The Opal Crown (10 page)

“Where did you get this?”

“In the commotion on the day you were arrested, the castle was in quite an uproar. It was not difficult to have it removed from your room.”

I run my finger over the rich leather cover, but the book is little comfort. I have barely glanced at it in the last few months.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” says Lord Royce. “After all, Lord Finley went to great lengths to see that it came into your possession.”

My head snaps up. “You know Lord Finley gave it to me?”

“Lord Finley gave it to you,” Lord Royce says, “because I first gave it to him.”

Chapter 16

Wilha

I
am clutching the fire poker. Lord Murcendor faces me, and I read the amusement in his eyes. “This is supposed to be your makeshift sword? You’re not even holding it correctly. You should have paid more attention during your lessons. . . .” He draws his sword and I am no match for him. I fall to my knees
and realize I will die, a princess who has lived a life that is noth
ing
to be proud of. I have failed the Andewyns. I am weak. I
am unworthy. . . .

I awake with a cry. My skin is damp with sweat. A silken bedsheet is twisted around my torso like a coiled snake, and early morning sunlight streams through the window. Relief floods my chest and I quickly extricate myself from the sheet, deciding that I know exactly what I need to do.

Lord Murcendor may have returned to the Opal Palace. But I shall not allow him to return to my dreams.

Later that morning, I pass no one as I make my way to the armory. I run a hand over all the weapons, wondering if Andrei will approve when he gets word of what I’m planning.

“May I help you with something?”

With the voice comes an ache, and I turn around to face Patric. His curly black hair is longer than when last I saw him, but his green eyes are as bright as ever.

“I heard you had arrived.” When he steps closer, I smell leather oil and mint.

“Yes, just yesterday,” I say, feeling slightly light-headed. As we stare at each other, I remember our last meeting. Me, begging him to let me take off my mask. Begging him to look at me. And him, steadfastly refusing.

“How do you find life in Kyrenica?” he asks politely.

“Are we really going to do this? Are we really going to exchange pleasantries, as though we are old friends, glad to see one another again?”

A brief look of hurt crosses his face before he straightens up and assumes a formal air. “My mistake, Your Highness. How may I assist you, then?”

“I wish to resume my training.” I remove a blade from the wall. “As soon as possible.”

“You would need to request permission from the king, I would think.”

“No, I think not. Andrei is preoccupied with other matters, and I will not trouble him with yet another. I mean to continue my lessons—quietly. And if they come to my brother’s attention I shall tell him I thought it would be part of resuming my life here in the palace.”

“It is not a bad idea, learn
ing to defend yourself,” he says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “There are rumors—” He breaks off at the sound of footsteps. A maid carrying firewood sweeps down the corridor.

“I care not about rumors,” I say. “I have lived my whole life with them.”

“No, that’s not what I was—” Patric stops again as another maid passes in the corridor. She casts a curious look our way. He quickly steps backward and raises his voice, “I will assign someone to train you. When we left off, you were progressing quite nicely.”

Something about the tone of his voice calls to mind an adult encouraging a struggling child, and I have to tamp down a flood of irritation. “I will require more advanced training, as I continued my lessons in Korynth.”

It is splendidly gratifying watching the surprise cross his face, if only briefly, before he resumes his stiff demeanor. “I am surprised your beloved allowed that. I’d have thought Stefan Strassburg wary of arming his future Galandrian bride.”

My lips part in surprise and I realize now what I did not yesterday: Andrei has committed me to an immense course of deception. If the story is that I have merely traveled to Allegria for an extended stay at the palace, then at the moment everyone believes I am still betrothed to Stefan.

“I would prefer not to speak of Stefan,” I say.

“Nor would I,” Patric says, sounding almost angry. “Indeed, tales of the love you have found in Kyrenica have been carried all over the kingdom.”

“I am not sure if it was love I found,” I answer carefully, thinking of James. “But it was something. And he did not
allow
me to do anything. I wished to continue my lessons, and so I did.”

“Of course.” Patric stares at me as though he has never seen me before. “As a matter of fact, I was going to call on you today. There is great concern for your safety, as well as
Andrei’s. You are to have soldiers accompanying you at
all times, and your brother has appointed me as head of your guard.”

“I see. Then I should like you to appoint someone to train me.” I do not say it out loud, but I think he hears what I mean:
Anyone other than you.

“I will need to evaluate your skills if I am to know which of my men to assign to you.” He grabs a blade from the wall. I follow him to the training room next door, and we take our positions. I keep my sword pointed downward, in the position Marko taught me.

“You are not holding it correctly,” Patric says.

“I am holding it just as I please.”

“Very well.” His fingers wrap around his sword; they are strong and finely crafted, and for an instant I imagine those same hands cupping my chin.

He attacks and I bring my blade up—just as Marko taught me. But it seems Patric expected the move. He falls back and we begin sparring in earnest. As we trade blows, his breathing quickens—something I do not remember from our training sessions last year. Then, it seemed he was merely humoring me. Did he think me a weak princess, too dimwitted to understand the techniques of battle?

We continue until we are both winded. When we finish, Patric wipes at the beads of sweat dotting his brow. “You have improved quite a bit. You have finally mastered the techniques I tried to teach you.”

“I have. I think it likely because my trainer in Korynth was much more skilled than you.”

I hand him the blade and leave, no longer willing to continue looking at him.

Chapter 17

Elara

R
olf and Alinda don’t allow me to help in the bakery while I wait for Lord Royce to return. Alinda in particular seems happiest when I stay away from her. I spend much time upstairs, looking out the window, watching each day as a line forms outside the bakery, and listening to the men shout when Alinda eventually has to turn them away. The storefront across the bakery is abandoned, and ragged-looking individuals flit in and out of it at all hours. I assume it’s because they have nowhere else to go.

This is not the Allegria I visited a year ago. True, Mistress Ogden—intent on patronizing only the finest shops—kept Serena and I away from this section of the city, but the grim expressions of the people on the street, the whispered conversations between Alinda and Rolf of the palace’s abuses, this is a new thing.

One morning I wake to see smoke huffing into the air over in the direction of Eleanor Square. Has another shop owner lost his business because he dared to criticize Andrei? Fire, as I remember all too well, is Lord Murcendor’s preferred method of destruction.

I wonder if I am foolish to stay here and trust Lord Royce, when it’s obvious he knows more about my mother and her book than he has ever let on. If he gave Lord Finley my mother’s book, does that mean he was working with him last year?

Lord Finley was a former Guardian who grew disillusioned with King Fennrick and
decided he wanted to replace him with a monarch of his own choosing. Me. He had one of his own men find me in Tulan and give me the book—but both of them were arrested and eventually executed before they could tell me of their plans. And now Lord Royce says
he
first gave the book to Finley? Yet last year he sat with Lord Quinlan and Lord Murcendor when they questioned me about Lord Finley’s activities and acted as though he knew nothing at all. He has shown himself to be immensely deceptive, as well as resourceful; perhaps I should clear out and leave before he returns.

But the fight seems to have left me, and along with it, the will to set out on my own. Even if I managed to escape Rolf’s watchful eyes, where would I go? If guards are posted at the city gates, I can’t get out of Allegria. And I know no one inside the city. Except for Wilha.

A not-so-small part of me misses her, and the brief talks we had in her dress shop. While I couldn’t admit it at the time, questioning Wilha about her life was a small way to know her. More than once I have found myself wishing I could glimpse the Opal Palace and see how she fares. Perhaps the sight of her would ease the guilt that constantly pierces my conscience.

During the long afternoons, I settle down to read my mother’s book, and a few days after I’ve arrived in the city, I come upon pages where thin pinpricks crown some of the letters. I run my hand over them and feel the slight bump of the tiny holes. I remember noticing this before in Korynth, ages ago it seems—and then promptly forgetting about it. But I remember thinking, if only for a slight moment, that the small punctures didn’t seem haphazard, but deliberate.

As though someone intentionally took a needle to
the pages.

With a sharp intake of breath, my fingers still. Quickly, I stand up from my place at the window and cross to the wooden table, where I find the quill, parchment, and pot of ink Lord Royce left. I write down each letter with a small puncture above; it forms a long string of letters that mean nothing, but when I separate them into words, a shock echoes through my heart. Because the letters form a message:

this book has a twin. find it and you will find your name.

Chapter 18

Wilha

I
select a painted white mask with lavender opals and a lavender dress to wear for my first appearance on the balcony. After I have finished getting ready, Lord Murcendor pays a visit to my chambers.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness.” He bows. “I have come to escort you to your engagement.” He extends his hand.

Judging by the extreme deference I have seen the servants pay Lord Murcendor, his grip over Andrei must be ironlike, and I know it is folly to refuse him. I force myself to keep my own hand from shaking as his fingers twine around mine.

“Surely someone of your stature has more important things to do than accompany me to the balcony?” I say, trying hard to affect a light tone.

“There is nothing more important to me than the happiness and well-being of you and your brother,” he says, again with the loving tone.

We emerge from my chambers to find Patric and the rest of my guards waiting for me. Patric pales slightly at the sight of Lord Murcendor and I holding hands.

“Have you settled in well enough?” Lord Murcendor asks me as we sweep along the corridor.

“I have.”

“And how do you dream?” He lowers his voice. “The maid who started your fire early this morning reported she heard you crying out in your sleep.”

My shoulders tense under the realization that he has servants reporting my behavior to him. I dare not admit my nightmares often feature
him
, and so I think quickly. “Snakes,” I answer. “I dream snakes are coming for me, all of them wearing masks. I try to fight them off, but I am outnumbered and they overpower me. . . . In an effort to deal with it, I have resumed my training with a sword, thinking that will help calm me.” I add this last part in a burst of inspiration, for if servants are reporting to Lord Murcendor, he will have
already heard of my lessons.

Revulsion creeps down my spine as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Rest assured, Wilha. I would never see any harm come to you.”

I cast a look back at my guards. Patric’s eyes are grim, and I read the message they tell me:
Be careful.

When we arrive at the doors leading out to the balcony, Andrei is waiting with his guards. Lord Murcendor issues instructions and takes his leave of us. Everyone else is silent, though we can all hear the people chanting:

Masked Princess!

Masked Princess!

Masked Princess!

“Did we not announce that I would be appearing, too?” Andrei says.

Uneasy glances are exchanged, until the head of Andrei’s guard speaks up. “The people can be slow to understand, Your Majesty.”

This seems to mollify Andrei and he nods. When the doors to the balcony open out to the courtyard, we’re greeted with bright sunlight and cheers erupting from the crowd. Andrei reaches for me and we stroll outside, arm in arm. The guards fan out around us, with Patric standing on my other side.

The courtyard is packed. More than half the people in the crowd wear face masks. It is eerie not being able to see their true expressions as they chant and clap.

“Curtsy to me,” Andrei says. “I want the crowd to see you showing me deference.”