The Opal Crown (18 page)

I bite back the tart reply rising to my lips. Must she always be so stoic, so grim all the time? “Yes, I know. . . . Although I doubt kingdom business ever gets in the way of Andrei’s pleasures,” I can’t help but add.

Wilha’s eyes are troubled. “Elara, I think we need to talk about—”

The door opens and Rolf enters. “Uncle would like to speak to you.” Wilha begins to rise, and he clarifies, “He would like to speak with Elara.”

Wilha sits back down. “Of course.”

“We’ll talk later, okay?” I say to Wilha, and make a promise to myself that I will be more patient with her. I follow Rolf from the room, but turn back and add, “It’s amazing when you think about it. By the end of tonight, many people in this kingdom will be calling me queen.”

“Yes,” Wilha answers slowly. “That truly is amazing.”

Chapter 35

Wilha

H
ave I made a mistake?
The thought has been growing like a weed that, once taken root, seems impossible to be rid of. My sister can be
angry and impulsive, much like Andrei. Only instead of look
ing to Lord Murcendor, she looks to Lord Royce as they make their plans—plans they never care to share with me. Whenever I have approached her on the subject, she has preferred to brush me off and stare out the window or thumb through the pages of her book. Whatever preoccupies her so, clearly, it is not the running of the kingdom she wishes to rule.

You would think, given that I grew up in the Opal Palace, Lord Royce and Elara would be a little more eager to solicit my opinion. It was I who suggested to Lord Royce that instead of leaving the city tonight under a pile of excrement, we might simply ask Patric to find out if any of the guards assigned to the city gates are loyal to me instead of Andrei, and wait until the night of their watch, when they could allow us passage out of Allegria.

Lord Royce seemed thoroughly amazed, particularly when Patric was able to accomplish this fairly easily. I suppose he did not believe I possessed the intelligence to propose such a plan.

When we set off from Lord Nichols’s apartment, the night is hot and humid. Elara and Lord Royce walk in front of Rolf and me, and I cannot help but look at her as we silently travel up the street.

When I am queen, I will do the ordering, and you will do the listening. . . .

Eleanor Square is packed with masked revelers as they sing and dance and clink ale bottles. Andrei seems to have ceded the night to the people. Along with his coronation tomorrow, a new law shall take effect: No more masks are to be worn in Allegria. It seems the city has decided to celebrate their final night of masked freedom with a public masquerade.

A woman dressed in a gold mask calls, “I am she! I am the Masked Princess!” Her voice is high-pitched with excitement, and, I suspect, a bit too much ale. “Look upon me and meet your doom!” She removes her mask, and amid much cheering, the men around her pretend to fall to the ground, as if dead.

Ever since my disappearance, here and there women have emerged, claiming to be me. The first few times it happened Andrei sent guards after them. According to Lord Royce, the palace has grown weary of such antics and has finally decided to move forward and ban face masks, even though the law is wildly unpopular.

Rolf and I stop to look at the fireworks igniting over the square, spinning, whizzing, and popping in brilliant shades of blue and purple, and pink and gold. Up ahead, Elara and Lord Royce whisper, ignoring the spectacle. No doubt they are going over the plan one last time.

I envision a future of being at Elara’s command, as I was so recently at Andrei’s. Will she be any better a ruler than he? I see no evidence to believe she will, and I fear all of Galandria will suffer for it.

Unless I surprise everyone, and change the plan.

When the fireworks cease, we resume walking. The Royal Opera House rises up from the southern end of Eleanor Square. Gargoyles perch from the top of the stone building, glaring down at the patrons streaming inside the colonnaded ground floor. They seem to taunt me, “
We know who you are. . . .
”

As we pass through the arched doorway, my stomach
lurches at the speech I must shortly give. Lord Royce has invited several nobles whom he knows have grown weary of Andrei and Lord Murcendor to attend tonight, vaguely promising them a show they will not want to miss. He believes many of his guests, who have attended Andrei’s parties in the last few weeks, will recognize my voice when I speak. Yet he has not trusted me to find my own words; he has forced me to memorize a speech he and Elara crafted.

The heat from all the candles in the crystal chandeliers is oppressive, and sweat beads my brow. We head up a staircase to the Guardians’ box. As planned, Elara and I take seats in the back, where we are hidden in the shadows.

I have always loved the Royal Opera House, with the gilded boxes and red velvet cushions and curtains. I wonder when or if I shall ever visit this place again. The Guardians’ box is only slightly less grand than the king’s box, which lies directly to my
right. I glance over, and see several men seated, their faces hidden under crimson and black costume masks, patiently waiting for the show to start. Andrei himself will be at the coronation ball at the palace, so who is using his box tonight?

Patrons stream up the aisles to take their seats. Lord Royce sits in front of Elara and me, waving to a couple on the ground floor. He is perhaps the only person in the room not wearing a mask. This is by design, not negligence. He is well-known in Allegria and wants our performance tonight to carry the full weight of his presence.

He turns to us and says, “Put the Masked Princess’s mask on.” With a final glance at each other, Elara and I remove the jeweled metal masks from our cloaks and discreetly begin making the switch with our costume masks.

I run my fingers along my ornate mask. If Elara were to become queen, I would then be in the uncomfortable position of having to ask my sister for permission to remove my mask. Would she grant it? Would she remember how stifling it felt, all those months when she had to cover her own face? Or would she quickly forget, and, when faced with the people’s demand to see the Masked Princess, decide I must continue wearing it?

And would she have compassion on our deposed brother? Would she truly understand that Andrei, while not entirely innocent, is not as cruel she believes he is? I want to believe the best about my sister, yet I fear her anger and bitterness would get the best of her.

When I am queen, I will do the ordering, and you will do the listening. . . .

No. I cannot trade one potential tyrant for another. I grip the edges of my seat as my resolve hardens. I can only hope Elara will forgive me for what I am about to do.

Lord Royce leans over to Rolf and whispers, “Go find the first guard you can. Tell him I said he should alert the king that yet another imposter has risen up and is foolishly cavorting inside the opera house. Tell him I will deal with it and there is no need to spare any guards if he cannot.”

Rolf nods and leaves. Truly, the Guardian is cunning. With the coming disruption Lord Royce has planned at the palace gates, I doubt Andrei will feel he can spare any guards.

A man appears on the stage. Just as he begins to speak, Lord Royce stands to address the crowd.

And so it begins.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before we enjoy tonight’s performance, I bring you a message from the House of Andewyn.” Lord Royce’s tone is polite, but lacking in the zeal I always heard in my father’s voice when he addressed a crowd. Yet everyone quiets down immediately and turns to look at him. “Rumors of the Masked Princess’s disappearance have been circulating in the city, yet she is here tonight and wishes to speak.”

From the shadows, I see the people turning to one another, as if in disbelief. Lord Royce turns and bows to me.

I stand and remove my velvet cloak, exposing my jeweled gown beneath, and step toward the front of the box. Gasps echo across the room as the people glimpse my dress and mask.

I take a deep breath. “Good evening . . . rumors of my disappearance have circulated these past two weeks.” I pause, feeling light-headed under the weight of the stares and the unyielding heat of the theater.

“Yet this is hardly the first time rumors about me have circulated, is it not? I have grown up living with rumors and whispers. Of my ugliness. Of a curse.” I pause, still feeling slightly faint. “For years I believed these rumors and considered myself the least of the Andewyns. Yet last year I discovered there was, indeed, a terrible secret behind the mask.”

The crowd looks up at me, straining to hear every word. The stage is full of performers who have appeared from behind the curtain to listen to me.

“Most of you know our history. How Aislinn Andewyn betrayed her twin sister, my great-great-grandmother Queen Rowan. Our kingdom and my own family have never truly recovered from these events. For these reasons, my birth was considered a curse, not a blessing. Not because of any defect on my part . . .” I pause. “But simply for the fact that I was not the only daughter born to Queen Astrid that day.”

I hear Elara rise and step next to me. Many people remove their masks—their skin pale, their eyes wide—in order to get a better look at Elara and me. Several women look at us through their opera glasses.

Elara’s hand finds mine and she squeezes it. “Keep going.”

“The girl standing next to me is my twin sister. Hidden away for seventeen years, her existence was known only to a handful of people inside the Opal Palace. My own face was covered to further protect the secret. But tonight, let our own, uncovered faces stand as witnesses that what I say is true.”

Elara and I remove our masks. Gasps and shouts erupt. Several people cover their eyes. One man removes a small waxed tablet from his cloak and furiously begins sketching our likeness.

And it is here where I pause. I know exactly what I am supposed to say next; Lord Royce has gone over the speech with me multiple times.

Yet there is one change I must make.

“Convinced my twin sister and I would one day repeat the actions of Aislinn and Rowan, our father removed us from the line of succession. Yet now, after glimpsing what will become of Galandria if Andrei is left to rule, my sister and I have reached a decision.”

I turn to Elara. “We have decided we shall rise up, and
we
shall claim our true place as heirs to the opal crown.”

Chapter 36

Elara

W
e?
Did I hear that right?
Wilha does not introduce me and invite me to address the crowd, as we agreed. Instead, she continues speaking, pausing and stumbling over her words in a breathy voice as she tells the crowd how
we
will restore our kingdom, how together
we
will begin to repair the damage done.

Behind me, I hear Lord Royce shift. Was he in on this? But a quick glance in his direction tells me no. Lord Royce—for once dropping his impassive gaze—looks just as shocked as I feel.

“In the coming weeks, you shall hear from us. And when you do, I hope you shall rise up and join us.” Wilha finishes and the crowd begins to applaud.

And then we’re leaving. Lord Royce ushers us from the box and out into the hall, before the spell breaks. Before someone thinks to summon the guards with a message Andrei will not ignore:
The Masked Princess has just declared herself an enemy of the king.

“We have much to discuss,” Lord Royce is saying to Wilha as we travel down the stairs.

“Indeed we do,” Wilha says regally, leading the way as we start down a narrow corridor lined with sconced candlelight. With a pang, I realize Wilha doesn’t need Lord Royce to tell her where to turn to find the back entrance where our
carriage waits.

Lord Royce drops back, drawing level with me. “Your sister picked a very inconvenient time to suddenly grow a backbone,” he says.

“My backbone may be new, but my hearing has always been quite remarkable,” Wilha says, turning around. She takes my arm. “And I promise you, Elara, I only did what I thought was best. Let us talk this through tonight after we have left the city.”

I nod dazedly and allow Wilha to lead me down the corridor. Are we to
share
the crown now? Is that even possible?

Wilha opens the door at the
end of the hall; a blast of heat and acrid smoke greets us as we step into the alley where Rolf and Nicolai are waiting with our carriage. Wilha halts at the sound of screams echoing from atop the hill near the Opal Palace.

“Fire.” She turns incredulous eyes upon Lord Royce. “Did you hire men to start a
fire
near the Opal Palace?”

“I merely paid them to create a disturbance at the golden gates,” he says, shielding his eyes against the smoke.

“Well, it looks like you’ve succeeded,” Wilha says, her voice edged in steel. “Lord Murcendor himself couldn’t have done a better job.”

A sharp whistle sounds, and Rolf opens the door of our carriage. Wilha and Lord Royce enter. I have just handed my jeweled mask to Rolf in exchange for my satchel with my mother’s book stuffed inside, when the door to the opera house bursts open.

“Stop!”

I turn. A group of men wearing crimson and black costume masks stand behind me. All of them except for the man in the middle hold a sword. He removes his mask, and my heart both leaps and plummets.