The Opal Crown (12 page)

“What if I refuse? Will you allow me to just walk out of here, or will I find myself thrown into a cell again?”

“I have no intention of harming you. If you refuse, you are free to go.”

“Free?” I snap my fingers. “Just like that?”

“Yes. In fact, I will have to insist that you leave immediately and not return to Rolf and Alinda’s. I have already asked too much of my niece and nephew, and I will not require them to continue harboring you if you are uninterested in pursuing a claim to the crown. I will make arrangements to smuggle you out of the city and send you away with enough worthings to begin a new life.”

“A new life?” I laugh. “You just told me you hired men to watch over me in Tulan. Will I spend the rest of this
new life
looking over my shoulder, waiting for the inevitable day you
or someone else decides they have need of another
Andewyn heir?”

“If you join with me and we are successful, you need never look over your shoulder ever again.” Lord Royce sips his mug. “When we walked through the streets just now, what did you see?”

“Poverty and hunger. Nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before.”

“In the village you grew up in, yes. But this is Allegria, the very center of the kingdom. Do you want to know what
I
see when I walk the streets? I see a kingdom on the brink of collapse. Unless,” he pauses, “someone rises up with a mind to undo the harm your family’s rule has done. And as you said yourself, you have seen poverty and hunger countless times. Wilha, on the other hand, has known only the halls of the Opal Palace all her life.”

“Not
all
her life,” I say, thinking of the year we spent in Korynth. “Don’t underestimate my sister—”

I break off, keenly aware that for the first time, I have publicly acknowledged Wilha as my sister. “Why are you doing this?” I say, changing the subject. When he doesn’t immediately answer I add, “You expect me to become the figurehead of your treasonous plot. I don’t think it’s too much that I understand why this is important to you.”

“Your brother has inherited your father’s lavish tastes. Every night he throws grand parties for the nobles, while resolutely ignoring the plight of the poor. Yet, unlike your father, who acknowledged he needed the wisdom of the Guardian Council to properly rule, your brother listens to only one voice: Lord Murcendor. There are many who believe he is the true king in everything but name.”

“But if I agree to this and we are successful, would
you
become king in everything but name, while I stood in front of you, little more than a puppet queen?”

“I want only what’s best for this kingdom, Elara. That no longer includes your brother.”

He asks everything of me. And for once, I want a Guardian to do something for me.

“I will consider it.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I press on. “That’s the most I can offer. You would not want me to make a hasty decision when there is so much at stake. I swear to you, I will give your offer its due consideration. And I promise to give you an answer—after you do something for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“I want to see the brother you expect me to depose. I want to see for my own eyes how Wilha fares. I want you to get me inside the Opal Palace,” I say.

What I don’t say is that I also want to pay a visit to the Opal Palace’s library and find my name, and whatever other secrets my mother may have left for me.

Chapter 20

Elara

A
ndrei’s lavish tastes work in our favor, and Lord Royce easily secures an extra invitation to one of the royal court’s nightly masquerades. As I put on the purple-and-silver costume mask Lord Royce found for me, I steel myself for a long night ahead. I have two things I must accomplish. I need to find the Opal Palace’s library and, just as important, I want to speak to Wilha and hear from her own lips how she’s being treated.

I’ve also decided I need to tell her what Lord Royce is asking of me. Because if I agree to his plan, Wilha will inevitably be affected.

“Who did you tell them I am?” I ask Lord Royce as our carriage rolls through Eleanor Square.

“My niece, Alinda.” He pauses and turns to look at me. “I’m taking an awfully big risk for you, Elara. Do not make me regret it.”

The Opal Palace shines with golden light, and I can’t help but gasp as the carriage rumbles past the gates. Set against the dark, starless night, it glows like a beacon.

“How many candles does it take to light up the palace like that?”

“Thousands,” Lord Royce says curtly. From behind the goblin mask he wears I can’t tell if he’s irritated by my question or by Andrei’s extravagance.

I glance back at the gates, where several beggars have gathered to watch the palace guards admit the guests invited to the masquerade. “How many worthings does it cost?” I ask.

“Cost means very little to Andrei.”

The carriage rumbles to a halt in front of the steps lead
ing up to the palace. The royal official posted at the entrance recognizes Lord Royce and greets him.

“This is my niece,” Lord Royce says, presenting him with two tickets. “She is a baker in the city.”

“Your niece, of course.” The official gives Lord Royce
a knowing smirk and waves us through. “I have a few
nieces myself.”

We follow the faint strains of music and a line of guests, all dressed in fashionable clothing and glittering costume masks, streaming down a wide, mirrored hall. A painted door carved with gold leaf opens, and we’re inside.

The Grand Ballroom is the largest room I’ve ever seen. It shimmers with ornate crystal chandeliers and white curtains that billow from arched windows. One whole wall is lined with tables laden with platters of Galandrian delicacies: apple
tarts drizzled with cinnamon and honey, spice cakes
and bread puddings, and roasted peacocks dressed with
iridescent blue feathers. An orchestra plays while masked couples twirl about the dance floor.

On the dais, Wilha and Andrei sit on high-backed thrones. Andrei wears a sullen expression. The opal crown, bristling with jewels, hangs low on his head. Wilha sits ramrod straight. It’s only then that I notice Lord Murcendor standing behind them, one hand resting on each throne. A line of guests wait before Wilha and Andrei.

“What is that about?” I ask Lord Royce.

“Members of the court are invited to offer their greetings and well wishes to the king and princess,” he says.

“Really?” As I watch, a palace guard gestures to a couple who steps up on the dais. It gives me the opening I need. “What an excellent idea. I want to speak to Wilha, too. But someplace more private—can you arrange that?”

Lord Royce shakes his head. “You wanted to see if she’s faring well, and now you have. But speaking directly to her, that’s too dangerous.”

I snort. “You’re asking me to commit treason; isn’t
that
dangerous?”

“Keep your voice down!” He pulls me away from a row of palace guards. “Listening ears are everywhere.”

“We had a deal,” I say after he has led us into a corner. “I want to speak privately to my—to Her Highness. Tell anyone who asks that your
niece
was dying to meet the famous Masked Princess.” I cross my arms. “Otherwise, my answer is no.”

Lord Royce looks ready to wring my neck, but I don’t back down. I will not have Wilha find out from someone else about his plans.

“All right,” he says finally. “I will arrange it—but we’ll wait until later, when the guests are drunk on wine and their own importance and their senses are dulled. In the meantime, there’s someone I need to speak with who will be of use to our cause. . . . Do you think you can stay out of trouble until then?”

I roll my eyes at his concerned tone. “I won’t burn the place down if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shoots me a murderous look before he stalks away and finds a man wearing a mask in the shape of a lion’s head.

I circle the room, and my thoughts turn to the book. I have not asked Lord Royce about the library, as I haven’t wanted to arouse his suspicions. If my mother didn’t trust him enough to give the message to him directly, then I won’t, either. I had considered attempting to sneak away and search the palace myself. Now I realize what a monumental task that would be. The palace is too large, and I would most likely be caught before I found the library.

I pause before a portrait of King Fennrick and Queen Astrid. The inscription says it was commissioned twenty years ago, shortly after they married. I have more of Astrid’s looks than Fennrick’s. I have her hair color, and her small nose. Yet I have the same green eyes as King Fennrick, and there is something about the set of his jaw that reminds me of myself. Unexpectedly, I feel tears threatening my eyes.

I have hated the two people in this portrait passionately and without ceasing for the last year. At some point I stopped viewing them as human; but rather as cold, bloodless beings, too callous to spare a thought for their daughter—for
me
—simply because I had the misfortune to be born a younger twin. Yet I have to confront the fact that the man and woman in this portrait don’t look cruel. The king in particular has a merry smile and a beautiful face.
King Fennrick the Handsome
, I think, and my heart constricts. On the day they sat for this portrait, did they have any inkling of the choice they would be forced to make only a few years later?

I turn and look around the opulent room, at the dais where Wilha and Andrei recline, both of them so used to this kind of wealth and privilege. I visualize myself sitting up there instead.

Surprisingly, the image doesn’t seem all that strange.

Chapter 21

Wilha

I
remember now why I so disliked attending these events. The barbed comments, the backhanded compliments. The stares and the whispers. Yet tonight I read the distrust and tension in everyone’s eyes. The rigid way the men carry themselves. The nervous, high-pitched laughter of the women. I see it all easily. But do Andrei and Lord Murcen-dor? Do they understand what it means?

Andrei and Lord Murcendor never call for me to attend any meetings of importance, but even Lord Murcendor cannot stop the servants’ chatter of burnt buildings, raised taxes, and a king who rarely deigns to hear the people’s petitions.

When Lord Murcendor excuses himself and steps down from the dais, I lean over to Andrei and whisper, “You need to make a gesture, something to earn the people’s goodwill. You are a new king; this is something you must seek.”

“The people’s goodwill is nothing when you wear a crown,” he says, a bored expression on his face.

“Look around you, Andrei. Even the nobles seem nervous tonight. And you cannot keep raising taxes on the villagers, nor declining to hear their petitions.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Wilha. Lord Murcendor says the people must wait for the king’s good pleasure to be heard.”

“But I seem to recall that Father regularly heard petitions,” I say, careful not to directly challenge Lord Murcendor’s opinion. I do not add that in the times when I attended court I rarely saw my father settle an issue in a manner that was satisfactory.

Lady Ashland, a hearty woman draped in yards of silk and lace, steps up to greet us. “So nice to have you returned to us, Princess.” As she speaks her hand flutters at her side, as though she wishes she could cover her eyes, and I remember she never did seem to care for me. “I do hope you are recovered from all the time you spent with those Kyrenicans.”

“The Kyrenicans—and the Strassburgs—treated me quite well,” I say. After she has left I lean over to Andrei again. “You could arrange for the leftover food from tonight to be delivered to the poor. Even Father did that. If you keep throwing parties like this and refuse to help the people, it will come back to haunt you. If I were you—”

“But you are not me, nor are you the ruler of this kingdom. And you never will be, despite what some of the traitors in this city are saying,” Andrei
says, his cheeks flushing with color. “Do you understand?”

Under the intensity of his gaze I can do little more
than nod.

Andrei signals to let the next guests in line come forward, and I stare blindly out at the crowd as they greet us. I wish again I had a visit with Elara to look forward to. All my life, I wanted a sister. Someone to pass the long nights in the palace with. Someone to share my secrets. If Elara were here now, this is the secret I would share with her: Andrei is beginning to scare me.

“May I get a bit of air, Your Majesty?” I say to him.

Andrei makes an irritated grunt. “Do not tarry. I want everyone to see you next to me.”

“Of course.” I stand, and for the benefit of any who may be looking, sink into a deep curtsy. I make my way over to the orchestra, where I listen to the strains of a violin, and do my best to calm the fierce beating of my heart.

“Are you having a good time, Princess?” I recognize the voice of the man wearing the lion’s mask who has appeared next to me, yet I cannot place it.

“Yes, I am.” I smile tentatively.

“I am glad to hear it.” He removes his mask, and my smile becomes genuine.