HIS HIGHNESS HERMAN Pierce had dragged me into an interrogation room, Patrick marching along behind us, and then he proceeded to question me for hours about my disappearance into the wraithland. The king’s brother was the kind of man who enjoyed watching people squirm, and I hated giving him the satisfaction. But young William Cole, who’d never been faced with royalty before, wouldn’t have been able to stand up to the prince.
“Why did you go in? You could have been killed.”
“I was sent.”
“By whom?”
“He didn’t tell me his name, just that I was to deliver a letter.” I flinched, as though afraid the prince was going to hit me, but no blow came. “Your Highness, he looked important. He told me it was urgent and that I had to deliver the letter to a twisted old oak tree. He said he’d pay me when I got back.”
“Well, you aren’t getting paid.” The prince thumped his fist on the table. He asked again about what I’d seen or done in the wraithland, and my answers were always the same. I gave as many detailed descriptions as possible—though I left out the locust attack and what I’d done. I still wasn’t sure what had happened, but I definitely didn’t want him to wonder, too.
“There was a voice as you rode up the mountain,” Herman said. “Yelling a name. Do you know anything about that?”
I shook my head, keeping my eyes wide and frightened.
He blew out a breath. “I have no more time for this. Get out of my sight.”
As though I were truly a lowly messenger boy, I ducked my face and scampered from the interrogation room.
Patrick had already gathered my belongings and acquired a pair of horses, so we were on our way out of West Pass Watch by dawn. We rode toward Skyvale in silence.
At night, in the same tense silence, we dug a fire pit as the forest gloom closed in and birds settled into their nests. Nocturnal creatures awoke, trees rustled in the breeze, and the faint scent of wraith stirred up a deep unease. Now that I knew just how potent the wraith stench could be. Now that I’d seen what kind of threat the wraithland posed.
Stones showed more emotion than Patrick as he settled on his bedroll and arranged a pot of water to boil over the fire. In stoic silence, he added dried meat, vegetables, and a packet of powdered spices. His glare never left me.
I refused to flinch.
When we reached Skyvale, Patrick led me to the Peacock Inn, where he ordered a large dinner of pork chops and bread and wine. While we waited, I unpinned my hair to let the braids hang down, removed the cloth ties, and slowly began unraveling the plaits Melanie had spent hours putting together. With a wide-toothed comb Patrick tossed at me, I untangled the grimy lengths of my hair and picked out broken locust legs, twigs, and pine needles. There’d be no real washing my hair until I got back to the palace, but letting it down now felt good.
While I finished transforming back into a girl, Patrick fetched our meal and set a plate on the bed beside me. I cleaned the plate within minutes, and then Patrick’s calm rumbled into the beginnings of a storm.
“What happened?” His voice was low and dangerous. It was that danger that had made him an attractive leader for the Ospreys, like he wore a thin film of control over everything he could do.
I pulled my jacket tighter, warding myself against Patrick and the autumn chill that blew in through the window. “I wasn’t sent to take a letter to anyone.”
“Obviously.” He crossed his arms and kept my gaze. “Someone was yelling your name. Your true name. Who were you meeting?”
The memory of something calling me back into the wraithland shuddered through me, but now, back in Skyvale, with Patrick scowling at me, everything from the wraithland felt . . . as though it had happened to a separate person, or in another life.
Patrick would outwait me if I refused to answer. He’d easily stare at me all day, even if I fell asleep. I’d wake up to find him glaring at me. Forget the wraithland; his watchfulness would be a nightmare.
“I don’t know who—what—was yelling my name.” But didn’t I? The wind? The air? Something more?
“I see. And what were you hoping to accomplish by risking your life, your friends’ safety, and your kingdom’s future?”
“It was for my kingdom’s future that I went.”
“So you abandoned your post.”
“I didn’t abandon it.” I balled my fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms. “I moved on for a little while, and now I’m going back.”
“This is why you tried to lie to me about the resistance groups—why you didn’t want me to know that you’d almost completed your work in the palace.”
“It’s my duty to see what will eventually destroy my kingdom.” I didn’t want to tell him about the lake. I wasn’t even sure what it all meant.
“Your kingdom is already destroyed.” His words came as a low growl, and his stare was unwavering. “Nothing else can destroy your kingdom until you raise it back up.”
“You’re wrong.” I’d never had the courage to say that to him before. It was one thing to lie to him, and to declare I would not marry him, but Patrick hadn’t been wrong since he was nine years old—since before the One-Night War. But surviving the wraithland made me brave, or foolish. “You’re wrong. My kingdom is far from destroyed.”
Patrick stiffened, and smoldering anger in his eyes warned that I should back down. “Have you forgotten the night the Indigo Army forced their way into Aecor City, burning shops and homes? Have you forgotten how they murdered highborns and commoners alike? Have you forgotten how they executed your parents in the courtyard? How can you say Aecor isn’t destroyed when there’s nothing left?”
“I could never forget that, the memory that haunts me every day. Especially when you’ve sent me to live among the very people responsible for the slaughter.” My voice broke, but I forced strength back into it as I continued. “But Aecorian people still live there, and more are returning home from the wraithland. It’s under Indigo Kingdom rule right now, but the land remains. The people remain.” I climbed to my feet, shoulders thrust back, and swept one arm toward the wraithland. “I’ve seen destruction, Patrick. I’ve seen what Aecor will become if the wraith doesn’t stop. I don’t know what the answer is, but I know something must be done.”
He was on his feet, too, all panther grace as he stalked toward me. “I’m bringing Aecor back the way your parents left it. Or don’t you care about their legacy anymore?”
“Of course I care about their legacy, but I don’t know what plans they had for the wraithland. I don’t know how they expected to keep the country safe when wraith came pouring in. Maybe they thought it wouldn’t happen. Maybe they believed there was another way. But maybe they were wrong.” My ears rang in the deafening quiet and I whispered, “Maybe resurrecting Aecor the way they ran it . . . maybe that is wrong.”
Patrick slapped me.
I staggered back, clutching my cheek. He stared at his hand, his mouth hanging open and horror written across his features.
For a heartbeat, he’d become his father.
“Don’t.” I held my palms toward him, and he pulled back until he bumped the desk. I grabbed my pack and shoved my things inside it.
“I didn’t mean to.” His tone had softened, and he still clutched his hand like it was some kind of foreign thing. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I know.” I hitched my pack over my shoulders and headed for the window. When I glanced back, he hadn’t moved. “Be a better man than your father.”
Then I left.