Queen Of The Great Underworld

73

“Goal one: intelligence. We know the Aecorian terrain and we have people willing to fight for us, but we can’t risk them until we know where the Indigo Army bases are located in Aecor, how many troops they have, and what kind of weapons they’re using.

“Two: we suspect King Terrell’s people also have a list of resistance groups in Aecor—groups just waiting for the opportunity to fight back. We need that list, both for our own purposes, and to keep our potential allies out of enemy hands.”

“We already know of a few resistance groups,” Oscar said. “And our contacts in Aecor have been scouting for more.”

Patrick gave a brisk nod. “But if we’re to take back an entire kingdom and defend it, we need to overwhelm the Indigo Army. A force of a thousand people won’t be enough. Not against an army that’s had a decade to establish its hold.”

Everyone looked somber.

Patrick pulled a sheet of paper from the pile in the middle of the table and slid it toward me. “Of course, they’d notice if their list went missing, and they’ll have multiple copies. Wil and Mel, your job will be to replace their list with ours, which holds false information. Send ‘updated copies’ to the forces in Aecor if you can, but regardless, they will spend precious time discovering the problem and reverifying all of their information.”

“Meanwhile,” I said, “we’ll have our contacts reach out to these resistance groups, warn them of the Indigo Army’s attention, and recruit them for our purposes.” I glanced at the paper he gave me. Names, numbers, locations, all no doubt meant to lead the Indigo Army into a trap.

“Exactly.” Patrick rested his forearms on the table, his fingers interlaced. His tone was steady, but weighted with something I would have called grief if he had been anyone else. “As for the third goal, this is a bit more disturbing and crucial.”

I held my breath.

“I’ve heard rumors that the people of Aecor are being drafted into the Indigo Army to fight on the front lines of the wraithland—that they’re being used to patrol the borders, fend off wraith beast attacks, and track the wraith’s progress. Wilhelmina. Melanie. I need you to verify this as soon as you can.” Patrick pressed his palms to the table and stood, leaning forward. “If this is true, those are our people sent out for s*******r in the wraithland, breathing in that toxic haze. Those are our farmers and fisherman, our chandlers and cobblers. Those are our people,” he said again.

My heart felt like it had climbed into my throat. Those were my parents’ people. My people. “I’ll find out if it’s true.” My voice was deep, grave. “If it is, I will deal with it.”

“I know you will.” Patrick gazed over the assembled Ospreys, and his tone shifted like fire. “We will have our army. It will come from refugees who recognize the Indigo Kingdom’s nefarious nature. It will come from the resistance fighters still in Aecor. And it will come from the people being drafted into the wraithlands.

“Most of all, it will come from the people living in fear, without hope, and under the false rule of a conquering king. People will come to our call when they hear we have the most important piece of all: Princess Wilhelmina. She’s alive. She’s with us. And she’s going to take back her kingdom.”

I kept my posture straight and my expression stiff as a few of the others cheered and Melanie smiled at me. Maintaining morale was a necessary endeavor, and Patrick was good at it. He was good at a lot of things.

And to him I was a name and a title.

Patrick leaned on his fists and focused on me. The scar over his eyebrow stood out stark and white. “There’s one more thing I want from your time in the palace.”

I waited.

“A map. I want to know which windows lead to which rooms. I want to know where the armories are, where guards are stationed, and even where King Terrell sleeps at night. I want to know everything about that place, that way, if your disguises are compromised, we can come and get you.”

I’d want a map for myself, too, so making a copy for him wouldn’t be trouble. “Consider it already done.”

“Good.”

He wanted me to write a report every three days, gather information, plant false information, free drafted soldiers, and draw a detailed map while disguised at all hours because I was living in the palace of my enemies. It was amazing Patrick didn’t want me to stop the encroaching wraith while I was at it.

He tapped the documents in front of me. “How do these look?”

“They’re close.” I motioned at a smudge of ink where someone had tried to conceal a mistake. “That . . .”

Patrick’s voice deepened into a growl. “Close isn’t good enough. They need to be perfect.”

“Presumably, we’ll have traveled for leagues across the wraithland.” Melanie’s tone was placating. “Our papers won’t have survived the trip in perfect condition.”

Patrick frowned, but acquiesced. “Finish these, then. We’ll put them in the envelope and leave them outside with the rest of the supplies.” He pushed himself straight and paced toward the other side of the room. Everyone watched him, as though he were magnetic and their compasses declared him north. “I’ve gotten word of an army supply caravan leaving Skyvale in one week. It’s heading for Aecor.”

Quinn’s breath hitched. This was the other mission, the one Patrick had said was for her. I lowered my pen.

“Quinn, you will take Ezra and Ronald. You will identify what supplies exactly are being transported, and ride with the caravan until it’s four days out of the valley. Then you will take whatever measures you think wisest and halt the wagons. Bring back whatever is immediately useful to us, and hide the rest. We’ll need it when we march to Aecor to prepare for the anniversary.”

“I can do that.” Quinn lifted her chin and smiled.

“That is a risky mission, Patrick. Are you sure Quinn and Ezra are the best for this?” I asked. The siblings glared at me, and Melanie winced.

“Everything we do is a calculated risk,” Patrick said.

My voice strained. “Quinn is good, but she’ll have to look after Ezra. His first mission was only last night, and a glowman nearly killed him. This isn’t safe. We could all go if we postpone the palace mission another week.” We’d gone from nineteen to twelve people thanks to jobs like this. I didn’t want to lose more.

“The glowman didn’t kill me, though. I can do this easy mission.” Ezra crossed his arms.

Quinn’s glare was deadly. “We can do it.”

Patrick shook his head at me. “They’ll be fine. We can’t put off the palace mission any longer. The anniversary of the One-Night War is approaching. I want us to be in Aecor before winter is over, so that we can take back our kingdom on the day this all started.”

“I realize we have a deadline,” I said, “but I’m not willing to unnecessarily risk our lives.” I cast my gaze around the group. “Those who vote we postpone the palace mission and send more experienced Ospreys, raise a hand. Those who vote Quinn, Ezra, and Ronald go, raise a fist.”

Quinn, Ezra, and Ronald raised fists immediately. So did Patrick, Paige, and Oscar.

I lifted my hand. Connor did, too, of course, and Theresa followed a moment later.

“Carl? Melanie? Kevin?” I lifted an eyebrow. If they sided with me, we’d be tied.

Kevin raised his hand, voting with me. Carl glanced between Connor and Ezra, his two best friends, and heaved a sigh. “I would like to abstain.”

“You can’t,” said Melanie. “Everyone votes. But”—she glanced at me—“it doesn’t matter either way. I vote Quinn and Ezra go. Ezra needs the experience. Ronald and Quinn will look out for him.” She raised a fist. Seven against four and an abstainer. “The only way they get experience is by sending them out there, Wil.”

“Fine.” I flicked my little finger at her and smiled like I didn’t mean the gesture, but no doubt she could see the truth.

I might have been the future queen, but here, in the Ospreys, Patrick was the leader. Every time we disagreed and the decision was put to a vote, Patrick got what he wanted.

Theresa had once explained it by saying it wasn’t so much that I lost as Patrick won. It was hard to deny him.

At least I’d always been able to count on Connor to vote with me, even when it meant he voted against his best friends.

“Moving on,” Patrick said. “Ronald, pass the map. I’ll show you all the route the caravan is taking. . . .”

Quinn smirked and returned her gaze to Patrick.

Trying to ignore the tightening in my chest, I focused on the residency papers once more. I added the signature of the priest who supposedly witnessed my birth in Liadia. Fortunately, the sample we had to copy from was still clear and sharp, and recent enough that he could have witnessed both my birth and the birth of some duke born five years before me.

She had been a real person, this Julianna Whitman, the girl I was impersonating. She was my age and her general description fit mine as well, but I’d chosen her because as far as I knew she’d never visited the Indigo Kingdom.

It seemed very morbid, going around with a dead girl’s identity.

Melanie was doing it, too, though she was able to use her real first name. We’d found evidence of a girl named Melanie Cole who’d probably come into contact with Lady Julianna a few times. They would be best friends now.

“We need those supplies.” Patrick’s attention stayed on Quinn and Ronald, while Ezra sat bouncing in his chair, excited for such a dangerous mission. “Our return to Aecor may depend on our having them.”

Everyone nodded solemnly; their rapt attention never left Patrick. I finished my work with the residency documents and moved them aside, then let my gaze slide toward the open window where cool light filtered in through the sand-speckled glass.

Far beyond the horizon, past the piedmont and the plains and rivers—past the dirt and cobble roads our prison wagons had bumped over almost ten years before—lay Aecor, a home only a few of us remembered. A home we wouldn’t recognize when we returned.

Aecor was my responsibility, but how could I rule a kingdom when I couldn’t even lead the Ospreys?

THE FIRST WINTER in the old palace was awful. In spite of all our stolen clothes, blankets, and the fireplaces we’d cleaned and lit, the ancient castle was always freezing. The wind blew constantly.

One morning while the other Ospreys were cleaning or looking after the youngest children, Patrick summoned me to the common area, where the big table in the center of the room was covered in stacks of paper, jars of ink, and wooden boxes with rusty latches.

My breath caught at the scribal bounty. “Is this for me?”

Patrick was leaning on the windowsill, his arms crossed. He smiled faintly, an expression that looked out of place on him. It softened him, and eased the sharp effect of the scar above his eye. “I know it’s not the best quality, but it’s what I could get.”

I beamed as I unlatched boxes to peek inside. Pens, spare nibs, and wax-sealing supplies. “These will work just fine.”

“Will you need anything else?” He cast a cool gaze over the table, as though he weren’t proud of all this, but there was a light in his eyes, and one corner of his mouth tipped up.