The Opal Crown (17 page)

Quickly, I slip the book inside my cloak. I turn to see if anyone noticed . . . and glimpse Wilha from across the room. Her lips curve in a dreamy smile. She does not walk so much as slowly drift across the room. She’s also not wearing a mask as she should be. She clutches a gold ribbon in one hand . . . and in her other hand she holds her jeweled mask.

No, no, no!
I immediately make my way forward, but stop quickly. I’m not the only one who notices Wilha. With a dawning sense of horror, I watch as she heads directly for the spiral staircase—and the two palace guards stationed in front of it. They don’t seem to notice the mask in her hands, but they are most definitely interested in her face. They watch her with furrowed brows before turning to each other and sharing a silent look. One of them nods slightly and starts down the staircase, while the other one casually shifts position, cutting off our exit.

Quickly, I stride across the room and place a hand on Wilha’s shoulder. “How lovely to see you here . . . Serena,” I say the first name that comes to me. “It’s been ages.”

“Elara?” Wilha asks, the dreamy expression on her face vanishing. “What are—”

“You’re not wearing a mask,” I hiss in her ear, and tap at my own costumed one. “And our description has been circulated throughout the entire palace guard.”

Wilha’s eyes fly to the soldier stationed at the staircase. Before she can speak, I take her arm. “I have the most wonderful book I want to show you!” I drag her around a bookshelf where a few people are reading quietly at a table. “Guards are most likely on their way right now—we won’t be able to exit down the staircase. Where is the passageway you came from?”

“It’s in one of the reading rooms,” Wilha answers, understanding at once. “But—”

A chair abruptly scrapes against the floor and a heavyset woman rises.

“I recognize your voice,” she says, looking at Wilha as though she’s seen a ghost. Her gaze strays to the mask in Wilha’s hand.

“Lady Ashland, I’m sorry,” Wilha says, going pale. “I
can explain—”

“There’s no time for that!” I say, shoving her forward. “Move!”

We edge along the side of the room as Lady Ash-
land’s voice peals through the air. “Wilhamina Andewyn walks unmasked among us! Raise your hands and cover your eyes!”

The silence breaks as a low murmuring spreads among the patrons. Marching footsteps echoing up the staircase tell me more guards are arriving. Wilha and I weave through the bookcases, until the reading room comes in sight. We make a mad dash for it.

Pounding footsteps sound behind us, though they’re nearly drowned out by the thundering of my own heart. We reach an ornate reading room and Wilha pushes forward to the back corner, where she quickly presses on an opal hidden at the bottom of the wall. It slides away, leaving a gaping black hole yawning before us.

Behind us there’s the ring of steel and shouted curses as Wilha and I hurry into the passageway. Wilha finds the opal on the other side and presses it. The wall slides back into place—just as a guard slams into it with a heavy
thud
.

A deep silence settles over the tunnel.

The flickering light of a nearby mounted torch casts shadows. Wilha stands facing the wall, shoulders heaving as she takes one deep breath after another. She whispers something to herself, but I don’t catch the words. She turns around and looks into the darkness beyond.

I realize this is the moment when she, too, understands that neither of us can go back to our former lives. The only option we have now is to move forward into wherever the tides of history will carry us.

Chapter 33

Wilha

H
ow can such a small action, a walk between two buildings, change everything I have ever known? I left the Opal Palace as the sister of the king. If I were to return, it could only now be as a traitor.

I lean against the wall in the tunnel and try to compose myself. I cannot hear anything beyond the stone. How long
before the guards find the embedded opal? Once my breath
ing has steadied, I stuff my jeweled mask into my leather purse and tie on the costume mask, cursing myself all the while. If I had not been so foolish, so easily distracted by Patric’s ribbon, we would not be in this position.

“What now?” Elara asks as we linger in the passageway.

“Now,” I say, turning to face her, “you will tell me why you want to be queen.”

“We need to leave,” Elara says. “The guards could—”

“I had to choose between you and Andrei, and I chose
you
, Elara. I think I have a right to know why you want this so badly.”

“We don’t have time for this.” She grabs my arm, but I shake myself free of her.

“You did not force me to join you today; I came of my own accord. But if you won’t answer my question, then perhaps I have made the wrong choice.”

“It was the only way, all right?” she shouts, and for once she drops her guard, and I read the raw fear in her eyes. “I’m tired of being hunted. Ever since the day I was brought to the palace and told I was expected to take arrows meant for you, I’ve been looking over my shoulder, and I’m tired of it. This way, instead of playing someone else’s game;
I
get to make the rules for a change.” She pauses and adds in a small voice, “And I could be a good queen, Wilha . . . and thank you for choosing me.”

The only sound is the flickering of the torch, until I manage to say, “You’re welcome.” Feeling like I’ve lost my equilibrium, I lift the torch from its mount. “There is a fork in the tunnel. My ancestors built it to connect the Opal Palace to both the Galandria Courthouse and the library.”

“
Our
ancestors, you mean,” Elara says as we set off down the passage.

“Our ancestors,” I repeat vaguely, surprised that she so readily embraces her heritage now. Would she still be so quick to do so if she were not trying to steal the crown from Andrei?

The tunnel begins ascending again, and soon we reach
the exit and emerge into a small, deserted hallway. Quickly, I extinguish the torch and close the chamber behind us. When we reach the doors, Elara pulls me back. “Wait a minute.”

“But—”

“Hush!” She seems to be waiting for something, and when a large party of masked nobles sweeps past us—barely sparing us a second look—she shoves me forward. “Stick close to them,” she whispers. “Make it seem as though we’re part of their group.”

We follow them out of the courthouse where they pause. Business in the square seems to have come to a halt. Dozens of palace guards wait outside the library. Lady Ashland stands among a group of guards, gesturing wildly with her hands as she speaks.

“That’s where we need to go.” Elara points to a carriage parked in the middle of the square, where Rolf and a man I don’t recognize sit in the driver’s bench. Unlike everyone else, neither of them are watching the palace guards or the library. Their eyes are sweeping across the square. Looking for us, I assume.

We follow the crowd down the steps when they set off again, sticking as close to them as possible. Several yards away from the carriage, they turn abruptly and head toward the Royal Opera House, leaving Elara and I exposed.

“Walk fast!” she says.

Rolf catches sight of us and appears to issue instructions to the other man. He climbs into the carriage, and Elara and I pick up speed.

But we are not fast enough.

“There they are!” comes Lady Ashland’s hysterical voice.

“Run!” Elara cries.

Elara sprints into the carriage as it starts up. I have to hurl myself inside in order to avoid getting left behind altogether, and I tumble to the floor of the carriage, my hip striking the side of the wooden seat. I scramble up and Elara closes the door behind me. The carriage takes off from the square.

Above the rattling of the wheels, I hear Rolf shouting, “Change of plans, Nicolai! We won’t be leaving the city today. Once we’re out of sight of any guards, pull over to the side of the street and run for all you’re worth. I’ll take care of the girls!”

We continue picking up speed. The carriage shakes and jostles violently. People are scrambling to get out of our way before the horses trample them. A hundred yards behind the carriage, a line of palace guards on horseback chase after us.

We turn one corner and then another. Soon the warm, thick smell of beeswax envelopes us—we’re in the candlemakers’ section of the city.

All of a sudden, the carriage lurches to a stop, and the three of us are thrown forward. I hear the driver—Nicolai—jump from his seat, and his pounding footsteps as he flees.

“Everyone, out!” Rolf cries.

Elara and I follow him into a shop, where we dodge hundreds of pillar candles. We move straight on through the back door into the alley, where we promptly turn and sweep back into the shop next door. We continue on in this way for several minutes, passing surprised shopkeepers as we emerge into the street, only to turn again into the next shop over and cross through to the alley, thereby staying off the street as much as possible as we make our way through the city.

“You are taking us back toward Eleanor Square,” I say to Rolf after some time.

He nods. “There’s someone who has quarters nearby who will harbor the two of you until we can figure out how to get you out of the city.”

“Who?” I ask, but he does not answer.

We draw close to the square and turn down a quiet street of elegant apartments. Rolf stops at one and raps on the door with two short knocks. After a moment, it opens, and I recognize the face before me.

“Your Highnesses,” says Lord Nichols, hastily drawing aside, “please come in.”

Chapter 34

Elara

I
t’s dangerous to look out the window of Lord Nichols’s bedchamber, but after two weeks of being trapped inside his apartment, I can’t help myself. In the windows across the cobblestone street, candlelight glows peacefully. But only a few hours before, palace guards searched the entire building—as well as this one—looking for Wilha and me. Were it not for the hidden chamber in Lord Nichols’s pantry, we would have been discovered.

Now that dusk has fallen, the sky is painted lavender and blue, nearly the colors of the Andewyn family. Fitting, since tonight, on the eve of Andrei’s coronation, Wilha and I will declare ourselves to the people of Allegria.

All of this waiting has given me ample time to examine my mother’s book. And I have found nothing. No pinpricks. No messages. No missing pages. Except for the puckering cover, the book appears to be perfectly preserved. I was so sure I had understood my mother’s words. Sure the copy in the Allegrian Historical Library must be where her next message was. It’s clear I’m missing something, but I can’t figure out what.

“Can you help me with the buttons, Elara?”

I turn to find Wilha, half-dressed in one of the gowns Lord Royce provided for her—for
us
, actually, as we will be dressing identically. Her eyes are fixed on the window, her expression slightly disapproving. But she does not admonish me as I let the curtain fall closed and button her up. After being in hiding for so many days—our only news from the outside world coming from Lord Nichols or Lord Royce—even she is beginning to feel claustrophobic.

According to Lord Nichols, the disruption at the library, followed by the chase through the streets, has set Allegria abuzz, speculating over the Masked Princess’s disappearance and the girl whom Andrei wants found so badly, particularly since the palace has made no official comment about the events.

Tonight, we will give them their answers.

“How much do you trust Lord Royce?” Wilha says as I finish with her buttons.

“I trust him more than I trust our fool of a brother.” I turn back and peek through the curtain once more, and wish I could see through the apartment building, past Eleanor Square, and up the hill to the Opal Palace. Lord Nichols said Stefan arrived in the city nearly a week ago on behalf of his father to celebrate Andrei’s coronation. Does he think of me at all with anything other than hatred?

“I guess what I mean,” Wilha says, “is have you thought about what type of queen you’ll be?”

“The type who doesn’t burn people’s homes down just because they don’t agree with me.”

“There is a lot more to ruling than that,” says Wilha. “And all that destruction is Lord Murcendor’s doing, not Andrei’s.”

“If you say so.” I see a man turn up the street. He’s blond and tall and tanned. My heart begins to pound. It can’t be . . . can it? I stand up to take a better look—

The curtain is yanked from my hand. “Don’t stare outside so long.” Wilha lets the curtain fall closed. “You will only draw suspicion.”

“When I am queen, I will do the ordering, and you will do the listening!” I jerk the curtain open. Where is he? My eyes scan the street. . . . There—I spy him again, and my heart sinks. It’s definitely not Stefan.

I turn around and face Wilha. “I’m sorry,” I say, cursing myself for losing my patience with her. Again. “I’m just jumpy and agitated. If this wasn’t our last night in the apartment, I think I would go mad from being cooped up so long.”

Wilha sits down in a nearby armchair. “It is difficult being inside all day. But you do realize that when you are queen there will be many days when you may desire to do something, but will be unable to, as kingdom business will require your attention?”