The Orphan Queen by Jodi Meadows Page B

between them, and the cat roared again.
    In the nearby houses, candles and lamps were doused. A child’s scream rose up and was hushed. The clatter and shouts and roars of a boy fighting a beast were the only sounds on the dark street, and they were piercing.
    This creature was a nightmare from the wraithland in the west. It had been normal once, but wraith seeped into its body and mind, reshaping it into this horror. When the wraith reached the Indigo Kingdom, these creatures would be everywhere, not just here and there, blown in on storms.
    Black Knife ducked another swipe of the cat’s claws and deep gashes appeared in the wooden fence, just behind where his head had been. He leapt onto a stack of crates, lithe and limber as he climbed upward.
    The cat pounced, and Black Knife’s sword flashed in the gleam of a gas lamp. The cat jerked back and out of the way. Black Knife let out a rough, frustrated sound and pursued the cat without apparent distress.
    A pungent, wraithy stench filled the street, wafting up as the cat growled and lashed its tail. With a ripple of muscle, the beast struck. Black Knife blocked, but his wrist wrenched sideways, and the sword went spinning beneath the creature. The crossbow was nowhere I could see. Black Knife drew a pair of knives, but they had no reach. The wraith beast crouched and growled.
    â€œHey, cat!” My voice sounded shrill and strange against the night, and the wraith beast looked up and yowled.
    Black Knife lunged for his sword.
    I fixed my grip on my daggers, jumped, and slammed onto the cat’s back. The beast screamed as I drove my blades into the back of its neck and dragged them across its spine. Another thump , this one from below. Black Knife plunged his sword into the cat’s throat, and the tip of the blade pierced the back of its neck, shining wet with blood.
    The creature shuddered as Black Knife withdrew his sword, and I yanked out my blades. As the wraith cat fell to the street with a heavy thud , I hopped to safety.
    The neighborhood remained utterly silent as the dying beast lay between Black Knife and me.
    His sword point rested on the ground. His breath came in hard gasps. “Thank you.”
    â€œFor what you did in Greenstone. For saving the boy.”
    He wiped his bloodied sword on the cat’s fur before sheathing it, but when he started around the beast, I took a step backward and he stopped.
    â€œWho are you?” he asked.
    â€œNo one.” I glanced between the black-clad boy and the shallowly breathing cat. It groaned and gurgled, and the stench of blood and wraith flooded the street. I swallowed until the urge to gag passed.
    â€œYour group is called the Ospreys, right? What does that mean?”
    â€œIt’s just a name.”
    â€œYou’ll admit to that name, but you won’t tell me yours?” He tilted his head. “I suppose you’d just give me a false name.”
    He was definitely right about that.
    â€œI like the way you fight.”
    Was that a compliment ?
    â€œIt’s very efficient. Who taught you?”
    â€œYour grandmother.” Patrick Lien had taught us, as well as men he’d brought back from Aecor. Those men hadn’t known my identity—it was too much of a risk—but they’d been well-compensated.
    â€œThat seems unlikely. My grandmother preferred sewing to fighting.” He stepped closer, all stealth and dancer’s grace. His hands stayed at his sides, not touching weapons, and if his wrist hurt from the fight, he didn’t show it.
    My daggers were still clutched at my sides, the hilts digginginto my skin. “Why were you following me?”
    â€œBecause you’re a criminal. I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”
    â€œIt’s not really your job, is it? The city has police.”
    He shifted his weight and shrugged. “They underperform. They work hard, but it’s not enough. There are still thieves