Authors: Jenny Lundquist
“Yes?” comes a guard’s voice.
“Could you please tell—no,
ask
—Madame Arianne if
I could speak to her when she has a moment? Tell her
it’s important.”
The guard responds noncommittally, but I hear footsteps
striding away from my door. Soon afterward, the door
unlocks, and Arianne enters. She steps hesitantly inside. “What do you want?” She doesn’t look me in my eyes. Now that I think about it, neither do most of the guards who stand outside my door. Am I dead already to them?
“I wanted to ask you something.” I hold out the letter. “Would you see that Stefan Strassburg receives this? There were several things I needed to say to him and it seems I won’t get to do it in person.” When Arianne hesitates, I add, “Please? You could consider it my dying wish if you choose.”
Arianne’s eyes flick to the closed door and she nods. “I will see that it’s done.”
Chapter 63
Wilha
T
he day of our leaving dawns the color of blood. The Lyrisians have agreed to carry false rumors to Allegria, and they shoot me furtive looks while they load their carts with crates of corn, blueberries, and woven blankets to sell at the market. Once everything is packed, the men embrace their wives who whisper teary good-byes.
Patric and I and the rest of the men, nearly thirty in all, mount our horses and set off. The Lyrisians ride with us until we come to a fork in the road. With Rolf and Nicolai leading the way, they turn toward Allegria, and the rest of us continue on down the path. The trees on either side of the road are tipped with color, and the air smells crisp, like autumn leaves.
Just as the sun is dipping below the tree line and golden light filters through branches, we arrive at Gossamer Falls. The waterfall is large and thunderous; mist rises from it like moist incense. Hills lush with greenery surround the falls, and I’m dismayed to see that they also appear to play host to a number of shallow caves in the area.
“You would think Queen Rowan would have made the passageway easier to find,” Patric grumbles.
I dismount my horse. While Patric has never openly opposed my plan, I can feel his disapproval nevertheless. “If it was easy to find it wouldn’t be a secret,” I say. “And I know you do not think this is the right course of action.”
“I don’t want any harm to come to Elara, and I would see her rescued if it can be done . . . but I defended the Opal Palace for years against outsiders. I know just how difficult our task will be—I also know it’s highly unlikely we will all survive this night. If something happens to both Elara
and
you, there will be no one left to stand against Lord Murcendor. There are many men—many
good
men, Wilha—who would tell you the wisest course of action, and the best thing for the kingdom, is to turn back.”
“And will you be one of those men?” I ask. “Patric, if it was
me
who was scheduled to die tomorrow, would you not come for me?”
“Of course I would. I would never abandon you.”
“Neither can I abandon my own sister.”
Our gazes hold until he nods. “Then I shall not abandon her, either. And I will do everything in my power to see you both safely out of the palace tonight.”
He turns away and directs the men to spread out and search the area for a hidden opal. We look for hours, long after dusk has fallen and torches are lit, but discover nothing. I move to the top of the hill and watch as the mist rises to the stars above.
I wish I could see into the past. See the masons working away and glimpse the path they carved. I imagine Queen Rowan standing at my side, cheering me on, willing me to find her secret.
My eyes are drawn to the rocks leading down the steep
bank to the river. They seem to form a horizontal path skirt
ing
along the bank, where, to the casual eye, it looks like they dead-end at the veil of water cascading from above.
I begin edging down the bank, ignoring Patric’s frantic calls for me to stop. The rocks are slippery and moss-covered and I tread carefully. Just as I suspected, the rock ledge is merely an illusion; it does not stop at the edge of the waterfall, but continues on around and behind it. I follow the path and step around the falls. The cave beyond is chilly and damp, and I quickly set my attention upon the rock walls.
“Wilha!” Patric’s cries are but a distant echo, overshadowed by the roaring of the falls. By the time he and the rest of the men have followed me into the cave, my clothes are soaked.
The men join me in searching for the hidden opal, and with so many of us, it is not long before someone calls out that he’s found it. Patric presses on the opal and hesitantly steps inside. After a moment, he reappears. “It’s clear.” He sends everyone on through, and then closes it behind them.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Why did you close it?”
“I don’t want you to go,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the waterfall. “We have no idea what awaits us on the other side of the passage. I promise you I will find Elara and bring her back to you, or I shall die trying.”
“That is hardly an acceptable alternative, Patric.” I move to sidestep him, but he blocks me.
“If you are caught, they could just execute both of you tomorrow morning. Please, please don’t go.”
I read the fear in his eyes, but I will not be swayed by his words. “Step aside, Patric. I have to do this.”
“Someone has to, but not you.”
“Yes,
me
,” I say, my patience beginning to fray. “The only reason there wasn’t a line of palace guards waiting for us when we returned to Lyrisia is because Elara refused to speak. That required an immense amount of bravery and loyalty, and she offered both to us freely—and it’s time someone showed
her
some loyalty. I need her to know that I didn’t just stand by and let her die. And I need to know for myself that I came for her, that I wasn’t the weak girl everyone always believed me to be.”
“But you have
never
been that girl. You are smart and kind and strong—though I think you often don’t see yourself that way. You didn’t let the horrors of the mask blacken your heart; it’s one of the reasons why I love you—”
He breaks off suddenly. Mist rises around us. Rivulets of water stream from his black curls into his eyes and they look like tears. “I love you, Wilha.” He reaches out and takes my hands. “I have loved you since our first training session, when you were so determined to prove to everyone you could fight. So I’m asking you, begging you, not to go.”
He squeezes my hands, and I feel an electric thrill go through me. His words are a new song, one I have never heard before, but always hoped I would. They are bright and brilliant; beautiful enough to chase away nightmares, but I dare not linger on them too long.
“I love you, too,” I say. “I love your valor and honor—but I think part of truly loving a person is trusting them. So trust me now, Patric. This is the right thing for me to do.”
“What kind of a man would I be if I just stepped aside and let you do this, when I know how dangerous it is?”
“The kind who understands he does not get to tell the woman he loves what she can and cannot do. Particularly,” I add, “if she is also your queen.”
I read the anguish in his eyes; I can see him trying to swallow his doubts and summon his faith. “I trust you,” he says finally. “And I will always go with you wherever you ask me to. But, if we survive this night, I want you to do something else for me.” His face breaks into a wide smile. “I want you to marry me. I know I have not had enough time to properly win your hand. But these are not proper times. After this—after
all
of this is over—marry me. Whether you are a queen, or if we are both living in exile, marry me.”
“Yes,” I say, returning his smile. “I will marry you.”
He draws me to him and cups my chin in his palm. His other hand tangles in my hair and he brings his lips to mine. While we kiss I forget the waterfall roaring beside us, the guards waiting for us, and even the threat that hangs over us all. I only know the sweetness of his lips and the knowledge that he has chosen me, and I have chosen him.
8
O
n the other side of the wall the men fan out and surround me, the light from their torches glinting off their drawn swords. Our footsteps echo as we silently journey down the tunnel. We travel for miles, and I imagine the city above us, sleeping peacefully, and hope that Rolf and the others have succeeded in drawing some of Andrei’s men away from the palace. We encounter no one during the long walk, and the passageway dead-ends at a stone wall. I brace myself as Patric searches for the embedded opal, and hope we won’t be walking into a room full of palace guards. The wall springs away with much creaking and moaning.
On the other side is panic and chaos.
Chapter 64
Elara
O
utside my chamber doors, a cacophony has steadily
arisen, like an out-of-tune orchestra slowly warm
ing up: rushing footsteps, strangled cries, shattering glass. What has the palace in such an uproar in the middle of the night? I pound on my door and call out to the guards, but receive no response. I pour myself a cup of tea and wait. Finally, there’s a soft click and the door opens.
Arianne steps furtively inside. Her face is pale; her breathing is ragged. “Come with me. We need to get out of the palace.”
“What’s going on?” I follow after her, and we step out into the deserted corridor. “Where are the guards?”
“Gone. They’re needed elsewhere right now. The city is in a frenzy, and there is a crowd at the gates demanding entrance to the palace.”
“There have been people at the gates before, haven’t
there?” I say, struggling to keep up with her swift strides.
“Not like this, there haven’t. Rumors have been swirling that the city was about to be attacked. A handful of men went to the gates, demanding shelter in the palace. I’m not sure what happened after that, but it seems the guards became nervous and attacked the crowd, which only added to the hysteria. Now there’s an armed mob outside the gates, and they’re demanding to be let in.” Arianne sucks in a breath. “Your ancestors built the Opal Palace during peacetime. It wasn’t built to withstand a siege. If they breach the gates, the guards may not be able to keep
them from entering the palace.”
We turn a corner, and a maid carrying golden plates scurries up the hall.
“What is she doing?” I ask.
“Either she’s taking those to lock them away in one of our storehouses—as she was ordered to do—or she’s looting. Both are happening, and with the guards otherwise preoccupied, there’s no one to stop it.”
She pulls me into the old servants’ quarters, the rank stench of the room coming back to me like an unpleasant memory from last year, and heads for the wall with the embedded opal. From the folds of her cloak she produces a small satchel filled with worthings. “Take the tunnel all the way to Eleanor Square. If you can find a way out of the city, this should be enough to get you across the border to Kyrenica.”
I accept the sack slowly. “Why are you helping me now?”
She looks at me for a moment. “Because your brother asked me to.”
“Andrei?” I ask, surprised.
Arianne nods. “This was his idea. I have served your fam
ily for years, and if this is the last night an Andewyn should rule, I want to end it serving my king.”
“Where is Andrei now?”
“The last I saw him he was still in the Eleanor Throne Room.” Arianne presses on the embedded opal, and the wall slides away.
“You mean he’s not evacuating?”
Arianne shakes her head. “Lord Murcendor isn’t allowing him to leave.”
“Lord Murcendor isn’t
allowing
him? But Andrei is the king.”
A bit of the old scorn returns to Arianne’s voice. “You really don’t know anything at all, do you?” She gestures for me to step inside, but I hesitate.
I turn the sack of worthings over in my hands. Even if I’m not caught in the tunnels, my face is known to most in the kingdom. Exiting into a city on the brink of collapse doesn’t seem like the wisest choice. And not far away sits Andrei. My brother.
My brother, who, it appears, can’t save himself, but is try
ing to save me.
“I can’t go,” I say. “Not just yet.”
“Then this is where I leave you.” She steps inside the
passageway. “But if you are recaptured,” she says, fear
haunting her eyes, “please tell everyone you escaped on your own. Otherwise, both your brother and I will die right alongside you.”
Chapter 65
Wilha
M
aids are ransacking a small storehouse in the southern wing. The women halt; their faces drain of color when they see me step in with the guards from the passageway.
“But, but they had you under house arrest?” one of them says vaguely. “And your hair—”
“Where?” I say, understanding her meaning at once. “Where in the palace?”
She continues staring at me strangely until Patric unsheathes his sword. “Tell us where,” he commands.