late night, followed by hours of drifting in and out of agony-hazed consciousness. “As for an excuse, just tell everyone I’m lazy.”

“Is that really the image you want to have?” James rolled his eyes. “I think you should tell your father.”

“That I’m lazy?” I smirked and found my way to a somewhat sitting position.

“No.” He perched on the corner of the desk and crossed his arms. “Your father is worried about you. Look at it from his point of view. In just a couple of weeks, you’ve completely changed. You sleep late. You accuse his lords of being flashers—”

“Hensley is a flasher.”

“I know he is, but he’s good at hiding it, and your father believes him.”

My father believed a lord over his own son. Yes. I knew that.

“And you’ve been ignoring your duties. Contrary to what others may believe about you, you do have duties you must attend to. Crown princes can’t just laze about all day.”

“They can if they’re the only heirs.” My older brother, saints keep him, had died as an infant.

“You have two uncles. Colin is in line after you.”

Uncle Colin already had Aecor Territory. Wasn’t that enough for him?

Still, James had a point. If I wanted to keep my title and my future as sovereign of the Indigo Kingdom, I had to keep up with my duties. “Fine.” I shoved myself out of bed and limped for the parlor. The scent of warm bread, eggs, and fatty bacon drew me toward the table. “I’ll do better in the future.”

James snorted. “Why don’t you just tell your father what’s been going on?”

“Tell him what?” I plucked the lid off a bowl of fruit. Strawberries, blueberries, and melon. “That I sneaked out of Hawksbill? That I watched Lord Hensley murder Professor Knight and I did nothing?” My stomach rolled and I pushed the breakfast tray away.

James snatched up a piece of bacon. “Tell him that Hensley is behind the firefly. He’ll have to investigate that. And Knight’s murder.”

Every night in my dreams, I watched Hensley reach for Knight, press his palm to the professor’s forehead, and burn. Every morning—afternoon, lately—I awakened with the scent of charred flesh humming around my room. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, but the guilt was.

James leaned back in his seat. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night? You look like you lost a fight to me.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but it hurt too much. “Romily and I were supposed to spy on a meeting between Hensley and the Nightmare gang. She didn’t show, but I saw the meeting. We have seven days—six, now—until the Flags are filled with Hensley’s firefly.”

My cousin winced. “But spying didn’t do that to you.” He waved sort of all over at me.

“Then I was spotted. I tripped and fell off a roof, dropped into a pile of trash, was beaten and nearly lost a hand to my own sword, and then saved by a gang of girls.”

“Girls?” James raised an eyebrow.

“They were great fighters.”

He gave an impressed nod. “Lucky.”

“But they stole my knife.”

James sighed. “So they were after the prize, not aiming to save your life.”

“Definitely not. But I did cut off Lord Hensley’s hand.”

A slow grin crept onto his face. “Really?”

“By accident.”

“Nevertheless.” James looked proud. “Not that I think we should take dismemberment lightly. Now that the vigilante has actually hurt someone, your reputation will change.”

“I didn’t realize I had one, beyond the Saint Fade Christopher mask.” Even eating hurt, but I forced down a bite of eggs. “And at that point I was a burglar.”

“Most people have forgotten about that one.”

Not Lord Hensley, unfortunately.

“But yes, the black-masked vigilante. You have a few admirers, mostly whispers from the Flags. I suspect Romily has been spreading the word that you aim to stop the Burning Hand.” He cocked his head and grinned. “And now you’ve cut off the Burning Hand’s hand, so that’s a start.”

“I thought we agreed to not take dismemberment so lightly. It’s probably not appropriate to make jokes.” I finished the eggs and moved on to the bacon. “Well, I don’t care about a reputation one way or another, unless those admirers can help stop Hensley’s firefly deal in six days.”

It probably wasn’t a bad idea to cultivate a network of informants in the city, like James had. I’d have to put some thought into communication; the less direct contact I had with people, the better. If I was ever identified as Crown Prince Tobiah . . . well, I wouldn’t be. I couldn’t take the risk.

“Last night was eye-opening,” I said as I picked out the melons and put them on a separate plate for James. “I realized that I’m going to need a lot more training. What I’ve been doing with Romily isn’t enough. I can’t count on her to show up every night; she has a family who wants to keep her safe. And I can’t put her in danger like that.”

James looked at me like maybe I should consider not putting myself in danger like that.

“I need more training, and I need to do it in secret.”

“When do you plan on doing that?” he asked.

“Any time we can spare a moment.”

“We? You’re making me your accomplice?”

“My cousin. My best friend. My future bodyguard. Who else is more qualified?”

He sighed, but nodded. “I suppose you’ll need me for your quick exits and palace escapes.”

“More than that.” I leaned forward and groaned at the sharp pain in my ribs. “You’re the best swordsman I know. Even Master Blanc admitted that you’re beyond him.”

James said nothing.

“I mean it. I need you to help me. I can’t do it without you.”

There was a long, tense silence while James considered my request and I thought about all the things he must be thinking: I couldn’t put myself in danger anymore if he didn’t do this; he wouldn’t get in trouble if we were ever discovered because there’d be nothing to discover; this was likely the stupidest thing I’d ever tried to talk him into.

And talking him into it was all I’d ever try. Nothing more. Ordering him to help me leave the palace that night—that had been a mistake.

James blew out a breath and seized the plate of melon slices I’d put aside for him. “Fine. If I truly become your bodyguard. It’ll be impossible for me to cover for you otherwise.”

“You were the top scorer in the tournament finals last week.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get the placement I requested.”

“You will,” I said. I hoped. I’d requested his placement as my bodyguard, too. “You’re going to make it.”

“Assuming that’s true, we’ll need somewhere private to practice.”

“I have an idea about that.” The storage building I’d hidden in last week was plenty big, at least for now. We could just shove aside all the junk on the floor.

“We’ll need to find an excuse to disappear in there for hours, in addition to our usual training.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I said. It would be easier when I got rid of the other guards, but who knew when that would happen?

“You won’t be ready by the firefly delivery.” He glanced at my side. “Especially if you’ve broken something. But we’ll get you closer.”

I forced a smile. “Thanks, James.” I didn’t deserve him. Not at all. But I’d never been more grateful for him.

FOUR

IT WAS MIDAFTERNOON by the time I was ready to face the world.

Preparing involved no small amount of flesh-colored cosmetics, a large bandage around my chest to restrict movement, and treatments with medicine pilfered from the royal physician’s storeroom. I also took a generous amount of painkillers, but that made my head swim for a while and I needed another hour or two before I was actually presentable.

A page skidded to a halt as I left my room. “Oh, Your Highness. Their Majesties have sent for you.”

My parents wanted to see me? This couldn’t be good.

“Tell them I’ll be there shortly.”

He ran ahead.

With my four usual guards in tow, I made my way to the office where our family meetings were conducted. It wasn’t a long walk, but with a cracked rib—James’s diagnosis—I wasn’t exactly quick on my feet.

But finally—or maybe too soon, actually—I left my guards in the hall and entered the office where Mother and Father waited. Both looked disappointed and ready to dispense criticism.

Father didn’t invite me to sit, even though I must have looked ready to collapse; he glanced over me and quickly masked expressions of concern, bafflement, and annoyance. How dare I enter his presence in this condition? Never mind that he’d called me here.

Mother scowled and brushed her finger along her jaw in a meaningful way. She’d noticed the cosmetics concealing a bruise. I’d missed a spot.

I was definitely a master of disguise.

Papers shifted on the desk as Father leaned against it and crossed his arms. “We should talk about Professor Knight first.”

First. Saints. He had a list.

“I’m interviewing tutors to replace him, and I’ll be more thorough this time. I know he meant a lot to you, and he came highly recommended from the Academy, but to be mixed up in shine like he was . . .” Father shook his head. “Well, that was disappointing.”

I nodded stiffly, jaw clenched against the urge to say anything about how disappointed Father would be if he knew the truth—that Knight had been working for Hensley, who Father believed was working for him.

No, Knight had been used by Hensley. And then discarded when he was no longer useful. Knight had been a good man who’d made a terrible choice, and paid for it.

“This hasn’t been easy, I know. You and Professor Knight were close. First that attack. Then his death. I’ve no doubt it has put a lot of emotional strain on you, but these are the kinds of trials future kings must learn to overcome. As sorry as I am this happened to you, it’s best you learn how to deal with this sort of grief before you’re king and have a country to care for at the same time.”

The unspoken words were, of course, that it’d likely be his death that would put me on the throne, unless he abdicated in his old age.

“Your new professor will begin next week,” Father continued. “And I expect you to behave in a manner more befitting of your rank. You’re a crown prince. Not a sloth. I hope I’m finished hearing reports of your absence, tardiness, disinterest—all of that. It ends now.”

Right. The plan to just tell Father I was lazy wasn’t going to work.

“Secondly,” he said, “I expect you to spend more time with Lady Meredith. She enjoys your attentions and I’d like for you to make overtures of a more”—he glanced at Mother—“permanent relationship.”

Oh, saints.

Marriage. He was talking about marriage.

“Father, I hardly know Lady Meredith.”

“Why do you think I’m asking you to spend more time with her?” Father pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it. “I’m not asking you to marry her now. Just cement the relationship so that when you do ask, she’ll say yes.”

It seemed unlikely she could refuse without insulting the royal family.

I glanced at Mother, hoping for support, but she shifted her weight toward Father. Siding with him. Of course.

“Is there someone you’d rather marry instead?” Father asked.

“No.” The word came out too quickly. “There’s not anyone else I’d like to ask. I suppose I’d just like the chance to court—and perhaps one day marry—someone I love.” A naive hope, I realized.

Mother offered what was meant to be a gentle smile, but I saw through it. She was placating me. “You may find love with Lady Meredith. She’s kind and generous, and beautiful, you must admit. The people of Hawes adore her. Also, she’s a duchess, or will be.”

And one day a queen, if my parents had their way.

No doubt there were a hundred other benefits to the match, at least from their perspective. The Corcoran family was wealthy, and while dowries had been done away with long ago, there was still a certain expectation of financial commitment when two powerful families merged.

Marry Meredith Corcoran. I’d always known I’d marry for the kingdom, and that love would not likely be part of the arrangement. But Mother was right: Meredith was kind and generous and beautiful. There were certainly worse matches. And just because I didn’t love her now didn’t mean I couldn’t love her in the future.

I sighed, then grimaced at the stabbing in my chest. Saints. Cracked ribs hurt.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mother stepped forward.

Glaring, I muttered, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and pressed a hand against the bandage around my chest. Let them think I was becoming surly and unpleasant, acting out because Father hadn’t believed me about Hensley, my teacher had been murdered, and now I was being asked to marry a sweet, pretty girl.

Both parents scowled, but didn’t push.

“I’ll marry her, but on one condition.” I locked eyes with Father. “James becomes my personal guard.”

He nodded. “I was hoping to use that as a bargaining tool for your better behavior, but it’ll do in this case.”

“My only guard, unless I require others. When I say.”

Both their expressions dropped into blank masks. Shock? Annoyance?

“Son, you have so many guards for a reason.” Father stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “The night you were taken from us—”

“Was eight years ago.” I lifted my chin. “I’m not that child anymore. I’m a trained swordsman, and I actually want to have James around. I don’t mind if the others stay on, but James will be principal and I will not be burdened with the others’ presence every moment of my life.”

“Tobiah . . .” Father looked as though he wanted to argue, but I crossed my arms and clenched my jaw.

I refused to give in. This was my one chance to get James where I needed him, and I would not back down.

“Very well.” He didn’t look happy.

Perhaps my battered, sullen appearance was convincing. I almost took the opportunity to ask about attending the Academy, but this didn’t seem like the right time to force him further. I’d gotten what mattered most. And I’d only traded any hope of romance outside of Meredith.

After a brief admonishment for me to take care of myself—having James as my principal bodyguard was still something that could be taken away—Father excused himself, saying he had work to do.

“A moment, Tobiah.” Mother stopped me as I started for the door after Father.

I lingered by the door, ready to deploy another sullen expression just in case.

She lowered her voice. “Please sit for a moment. There’s something I want you to know. About James.”

My heart pounded. About James? She couldn’t mean—

I shook away the thought as I sat on the corner of the desk. No one knew what happened that night. My only accomplice was likely dead.

“What is it?” Somehow, I managed to keep my voice steady.

Mother licked her lips. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this. Your father would prefer it was never discussed, but I think you deserve to know, particularly if James is to be your guard from now on.”

I held my breath.

“James is . . . your cousin, of course. But his mother—your aunt—wasn’t married at the time of his birth. That’s always been something of a scandal.”

Of course I knew that, but it had never mattered to me.

Dread knotted in my stomach. “Do you know who his father is?” James used to wonder when we were younger, but after years of my assurance that it didn’t matter—his father clearly hadn’t cared enough to claim him, so should be forgotten—James believed me.

“Yes. I know.” Mother closed her eyes. “Terrell is his father.”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. James was my brother?

My father had an affair with Mother’s sister?

My father refused to claim James, or even admit it to us?

Mother pressed on, heedless of the punches she’d thrown. “I won’t go into the details—”

Thank saints. I knew how it worked. Discussing it with my mother would have been worse than everything that had happened last night.

“—but he later admitted what he’d done and that he’d gotten her pregnant.”

He’d gotten her pregnant. All nine saints, help me. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s only right that you know your guard is a bastard.” Mother’s lips thinned, and suddenly I understood.

The way she always sat between my father and aunt, even while Aunt Kathleen had been married to Lord Roth. Her presence between them was a way to claim my father—to separate him from the object of his faithlessness.

The way she sometimes looked at James, like she wanted to hate him but couldn’t; it wasn’t his fault.

“I don’t see what his lineage has to do with his ability to protect me,” I said at last. My voice felt thin. “James is my most steadfast friend. He has always been as a brother to me.”

What was I going to tell him? How was I going to explain this?

Mother just nodded slowly, like she’d hoped I would explode or ask what this meant or something. “His lineage is to remain a mystery. Your father will never acknowledge him as a royal bastard, and my sister won’t speak of it. Neither knows I’m telling you now.”

No doubt Aunt Kathleen was too afraid to speak of it. The king. The queen—her older sister.

“He’s not in the line of succession,” Mother said, as if this were in question. As if this were my concern right now. “He will never challenge your claim to the throne.”

“James isn’t the kind of person to challenge others for more power, but that’s quite a statement to make. Unless . . .”

“He can’t know.” She lowered her voice and stepped toward me. “He’s a good boy, as you’ve said, but imagine how it would hurt him to know the truth.”

As if it didn’t hurt me to know the truth and not tell my best friend? My cousin? My brother? How could I keep that from him?

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know.”

“And James doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t affect him.”

It wouldn’t have affected me, either, if she hadn’t told me. I would have been happier not knowing that my father was a cheat and my mother harbored a deep resentment and my cousin was—

No one was what they appeared. Not even me. Not anymore.

“Are you sure you want him as your guard now?” she asked.

Finally I understood. She’d hoped I would be angry at James in the same way she was. She would always see him as a reminder of betrayal—her husband’s and her sister’s, both. She would always look at James and see the product of that affair. Even though it wasn’t justified, some of the blame fell on him.

With James as my bodyguard—as if he wasn’t my constant companion anyway—she’d see him even more. She wanted me to see him the same way, so that maybe he’d go back to Hawes with his mother when she left in a week.

“I’m not changing my mind.” My voice cracked, and everything hurt again. My ribs. My heart. “I have things to take care of. I hope we’ll never speak of this again.”

She frowned.

I lifted my eyes to hers. “I won’t tell him what you’ve told me.” Not now anyway. “But I think you should. Or Father should. If I deserve to know, so does he. It affects him the most.”

Her voice came softly. “Perhaps I will, then.”

But as I left the office, I knew she never would.

FIVE

I SPENT THE next few days in a haze of anxious confusion and pain.

Every morning, I slept too late and missed breakfast, but of course the kitchen sent one up; it wouldn’t do for the crown prince to go without.

Every day, I stayed drowsy and distracted, thanks to the painkillers and that conversation with Mother. I attended my classes and duties with Father, but bowed out early whenever possible. They accepted it for now, but soon I’d have to be a model student and son, or risk losing the leniency when I needed it.

Every evening, I skipped formal dinners with my parents—easy and understandable, given the recent paternal revelation—and headed to the storage building with James, where we had cleared a space. We practiced until well after dark. No other guards accompanied us, and were it not for the huge secret hanging between James and me, it would have felt like freedom at last.

Then, every night, I went into the city to search for hints of Hensley’s firefly-manufacturing building. Not that I had much luck. The city was so huge and crowded, and for every new place I searched, I found five more possibilities.

Four days ticked by, and I was no closer to stopping Hensley and the Nightmare gang than I had been when I fell off a roof and into a pile of garbage.

Now, crouching on yet another roof in Thornton—safely in the middle and away from the mirrors—I took in the dark city and vowed to find a good map. Not just of the city overall, or districts, but individual neighborhoods, too. Down to every last building. Seeing the city on paper wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it in person, but it’d be a start, and a way to keep track of places I’d seen, what kind of area it was, and whether it was a place a vigilante might want to frequent.

A shadow crossed a rooftop mirror nearby, and I tensed, but the short, skinny shape resolved into a familiar girl. Romily.

I pushed to my feet and met her halfway.

“Where have you been?” When she flinched, I cooled my tone. “I looked for you the other night.” And every night since then, but I didn’t want to seem desperate. “I really could have used your help.”

Romily knelt near a chimney and lowered her eyes. “Sorry. What happened?”

I gave her a quick summary.

“I heard someone cut off his hand. That was you?” Romily brightened. “Tell me everything about it.”

I knelt next to her. “There isn’t much to say about the event itself. But the dramatics following might be worthy of a story.”

She leaned forward and nodded.

“The way I hear it”—because I’d only heard about it, having been half dead at the time—“a messenger hurried into the king’s court the following morning. He told a tale of Hensley’s charity, like that flasher was actually out in the Flags handing out food and clothes.”

Romily snorted.

“And then, out of nowhere, and completely unprovoked, a masked fellow came out of the shadows and cut off Hensley’s hand and stole the basket of fresh-baked bread he was giving out to the homeless.” The last part was embellishment. Father would have excused Hensley’s presence in the city, thinking he’d been working for the crown. But clearly he’d been keeping the mandate quiet; perhaps “charity” was their code.

“Oh, saints!” Romily shook her head and looked skyward. “Are you serious?”

“That’s the way I heard it.” Under the safety of my mask, I let out a faint smile. “As for Hensley’s health, well, he’ll be fine. The story is that his guards cauterized the wound to stop the blood and infection; it’s not as if the hand can be reattached.”

Romily made a face.

More likely, Hensley had cauterized the stump with his own magic, and killed any guards who didn’t like the way he’d taken care of it. “I also heard he was in court this afternoon,” I went on. “His right hand was wrapped in bandages, and his wife kept speaking loudly about his bravery. Others admired the kindness he shows toward the poor people of the Flags.”

“Right. Kindness.” Romily laughed, a tiny sound that stayed contained on our rooftop. Mischief filled her eyes, and for the first time, she looked like a girl of twelve or thirteen. “I can’t believe you cut off the Burning Hand’s hand.”

No doubt everyone would make a joke of it, if they knew.

“Yes, I realize how it sounds.” I started to laugh with her, but the effort hurt my ribs. “Truly, though, it was the only thing I accomplished that night. I was immediately set upon and beaten by the Nightmares. Thank saints for those girls. Even if they did just want to steal from me, they saved my life.”

Cocking her head, Romily said, “I think I know them. Of them. No one’s really sure who they are or what they want, but they’re not a gang like the Nightmares. They don’t touch shine and they’re really good fighters. Sometimes they have boys with them. I heard they call themselves the Ospreys.” She shrugged, as though that really were all there was to know about Braid Girl and her friends.

“No one knows who they are?” That seemed difficult to pull off, especially if they took no pains to conceal their identities.

“Not so far as I know. Like someone else I’ve met, they don’t use their real names. Or any names.”

That just made me want to find out about Braid Girl—Nameless Girl, maybe—even more. But right now, I needed to learn more about this girl. “So while I was being humiliated the other night, where were you?”

Her expression fell, and again she sounded too old and weary for her age. “I was going to be there. I swear. But Mercush was at home and I didn’t want to leave my mum.”

Dread knotted in my stomach, and I regretted every accusation. “What happened?”

She glanced down. “With the Knight gone, he didn’t have anyone to get firefly from. He was in a rage. He broke everything in the house, even the stuff that isn’t ours. We”—she swallowed hard—“share a house. A lot of people do in the Flags. I was home cleaning up the night of the meeting. Sorry.”

Guilt poured through me. I’d been selfish, thinking that Romily hadn’t been there for me. Instead, I hadn’t been there for her. Not that I knew where she lived, besides Red Flag. We kept our homes secret. But still.

I’d thought only of myself.

I would do better. I would.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “Were you there when he was?”

Her jaw muscles flexed. “I saw him do it. But I hid in the cupboard, because it looked like he was getting bigger. Changing. He yelled for me, my mum, and even the lady we live with.”

This. This was what my people lived with every day. I tried not to shudder, but she saw it anyway.

“Don’t feel bad, rich boy.” She jerked up her chin.

Rich boy. That had been another mistake. When I’d given her the money for my clothes and tools, she’d gaped and glanced around, like someone was going to steal it. She’d asked how I felt safe carrying so much money.

But to me, it had been just enough to buy some clothes. A hook. A line. Enough money to buy what I wanted, but not so much that its absence would be noticed by the royal accountants. It was merely part of my allowance.

I’d had no idea how much my discretionary money actually was.

“Pity doesn’t help us,” Romily went on. “Action does. I want Hensley, his men, and the Nightmares all dead.”

“Dead?” We’d talked about taking down Lord Hensley, but we’d never discussed killing him.

Would it be so bad if he were gone? Even in prison, he could cause problems. If he were gone forever . . . I didn’t want to be the one to do it. I didn’t want another man’s life in my hands.

Maybe that made me a coward.

“You don’t agree,” she said.

“We’ll discuss it when we get to that point.” I straightened and adjusted my mask, damp with humidity and sweat. “Do you have any new information? I’ve been planning ways to put a stop to Hensley’s deal, but there’s too much I don’t know.”

Like everything.

We’d had a stroke of luck when Romily had heard Mercush talking about the meeting with the Nightmare gang, but we couldn’t count on that happening again. Especially not if he was . . . changing.

“I did get a hint about the location of his buildings.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “Mercush again. He took some of the money you left for me and paid one of his Nightmare friends to tell him where Hensley keeps the firefly. I know where at least one of the warehouses is.”

“Can we trust him? It doesn’t sound like he’s thinking straight.”

She gave a single, solid nod. “He wants that firefly. Hensley cut him off, but he’s going to get it. He’s determined. And so am I.”

I dragged in a deep breath. Romily was back. I was healing.

We could stop Hensley.

We had to.

SIX

ROMILY’S INFORMATION ABOUT Hensley’s buildings was good.

As we headed into Greenstone, the warehouse and manufacturing district, Romily told me that most shine—as far as she knew—was made in houses somewhere in the Flags.

“The scale of this is much bigger,” she said. “Most shine is just stuff people make in their basements or back rooms. Even if they make a lot of it, it’s never like this. The amount he said he can have? Replacing all the big makers in Red Flag?” Romily shook her head. “That’s a lot of firefly.”

“How do you know where most shine is made?” It seemed ridiculous that a thirteen-year-old girl would have all this worldly knowledge and I, Crown Prince Tobiah Pierce, House of the Dragon, future sovereign of the Indigo Kingdom, wouldn’t know anything.

“Oh,” she said, like it was nothing, “they always have papers stuck under rocks by their doors, or people lurking around the back. The houses always smell wraithy, too. That’s the big thing—the smell. Otherwise you might not know. The places that sell have different signs.”

“And what are those?” I paused as we came upon the old train tracks that cut through Greenstone. Most of the iron had been stripped off long ago, but there were still some old, rusted rails in a few places. This was as far as I’d ever made it into Greenstone; most of my efforts had been spent in the Flags.

Romily pointed northward, and we moved in that direction. “The sellers put marks on the houses. Most use smoke stains under windows or on doors. These are all regular shiners, though. Not fireflies. And the Nightmare gang sells a little differently. They take a big cut of the money, but it seems like they never run out.”

It seemed impossible that there were so many ways to buy shine in Skyvale. So many people willing to make and sell. So many people willing to destroy themselves by taking it.

Then I remembered Professor Knight’s words: the shine addiction started with a hundred small excuses to keep feeling the way he wanted to feel. It gave him the illusion of control.

And there was no possible way for me to really understand it.

Regardless of what I’d done in the last couple of weeks, I was still a prince. Sheltered. Coddled. I had plenty of food to eat. The privilege of an education. More clothes for a season than most had in a lifetime.

I would never truly understand the desperation that drove other people.

“Disgusted with the Flags yet?” Romily asked.

“No.” My voice was raw. “Disgusted with those who take advantage of the people in the Flags.”

Softer: “Oh.”

We kept walking, and faintly I heard the sound of the river crashing beyond the buildings. We were almost to the outskirts of the city.

She motioned down a side street and pressed a finger to her mouth. Her voice came low. “I think it’s just down there.”

Part of me wanted to ask what we did now. How we got there without being seen. But it wasn’t her duty to know those kinds of things. When this was over, I wanted Romily to escape this vigilante lifestyle. She wanted to be involved now because of her brother, but when vigilantism was no longer personal for her, she should be able to escape.

Which meant I needed to figure this out on my own.

The buildings in this part of Greenstone were tall and flat, and the roads between them wide enough that it would be a challenge to jump across. Dangerous. Deadly. And I’d already fallen off one building this week. No more.

So we continued on the street level.

“I think we should go around that building.” Romily pointed to a warehouse; I couldn’t tell what was stored there. “There’s a ladder to the roof. We could climb and spy from above.”

Immediately I took back my thoughts about figuring this out on my own. Romily was a young girl, yes, but she was also a resource and I was too new at this to ignore the sort of help she could offer.

We had three days until the deal with the Nightmares was finalized. Doing some reconnaissance and working out a plan with contingencies was probably a better idea than rushing in now and . . . what? I didn’t even know what shine-manufacturing materials looked like.

“Good idea,” I said at last. “That will give us time to plan and buy whatever we need to stop him.”

She shot a frown—probably because I’d brought up money again like it was nothing—and just muttered an agreement. “This way.”

We headed around the building she’d indicated, keeping our steps soft and quiet, and our breaths long and deep. Hard to believe this was it. Just some anonymous building in Greenstone. No one would ever know.

But . . . Romily had said there was a wraith stench around houses where shine was manufactured. Maybe firefly didn’t have the same overwhelming stink, or maybe Mercush’s information was bad. But surely he’d have come for the firefly right away and Romily would know whether he’d been successful.

So why was there no odor of wraith?

Just as I opened my mouth to ask, lights flared from a nearby window, forcing me to duck my head and squint. I pulled my arm over my face, guarding my stinging eyes from the bright light as I looked for Romily.

Instead, dozens of boots thumping on the pavement, coming at me from every direction.

I drew my sword, moving to guard Romily, but I couldn’t find her and too quickly I was fighting for my life. Nightmares—ten, no, twenty of them—surrounded me, all with weapons drawn. Blunt lengths of metal. Chains. Planks of wood. A particularly large man had nothing but his fists and a feral grin full of broken teeth.

I cut and slashed with my sword, but it was no use. There were too many of them, and I was injured.

The broken-teeth man whipped his arm toward me. I saw red and white when his hand contacted my face. And then I dropped to the ground.

The next thing I knew, I was being dragged down the road. I suppressed a shout or startle or any reaction that would alert them to my consciousness. A glimpse of my sword on the pavement meant I hadn’t been out very long.

I took in my situation: they were dragging me by my hands, which meant my rear and legs bounced over ruts in the pavement; my wrists and ankles were bound, ropes cutting off my circulation; a headache throbbed around the right side of my face where I’d been hit, and another on the left side where I’d fallen.

There was no sign of Romily.

Saints. Romily. What had they done with her? I needed a plan. I needed to get away and find her. I should have asked her to give me the location and then sent her back to her family. Her mother was already going to lose Mercush to firefly; she shouldn’t lose Romily, too.

There was a deep rushing sound behind me, and the air felt heavier. Wetter. As they dragged me off the edge of the pavement and onto the grass, all at once I realized where they were taking me.

The river.

No point in hiding I was awake anymore. I lifted myself and tried to shift some weight to my legs, like maybe I could stand, but my feet were numb and my ribs hurt too much. With a frantic groan, I threw my weight to one side, hoping to unbalance the Nightmare gripping onto my hands, but he just squeezed so hard the bones seemed to rub together. I let out a strangled cry.

Then I saw her. Romily.

Just as the Nightmares dragged me around a tree and one man suggested knocking me out again, Romily stepped out of the shadows of the building and bent to retrieve my sword. No one paid attention to her, even though she was now in plain view.

“Rom!” My voice cracked, and one of the Nightmares thunked me across the head. Blackness scattered across my vision, but we’d stopped moving. They’d dropped me and forced me around to my knees at the bank of the river. Water droplets sprayed around me. Nightmares loomed like they were waiting for me to make a move so they could hit me again.

If Romily heard my call, she ignored me. Instead, she turned toward a tall figure approaching her. They stood out in sharp silhouette, so I couldn’t see the man’s face, but a sense of dread knotted in my stomach.

The man dropped a large sack into Romily’s outstretched hands. Then he shooed her away and strode toward me.

Lord Hensley.

I wanted to fight, but my weapon was gone. My hands were tied. My ally had turned. The futile struggle to get free had rekindled the pain in my ribs.

One of the Nightmare men had a knife; he kept it near my throat.

Saints. They were going to kill me. The only question that remained was how. Drowning? Cutting? Burning? I tried not to imagine the details of all three.

“Here we are at last.” Lord Hensley strode up to me.

A rock dug into my knee. My hands ached as I tried to move my fingers and force blood back into them. My breath came harsh and ragged.

“I’m sure you’re shocked about losing your friend.” Hensley glared down at me. “It wasn’t hard to buy her off. I marked her as your informant the moment she began questioning Mercush about where firefly is made, and I made a deal. A little money for her and her mother. A little firefly for her brother. I can’t say I’m surprised she decided to take me up on the offer. It was a good one.”

Even if I’d wanted to respond, I couldn’t. The knife at my throat was unwavering.

“You understand I needed to put a stop to your antics before they got out of hand.” He lifted his stump. “Pardon. But if we can’t find amusement in these things, what’s the point?”

Next he would press his good hand against my forehead and make a joke about me being hotheaded. That would be how I would die.

A loud roar came from the nearest warehouse. Something banged from the inside. The Nightmares frowned at one another, and several left to investigate.

There were only five with me now, plus Hensley. More than enough to kill me the moment they were ready.

My mind raced with possibilities for escape, but there was nothing viable. I couldn’t fight. I didn’t have a weapon. I couldn’t even feel my feet with the way the restraints squeezed my ankles.

Hensley blocked most of my view, but around him I caught Romily’s small frame coming toward us. She still had my sword, but her expression was lost in the bright lamps behind her.

“Keep him still,” Hensley told one of the Nightmares. Heavy palms fell on my shoulders, shoving me downward. He grabbed the top of my mask and yanked it off, taking several strands of hair with it. Then he jerked my face up and his eyes went wide. “You.”

“I knew you were guilty,” I whispered. My jaw ached with the words; a bruise was forming from the Nightmare’s hit earlier.

Hensley stared at me for a long moment, deciding what to do. It would be obvious who’d killed me if he burned me, like he had Knight.

My mask floated to the ground.

“Drown him,” Hensley said.

The Nightmares dropped their weapons and shoved me face-first into the dark river.

SEVEN

COLD WATER SURGED over my face.

In my eyes.

Up my nose.

Into my mouth.

A man jostled me. My shoulder hit a rock as he shoved me deeper into the water.

I hadn’t taken enough of a breath, and already my lungs burned with the need to breathe. My chest spasmed as seconds ticked by, but I didn’t struggle, didn’t move. That would only make my air run out sooner.

Small bubbles escaped the corners of my mouth.

Saints, I wanted to breathe. I needed to breathe. But the rough, heavy hands were still on the back of my neck and shoulders, and the only thing I could feel was the cold water numbing me and the brush of plants waving in the current.

This was it. This was how I was going to die.

Only sixteen. Hunting a flasher lord.

And what about James? What would become of him, if I were gone? It seemed likely my death would kill him, too.

My thoughts grew heavy and sluggish. More air escaped and my chest was an inferno of need. No matter how I focused on holding my breath, I knew I’d give in soon. I couldn’t last much longer.

Suddenly, the weight on my head and shoulders lifted.

Fumbling with my bound hands, my whole body throbbing in pain, I pulled and pushed myself from the river, and shook the wet strands of hair from my face to see what was happening.

Romily.

She had my sword and was standing over an unmoving Nightmare. Dead? Hensley strode toward her, his good hand glowing faint red.

There was no time to ask questions.

I grabbed the knife that had been at my throat minutes before, and sliced at the bonds around my wrists and ankles. It was difficult with my fingers cold and wet and numb, but finally the cords snapped. Blood poured into my hands and feet, stinging, but I couldn’t worry about it now. The remaining Nightmares converged on Romily, who lunged as though to thrust the sword into Hensley’s stomach.

One of the Nightmares shoved her over, and the sword flew from her grasp. Hensley rushed toward her, his hand out and fingers splayed. He was going to burn her up the same way he had Knight.

With a wordless shout, I took the knife and ran at Hensley, ready to saw off his other hand. But my body wouldn’t work right. I stumbled and struggled on my feet, and I hadn’t caught my breath. I’d never make it on time. Already, he knelt and pressed his fingertips against the side of her face.

A low roar came from the warehouse next door.

Everyone stopped and looked toward the now open doorway.

A huge shape staggered out. Bulging, grotesque muscle, with wide, red-rimmed eyes. The man had to be twice as tall as me. A deep odor of wraith rolled off him.

Hensley swore at the nearest Nightmare. “You brought a glowman?” He stood again, Romily forgotten, and backed away, one long step after another. He looked . . . afraid.

The Nightmare grinned, making his rust-colored tattoo shift on his face. “We brought six.”

Dread dropped into my stomach.

Glowmen.

People mutated by shine—or firefly—and twisted until they barely resembled humans. The shine made them feel how they wanted to feel—and then it twisted those desires and made them permanent.

I’d never seen one before. But now, with one emerging from the warehouse, another following close behind, I understood the penetrating fear of glowmen. They were enormous. And they were bent on destruction.

I had to get out of here. I couldn’t defend against a pack of glowmen and the Nightmares.

Hensley was in full retreat. If he noticed me, he didn’t show it. He just wanted to get away from the glowmen.

With renewed purpose, I sprinted toward Romily. She was facedown on the dirt, her whole body trembling. Four fingertip burns dotted her cheek where Hensley had used his magic. First I’d help Romily. Then I’d shove Hensley into the river. How dare he?

When I knelt and touched Romily’s shoulder, she yipped and scrambled up, but relaxed when she saw it was me. She threw her arms around me and whispered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have trusted him, but I was scared and—”

“It’s all right.” There wasn’t time to find out whether she knew who I was—Crown Prince Tobiah or just some bruised-up rich boy—and she didn’t seem to care about much except that I hadn’t come to kill her. I helped her to her feet and found my sword. My mask was nowhere in sight. Long gone, probably down the river. “The Nightmares brought glowmen. Can you run?”

“Can you?”

I squeezed my sword hilt and checked the area for Hensley, but he was moving around a building—away from the glowmen. The Nightmares who’d been assisting him had moved toward the warehouse, like they were going to control the glowmen. But from inside the warehouse, there was a crash and someone screamed.

“Nine saints.” Romily snatched the knife I’d taken from the ground. “They’re huge.”

Three glowmen were out of the warehouse already. Inside, more screams echoed.

“We need to run.” I took her arm, but she shook me off and took a hesitating step toward the glowmen. “What are you doing?”

The Nightmares were mostly contained around the warehouse, trying to corral the glowmen back inside. They didn’t seem interested in us at all anymore, with Hensley gone. If we were ever going to get a chance to make our escape, this was it.

“That’s Mercush!” She dashed toward the warehouse—toward the glowmen and Nightmares.

“Rom, wait!” I followed, but she had a head start. As we drew closer to the warehouse, I caught sight of half a dozen Nightmare grunts sprawled on the ground, their bodies twisted and broken. “Stop!”

She ignored me. My heart thundered in my ears as I realized what she was running into.

It was a slaughter.

The Nightmare gang had lost control of the glowmen—if they’d ever had control—and were now fighting for their lives. Several men and women were on the warehouse floor, dead. At least one glowman was dead, too.

“Romily, don’t!” But I was too late.

She paused in front of a glowman who vaguely resembled her. Narrow face. Lidded eyes. But any other similarities had been transformed by the wraith in the firefly. He was stretched tall and thin, his arms all wiry muscle and black hairs.

“Mercush.” She stared up at him, hope in her eyes. Like she believed he might still be her brother. The glowman cocked his head and locked eyes with her, like a challenge. She glanced at me. “Don’t hurt my brother—”

Mercush grabbed Romily in both his hands, then hurled her at the nearest wall. She hit with a loud thump and dropped to the floor. Blood dripped from her head.

She didn’t move.

EIGHT

BEFORE MY EYES, another friend died.

And that was it. Everything faded away, except the rage.

I joined the fight, cutting and slashing at glowmen. First, the one that had been Mercush. Now he was just a monster, because whatever he’d seen in Romily, it hadn’t been his sister. He’d stared at her like a challenge, and she’d lost when she looked away.

When she’d looked at me.

My arms shook with exhaustion, and my ribs ached. I thrust my blade deep into the glowman’s stomach and twisted. Blood poured out and the reek of wraith filled the warehouse.

I didn’t pause as the glowman dropped to the ground, dead. Instead, I was burning up with fury and I brought my blade around and found another glowman, this one thick with drooping jowls and bloodshot eyes. He was crushing a Nightmare’s throat. I plunged my sword through his eye.

I lost track of everything but the battle. Hatred drove every thrust and slash of my sword, and every injury I’d taken on in the last week was a faint, distant pain. None of it mattered now. Just this: ducking and stabbing and the certainty that these creatures were no longer human, just monsters twisted by the wraith and chemicals.

And they needed to die.

In a strange place between hyperfocus and instinct, I cut my way through another glowman. Then another. Then another.

Finally, I stood in a warehouse full of bodies, only one more glowman alive, and it fought two Nightmares. The rest of the group was either dead or had fled, like Hensley. That coward.

The Nightmares had knives and rusted pipes, and they fought ferociously. But they were going to lose.

The glowman had talon-like claws that left deep gouges on the Nightmares’ faces and chests. They had no hope of winning this battle.

One of the Nightmares noticed me. “Help us!” He spit the last word; blood dribbled down his chin.

“No.”

I lowered my sword and watched the Nightmares lose. I wouldn’t kill them. They were still human—a generous classification, considering what they’d brought here. I wouldn’t kill them, but I wouldn’t prevent the glowman from taking their lives.

They’d aligned themselves with Hensley and sold shine.

They’d come to ambush me.

They’d brought the glowmen.

They’d lost control of the glowmen.

They’d die here.

A quiet thought in the back of my head suggested maybe letting the glowman kill the Nightmares was no better than murdering them myself. But then I caught Romily’s motionless form on the far side of the warehouse and I didn’t care if this made me an awful person, too. I hated the glowmen. I hated the Nightmare gang. I hated Lord Hensley and every flasher who used their magic, contributing to the wraith. Without them, there’d be no shine or firefly and then there’d be no glowmen. Mercush would still be a boy and Romily would be alive. Professor Knight would still be alive.

I hardly registered the hot tracks of tears on my cheeks as the glowman slashed the throat of one Nightmare grunt, and then the other. While the glowman was distracted with murder, I shoved my sword into the base of his skull and into his brain.

The glowman fell lifeless, rattling the floor.

I’d killed them. Glowmen. Monsters.

Romily’s brother.

They weren’t human anymore, but no matter how much I reminded myself of that fact, a hole opened inside me until it felt as though my soul were being sucked away. I’d done something awful. Something hideous.

My life would never be the same.

The rest was automatic: I cleaned my blade using a dead man’s shirt; I stepped around the fallen and knelt in front of Romily; I checked for a pulse I knew I wouldn’t find.

Everything drained out of me. The adrenaline from the fight. The certainty I’d felt. Even the pride that I’d won this battle. It was empty.

Carefully, as though she might wake up, I covered Romily in a blood-splattered jacket off one of the dead men. I cradled her in my arms and bit back a fresh wave of tears.

“I don’t blame you,” I whispered, even though she couldn’t hear me. Even though she’d been gone for . . . I didn’t know how long. I didn’t know what time it was now. “You were desperate. You took the opportunities you were given. And I failed you. We were going to help your brother, and now—”

A raw sob choked out of me. Romily. Knight. All of this.

It was too much.

There was nothing else to do. I covered her face and stood. Part of me thought I should bring her to her mother, but I didn’t know where she lived. And how cruel would that be, bringing a mother her dead daughter? And what about Mercush? I couldn’t explain what happened.

So I left the warehouse.

Outside, the air was cooler. Wind drove a small, black object across the dirt. My mask. I seized it just as I heard footfalls on pavement and men shouting orders.

Police, it sounded like. Hensley had gone to find the police like a good, upstanding nobleman.

I shoved my mask over my head, and adjusted the holes over my eyes.

Faintly, I caught Hensley’s voice. “They were just around here. The Nightmare gang and that vigilante.”

So he hadn’t identified me to the police yet.

But he knew who I was. Everything truly was different now.

I sucked in a ragged breath and ran north along the river, toward Fisher’s Mouth, where I turned toward the palace.

James would be waiting for me. I needed to tell him what happened—and figure out how to put it right.

EXCERPT FROM THE MIRROR KING

Prince Tobiah’s adventures, which began in The Hidden Prince and The Glowing Knight, continue in The Mirror King, the sequel to The Orphan Queen.

FIVE

“WAKE UP, NAMELESS girl.”

Dawn seeped around the curtains, lighting the dark room into gray. Candles had drowned their flames or been put out—I couldn’t remember—and the smothering air of encroaching death had lifted.

Tobiah was still lying on his back, but he’d turned his head and hints of color lit his skin. When our eyes met, his were bright and alert, and so, so familiar.

I sat straight, heart pounding with hope. “You’re alive.”

“My dear Wilhelmina, you’re amazingly accomplished at stating the obvious.” His voice was groggy, deep with the remnants of his long slumber.

“And you’re well enough for sarcasm. I think you’ll live.”

His grin was all Black Knife. Because of the mask, it was an expression I’d only sensed before, never seen, but I knew it just the same: the lift of his cheeks, the light in his eyes, and the way the world seemed to pause.

This was the boy I’d fallen in love with.

Please forgive me for what I’m about to do; know that it is duty and honor that compel me to act against my true feelings.

Forgive me.

I took a ragged breath. “I should send for your mother. She has no idea you’re—” Alive. Awake. He’d been so close to death just hours before.

“In a few minutes.” He closed his eyes. “Just give me a few minutes before I have to be . . . what they all need me to be.” He went still, as though he’d drifted off again, but then he smiled. “You’re the one with the no-talking-or-get-stabbed rule. Not me.”

How did he not have a million questions? Maybe he was saving them. “How do you feel?”

His hand moved beneath his blankets, as though touching the bandages or testing the wound. “Like I got shot a month ago.”

“It was yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” He started to sit, biting back a grunt and gasp as blankets fell around his waist. Bandages covered his stomach, but his chest and shoulders were bare, exposing muscles built from years of sword fighting. “Wilhelmina.” His tone turned serious as he took in my appearance: the trousers, the disheveled hair, the knife tucked into my belt as though Patrick might strike again. “How did I recover?”

“How do you think?”

Light grew around the curtains. With a soft groan, Tobiah swung his legs off the bed; trouser hems brushed the tops of his feet. His dark eyes were wide and warm. “What did you do, Nameless Girl?”

“I couldn’t let you die.”

He leaned his whole body toward me, shoulders and chest and face. A hand slipped forward on his knee, almost reaching. “You never fail to amaze me.”

It took everything in me to stay put. Not move. He was for someone else, and for all the questionably moral things I was willing to do, that was a line I could not cross.

The bedroom door swung open and the gas lamps hissed to life, saving me from temptation. James strode in with Francesca and Meredith behind him.

Tobiah tugged on the blankets to cover himself.

The queen regent gave a little shout and hurried to embrace him. Meredith pressed her hands to her chest. Only James didn’t seem shocked, but for a whole second he sagged with naked relief.

I moved toward the writing desk, a safe distance away from the reunion. James bent his head toward mine.

“How long has he been awake?”

“A few minutes.”

Across the room, Tobiah was reassuring his mother that he felt fine, and he wasn’t going to die. Meredith perched on the edge of the chair I’d slept in, leaning forward with her hands still clasped by her heart. The flush of someone who’d cried herself to sleep was brightening into hope.

“Where were you?” I asked James. “I expected you to be hovering.”

“I had work to do. If you recall, I was made head of palace security and there was an assassination attempt five minutes later. Then you escaped.” James shook his head. “Apparently, I have a big job ahead.”

He had a point. “So you didn’t warn the queen regent and duchess about Connor?”

“I intercepted them on my way here. The royal physicians insisted Her Majesty be, ah, helped to sleep last night, and this morning she decided she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Hard to blame her,” I muttered.

“Anyway, I thought you were plenty capable of protecting my cousin while I looked into securing the palace. Even if you couldn’t, there are half a dozen men of the Indigo Order in the next room.”

“Patrick might have killed Terrell in his sleep, and with nothing more than a knife, but twice now he’s attacked Tobiah from a distance.”

“Which is why the windows are shut and there are guards on the balcony. But all of our intelligence suggests Patrick has left the city.”

“That’s my thought, too.” The guilt churned in me.

“What are you two talking about over there?” Tobiah lifted his voice, looking beyond his mother, who sat on the bed beside him. “And James, grab a shirt for me. It’s chilly.”

James fished through a wardrobe and handed his cousin a solid black shirt before beginning his account of the search for Patrick. And though I wished he wouldn’t, he included my involvement with drawings and telling the Indigo Order to search Fisher’s Mouth.

“So.” Tobiah finished shrugging on the shirt—Meredith demurely turned her head—and began buttoning while he spoke. “Lien has yet to be captured.” His gaze cut to me for a heartbeat, then went back to James. “I hope you’re still making your best effort.”

“Of course. And while it’s likely he’s left the city by now, confident of your death, the palace remains on high alert.”

“This brings me to the first of many questions.” Francesca stood and smoothed her gown as she took her place beside Meredith. “Who were those people you brought here last night, Wilhelmina?”

James stilled.

“Captain, do you think I don’t know when a small gang of youths appropriates one of the best rooms in the palace? They ate through almost a quarter of residents’ breakfast before anyone caught them.”

Oh, saints. They’d found the kitchens.

“Of course not.” Somehow, James kept his tone light. “I just didn’t expect you to know quite so soon, and without preparation.”

The queen offered a thin smile and turned toward me, waiting for an explanation.

I fumbled. Haughty? Solemn? Kind? I didn’t know which mask to put on, so I didn’t use one. I exhaled and let her see how much they meant to me. “They’re what’s left of Aecorian high nobility, kidnapped during the One-Night War. At first, there were nineteen of us. Now there are ten, split down the middle. The night of the Inundation, four came with me, and four went with Patrick.”

“The ones eating their way through the kitchens are yours.”

I nodded.

“Let me make sure I understand correctly. Patrick Lien was once part of your group. You knew he’d killed my husband, yet did nothing to bring him to justice?”

I pressed my mouth into a line. “The wraith had just reached the city. Trying to deal with that and Patrick at the same time would have been impossible. I made a choice that would save lives.”

Francesca’s voice flattened. “Your choice nearly cost the lives of my son and nephew.”

The accusation twisted my heart, but I held my posture stiff.

“To be fair,” Tobiah said, “she did tell me yesterday about Lien. We were already in pursuit after the first attempt on me, though.” He glanced at James. “And I think Her Highness would have told me about Father’s assassination if I’d bothered speaking to her instead of keeping her confined to her quarters.”

Meredith, silent all this time, granted him a deep smile, like she was proud he’d remembered to be courteous. He ignored her.

“All right,” said the queen. “Allowing that, why did we not know of Lien’s location until last night, when Wilhelmina was apprehended outside an inn in White Flag?” She looked at me. “Isn’t that when you told Sergeant Ferris to go to Fisher’s Mouth?”

“It was at the inn I learned of his location.”

James lifted an eyebrow; he’d been waiting to hear about this, too.

“On my way to fetch the Ospreys, Melanie and I met. She told me where to look.”

“Do you think she warned him?” James’s tone was neutral, but the comment stung. “She did side with him when you split.”

As if I could forget. “Patrick is paranoid; he probably left Fisher’s Mouth as soon as she returned. The entire city is hunting him.”

“Let’s remember we’re not interrogating Her Highness.” Meredith’s voice was soft, but everyone looked at her. Francesca’s expression warmed. “While questions must be answered, let’s not forget that Princess Wilhelmina is our guest.”

“That does lead to another question, though.” Francesca faced me again, a challenge in her eyes. “Why was it that you chose last night to sneak out of the palace and fetch your Ospreys?”

I glanced at James. He nodded.

“Your son wasn’t going to live, Your Majesty.” I couldn’t make myself look at Tobiah, but even from the corner of my eye I could see his expression of impassive boredom. It was a mask. That face always had been, and I hadn’t been able to see through it. But he was listening to every word, every breath, every hesitation. Earlier, he’d asked what I’d done. Here it was: “One of my Ospreys is a healer. A flasher with the power to heal.”

The room went silent.

Tobiah pressed his palm over the bandages and the princely mask dropped away, revealing confusion and betrayal and wonder. “Magic.”

Meredith’s eyes were wide.

“I was told you’d sent for a friend.” Queen Francesca’s words were soft, but cutting. I’d always thought her meek before, but now I knew that was as much of a mask as anything Tobiah and I wore. “I didn’t think much of it. But magic.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

Neither James nor I answered.

“Which Osprey is this? Had he ever used it before? Did either of you consider that what you did is illegal? The wraith is already so close.”

“I did consider that.” I pulled myself to my full height. “But I am neither a citizen of the Indigo Kingdom—I was kidnapped almost ten years ago, if you recall—nor have I ever been overly concerned with the law when the law prevents me from doing what is necessary. Remember that last night, my friend was the only thing standing between your son and death. Your son, who is now sitting up and scowling. Alive. And just hours ago, he was slipping toward the saints.”

The queen regent turned her eyes to her son and acquiesced. “And your friend? Had he ever done anything like that before?”

If she was asking about James’s miraculous recovery, she didn’t give a hint.

“Once. When he was young and didn’t know better, he saved a rabbit. We’ve been hiding his power ever since. There are people who would exploit his gift.” Or arrest him for it. Just months ago, Black Knife would have been one of those people. If caught, Connor would have been taken to the wraithland and sentenced to die by the creatures out there. “He’s well read and practiced in more traditional medicine. He knew what he was doing.”

“Very well. Thank you for your part in saving my son.” Francesca seemed to collect her thoughts. “But we will not speak of this again. None of us. Tobiah, we’ll tell everyone that you are recovering thanks to the physicians, but you’ll need to stay confined until a reasonable amount of time has passed for you to truly heal.”

Tobiah shook his head. “The law is clear. One week of mourning for the old king, and the new king should be crowned the following day, or risk being challenged. If we delay, either of my uncles could contest my enthronement. Many of Uncle Colin’s men are coming from Aecor, so they can attend the memorial and coronation. But if I miss the date and my uncle claims I’m not fit to rule, that means he has thousands of armed supporters at his command.”

“But you’re their king. Future king. Would they support him over you?” Meredith’s eyes were wide.

“It’s a possibility I won’t dismiss.” The prince gave a deep nod. “The challenger doesn’t even have to be direct family, though they’re more likely to have the support they need if they’re high in the line of succession. How do you think the Pierces took the throne from the Gearys?”

“So,” said Meredith, “two days until the memorial, and three until the coronation. Few people will believe you’ve healed so quickly, naturally.”

No one quite looked at James.

I lifted my voice. “Unless you claim the prince knew an attack might happen, and was armored beneath his clothes. You can say this was a ploy to draw out Patrick, and that you allowed everyone to believe the prince’s injuries were so grave in order to make him believe he’d succeeded.”

“Dozens of guards saw the bolt go through,” said James.

“They are under your command.”

“Give the order.” Tobiah ran his fingers through his hair, making the strands stand on end. “My recovery doesn’t have to be miraculous. I’ll play the invalid and rule from bed when I must, but we cannot delay the coronation.”

The crown prince left no room for argument.

“Very well.” The queen regent didn’t look happy, but her acceptance caused a sliver of relief to ripple through the room.

In this, at least, we were all five united.

We all had our reasons for needing this: a mother’s grieving heart, a fiancée’s elevation to queen, a cousin’s duty and friendship.

And my reason?

Too complex to name.

“One more thing before I go to share the news that Tobiah will live.” Francesca looked to me. “You could have sent your friend here and gone to find Patrick with the Indigo Order.”

Meredith gasped. “She could have been hurt!”

Francesca waved that away. “Perhaps, though she is a capable young woman and she’d have had a score of guards to protect her.”

I hated where this was going.

“Would you have been able to track Patrick, assuming he’d truly been there?”

Behind my back, I curled my hands into fists. “Possibly.”

“Why didn’t you go?” When I didn’t answer immediately, she added, “I’m not asking anything that my husband’s brothers won’t. There are still those who believe you cut my husband’s throat, and without proof that Lien did it—your word that he confessed holds very little weight after your impersonation of Lady Julianna—there’s little to keep suspicion off you. Even if there were proof, Lien is still an Osprey and was under your command during the time of the assassination. So why, a second time, did you allow Patrick to escape?”

“Would you have acted any differently, Your Majesty?”

The queen regent drew back, her eyes cutting to her son, and the answer was clear.

Tobiah slipped off the edge of the bed, using the chair arm for support. Meredith reached up, as though to help, but never quite touched him. “You should have gone after Lien,” Tobiah said. “Your presence wasn’t required here. You’d have been more useful tracking him.”

Before I could form any sort of response, a knock sounded and a wiry man in messenger livery came in.

With owl-wide eyes, the stranger glanced around the room and seemed to take in his mistake all at once. The queen. The crown prince. The princess. The duchess. And the Indigo Order captain.

He swung back to the prince standing on his own.

The prince, who should have been on his deathbed.

Our secret was out before it’d even begun.

Tobiah sighed. “What is it?”

“Refugees, Your Highness. Majesty. Highness. Hundreds of refugees are approaching Skyvale.”

“Refugees from which direction?” If they were from the east, that simply meant those who’d left during the Inundation were coming back. If they were from the west, more Liadians—and people from kingdoms beyond—might have made it through the wraithland.

“From the south. They’re from Indigo Kingdom villages all along the wraithland border.”

“What does that mean?” Meredith’s hands were knots of white knuckles.

The messenger’s reply came gravely. “It means the wraith is moving again. Faster.”

SIX

ACTIVITY EXPLODED ACROSS the room.

James, Tobiah, and I started for the messenger. Meredith looked to the crown prince for guidance. Francesca turned her glare on me, as though this were my fault; maybe it was.

But Tobiah could barely stand, let alone walk, so with a pained groan he crumpled. James switched trajectories and the queen regent rushed around Meredith to help move the prince back to his bed.

While the others were busy, I approached the messenger. “What else do you know about the wraith? How fast is it coming? What towns? How many refugees?”

“Nothing. That’s all I heard.”

I grabbed the messenger and shoved him against the wall. His head thudded. I held my knife to his throat and growled, “What kind of messenger doesn’t get important details and then barges into the crown prince’s chambers? Do you work for Patrick?”

His eyes widened.

“You’re too incompetent to be an assassin. Are you trying to lure Tobiah into public so someone else can kill him?”

Meredith let out a peep of surprise, like she hadn’t even considered that, but then she saw my knife. “Captain Rayner,” she breathed.

From the corner of my eye, I could see everyone looking at me.

“That’s a little excessive, Wil.” James spoke as though I were a spooked animal. “I know him. He’s no assassin and he doesn’t work for Lien.” He met Tobiah’s eyes for a heartbeat, nodded, and came to take the messenger from me. “It’s all right.”

The man’s face seemed caught between fear and excitement. His wide owl eyes darted around the room, taking in the details.

I stepped aside for James, not putting away my knife. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” James opened the door to escort the messenger out. “This way, Alain. We—and all of these men—need to have a talk about the crown prince’s quarters. . . .”

The door shut behind them, leaving me alone with Tobiah, his mother, and his fiancée. A moment later, muffled yelling came from the other room as James dressed down every guard by name.

I shifted my weight to one hip. “I don’t think Alain will keep his mouth shut. The secret is out.” I leveled my eyes on Tobiah. “He saw you standing. A second miracle in as many days.”

“How did James heal?” The queen’s eyebrows drew in. “Princess?”

“I was locked in my quarters.” My glare landed on Tobiah, who’d managed to sit up straight, but his skin was ashen with the effort. “I was allowed to believe James was dead.”

“Regardless,” Meredith said, her cheeks red as she attempted to forestall another fight, “Princess Wilhelmina is correct. The secret is out. There’s nothing we can do right now but hope Alain takes Captain Rayner’s request for silence seriously.”

Good luck.

“In the meantime, we’ll need to make sure there’s room in the shelters for the new refugees.”

“You think we should let them into the city?” Tobiah looked at her across the small distance, his face bland. “The shelters are already so full and food is scarce.”

“They’re Indigo Kingdom citizens.”

“Would you feel differently if they were refugees from another kingdom?”

Her lips parted with affront or indecision—I couldn’t tell. “Of course not. They’re people in need, regardless.”

Tobiah nodded. “Still, with a few noble exceptions”—he motioned at me—“my father didn’t allow refugees into the city.”

“You are not your father and the wraith had not touched the Indigo Kingdom while he was in power.”

The crown prince offered a shallow nod. “The gates will be open, my lady.”

Meredith glowed with her triumph. “Thank you.”

Tobiah pressed one palm to his stomach, over the shirt and bandages beneath. A shadow crossed his face. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to rest before the next emergency. My father’s memorial is in two days and I plan to be fully recovered by then.”

“I’ll leave you to your rest, then.” I replaced my knife and started for the door.

“Wilhelmina?”

I looked over my shoulder to find Tobiah’s glare mixed with something like distaste.

“Please change your clothes into something more becoming of a lady of your station. Parading around the palace like that is . . . unseemly.”

I let my voice thin. “If Your Highness wishes to control my wardrobe as well as my movements throughout the palace, consider supplying something more to your taste.”

He gave a bored sigh and roll of his eyes.

I slipped out of the room and through the busy parlor, and headed into the hall. My fingernails carved crescents into my palms.

Meredith caught up with me a minute later. “He shouldn’t be so mean to you. Not only did you help save his life, you’re a princess.”

I halted in the middle of the hallway and studied her guileless face. She deserved a true answer. Not the whole truth, but some truth, nonetheless. “It’s my rank that’s part of the problem.” Saints, I wished Melanie were here. “The last thing he expected when I was unmasked, so to speak, was to discover the heir to the vermilion throne. He’s already dealing with the wraith problem and his ascension to the throne. I complicate everything.”

“Still,” she said. “It’s no excuse for his poor behavior.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Lady Meredith.”

Sergeant Ferris followed me. Was he a bodyguard? Spy? Did it even matter? His sidelong looks were skepticism and distrust, with a dash of superiority. He was who he claimed to be, while I exchanged one identity for another, as quickly as changing clothes.

I doubted Sergeant Ferris would judge his crown prince so harshly.

But with the death of King Terrell, Black Knife would never go out again. If I didn’t know his identity, I wouldn’t know why he’d disappeared. I’d have looked for him a few more times, and accepted that he’d been called to do something else. He would have remained a mystery, a dark and lovely memory who haunted my dreams.

Forgive me, his note had said. Forgive me.

“Your Highness.” Sergeant Ferris hauled open the door to my suite, as though I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

I ignored him and went into my room.

The wraith boy was exactly where I’d ordered him: under my bed, his pale face peeking out from beneath the blankets hanging over the sides. His chest was pressed against the hardwood floor, not quite on the nearby rug of lamb’s wool that warmed my feet every morning.

“You’re still here.”

“You told me to wait for you.” His voice was like wind, hollow and ageless, and dangerously powerful.

“I know, but—” Saying I’d hoped he would have left didn’t seem wise. “Well, get out from under the bed.”

He shimmied out and jumped to his feet, as though spending the night under my bed hadn’t left his limbs stiff or his muscles sore. The tattered indigo jacket hung on his lean frame, not quite covering enough.

We stood there a moment, both of us waiting for my next command. I couldn’t look away from him, this strange creature in my quarters. He was wraith, part of the toxic cloud smothering the continent in a white mist that changed the fundamental laws of nature. I’d seen trees growing upside down, and roads rising in the air with nothing to hold them aloft. I’d seen people and beasts that couldn’t maintain a size or shape. I’d seen innocents trapped in something clear and solid, just heartbeats away from escape.

Wraith was terrible stuff, of that I had no doubt. But in the shape of a boy, with a voice and a consciousness, was it any different?

I had no idea what to do with him.

But I had to start somewhere. A pile of men’s clothing had been delivered; it waited on a cedar chest near the door.

I grabbed underclothes, a shirt, and trousers, and strode across the room, not taking my eyes off his. “What’s your name?”

His shrug was a too-fluid ripple. “Do things name themselves in your world?” He cocked his head, lizard-like. Though he’d been completely hairless the night of the Inundation, when I ordered the white mist invading the city to become solid, he now had a fine white fuzz covering his skull. He was somewhere between comical and cute, at least until I remembered his feral grin and the way his fingers elongated into claws when he attacked. But now, his tone was soft. The way he hunched his shoulders, like a child enduring punishment, was almost sweet and sad. “I had hoped you would name me. You gave me life.”

A frown pulled at me. “I didn’t intend it.”

“Didn’t you?”

Definitely not. My magic wasn’t supposed to work like that. Animating objects wasn’t the same as giving them life. This had never happened before, so why now? “What are you?”

“I don’t know.” The wraith boy shrank a little. “Do I have to put on those pants?”

“Yes.” As if being Black Knife, the lost Princess of Aecor, and a known flasher wasn’t damaging enough to my reputation. I couldn’t have a half-naked boy in my suite. “Here.” I shoved the bundle at his elbow. “Don’t put them on in here. Go into the music room to dress.”

He took the clothes and sighed, but I couldn’t tell whether it was the thought of putting on pants or the need to leave the room to do it that exasperated him so much. Beneath his borrowed jacket, his shoulders slumped. “I am a mystery, my queen.”

Chills swept through me. I retreated to the table and lowered myself into the nearest chair. “Explain.”

The wraith boy tugged at his jacket, as though it suddenly wasn’t big enough. “You gave me life, but you’re unsatisfied. In the changing place, you asked me to save you. And I did. I smothered the locusts. Then I followed you because I wanted to be with you, but you ran. You hid behind the reflections, so I went around. At last I discovered where you had been. I could feel your presence all through the city, but couldn’t find you. Not with the mirrors. So I broke them. And then you came and ordered me to become solid. I hoped to please you. But again, you seemed unsatisfied.”

My breaths came shallow, but I managed the words. “Go on.”

“Though you are responsible for me, I’m not what you want. I could change—do or become anything that you order—but I don’t think anything would satisfy you. So I am a mystery, given life for no purpose at all.”

“You had a purpose.”

“To save you from the locusts? To save your city from changing?” The wraith boy spread his arms wide, his clothes dropping with a soft whumph. The jacket opened to reveal his chest; I kept my gaze high. “One was over so quickly it hardly matters, while the other was just delaying the inevitable.” He cocked his head. “I told you there would be consequences.”

“What are those consequences?”

He went very, very still. “You might think you’ve slowed the advance of change. Of wraith, as you call it. But you haven’t. It’s coming faster to meet with me.”

My stomach and chest knotted.

“Why is it coming to meet you? If you’re the wraith that was in the area when I animated it, wouldn’t that mean there’s less wraith now? You’re alive. And solid. You’re real.”

“I am those things. I am what you want me to be.” He lifted a hand and pointed an overlong finger toward the door. “Your breakfast is coming. Smells good.”

I barely had time to follow the shift in subject when the knock sounded. “Enter!” I motioned the wraith boy toward the music room. “Go in there and get dressed. Don’t mess with anything.”

“Yes, my queen.” He took his clothes and slipped away, just as the door opened and a maid came inside with a tray. She placed my breakfast on the table and after a quick curtsy and inquiry as to whether I needed anything else, excused herself. She was the same maid I’d had since announcing my identity, and I still didn’t know her name; she hardly spoke at all.

I sat at the table, famished after missing dinner last night. I hadn’t lived in the palace so long that food was expendable, and for any Osprey, wasting food was the highest of crimes, right up there with betraying Aecor by befriending anyone from the Indigo Kingdom.

Well, no one was perfect.

Hours later, James arrived bearing a large leather and canvas bag. The contents thunked as he hefted it onto the table. The strap dangled off the edge. “Your evening wear and accessories, my lady.”

“Truly, you’re a man of miracles.”

His smile was strained. Haunted. “If I cautioned you to stay in tonight, would you listen?”

Inside the bag, there were several black shirts and trousers, a pair of knee-high boots, masks, and most importantly: weapons. “This will do.”

James sighed. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. Where’s your pale friend? I have more orders.”

“He’s in the music room. What else, besides delivering my wardrobe?”

He ticked off the items on his fingers. “One: deliver your clothes. Two: ask you to please put the wraith boy in a safer location. Three: assist you in drafting a letter to the people of Aecor announcing your stay here, and the treasonous acts of Patrick Lien.”

“I was already going to do that. I’ve spent the morning writing notes and a draft.”

“Good. That way it will sound like it actually came from you.”

Who would know, though? For almost ten years, everyone in Aecor believed I was dead.

“Do you want to start with the letter or the transfer? I’ve already had a nearby space cleaned out, since I don’t think he’d stand to be very far from you.”

“Let’s move him first.”

“For the best, I think. With the prince’s recovery, it won’t be long before talk turns to you and this creature. I know you slept on Tobiah’s chair last night—a scandal on its own—but as far as anyone else is concerned, you slept in your rooms while the wraith boy was here, too.”

Then surely the damage was already done. No matter how I felt about it, my reputation did matter. People of the Indigo Kingdom already had so little respect for me, and one day I’d have to marry for the good of Aecor—assuming I ever got back my kingdom and the wraith didn’t destroy everything first.

“I’m shocked I have any reputation left to tarnish.” I shrugged and jerked a thumb toward the music room door. “But to protect my delicate sensibilities, will you make sure he’s dressed before we go in?”

James wrinkled his nose. “You think he’s naked?”

“I told him to put on his clothes, but that was this morning.”

“Great.” James knocked on the music room door and entered.

A loud whack hit the wall: wood crashing. “What are you? You don’t belong.” The wraith boy’s voice rose an octave. “Leave!”

I threw open the music room door to find the piano bench in pieces and a gash torn in the wall paneling. James stood just a step away from the demolished bench, his chest heaving. “Wil.” He spoke between clenched teeth. “I think you should send Ferris for more guards.”

The wraith boy’s posture shifted with unnatural quickness. One moment, he was huge and hunched, ready to grab the piano and hurl it at James. The next moment, he resumed his normal size and shape, and bowed his head. “My queen. Hello.”

“What’s going on?” I forced the shaking out of my voice, keeping it low and dangerous.

“This”—the wraith boy bared his teeth at James—“man is not what he says he is. He’s deceiving you, my queen. He’s not real.”

I moved inside the room and stood beside James. Splinters of wood caught in my day dress, scraping the floor. “James is my friend, and he’s in charge of palace security. If he sees you as a threat, he will not hesitate to force you to leave.”

The wraith boy sniffed. “Only my queen commands me.”

“And I would agree with him. Behave.” I spun and exited the room, head high, but my heart thudded painfully against my ribs.

James closed the door after him, softly. “This is a problem. No one bothered him last night once he hid under your bed, but what if they had? What would he have done?”

“I don’t know.” My head buzzed with adrenaline. “What do you think he meant about you? You’re not who you say you are? As far as I can see, you’re the only one of us who is exactly what he says.”

“I wish I knew.” Worry and confusion crossed his eyes, but he said nothing more. I wasn’t his confidant after all. “Give me a moment while I have the hall cleared. Then let’s get this over with.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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JODI MEADOWS is the author of the Incarnate series. She lives and writes in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, with her husband, a cat, and an alarming number of ferrets. She is a confessed book addict and has wanted to be a writer ever since she decided against becoming an astronaut. You can visit her online at www.jodimeadows.com.

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BOOKS BY JODI MEADOWS

Incarnate

Asunder

Infinite

Phoenix Overture

The Orphan Queen

The Hidden Prince

The Glowing Knight

The Burning Hand

COPYRIGHT

Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

THE BURNING HAND. Copyright © 2015 by Jodi Meadows. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition © October 2015 ISBN 9780062377074

ISBN: 978-0-06-237707-4

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