The Opal Crown (20 page)

My stomach writhes, and I push away my plate. Officially, that makes Lord Murcendor second in power only to Andrei. Unofficially, I can only imagine what has been going on inside the palace.

“Lord Nichols intends to join us in a few days,” Lord Royce continues. “He says with the city sunk in a heat wave, many who have the resources to do so are leaving Allegria in favor of the countryside. He feels now would be a good time to depart without arousing suspicion—”

He breaks off at shouts echoing from the courtyard, followed by the sound of horses galloping.

“You don’t think . . .”

Lord Royce shakes his head. “Lord Nichols assured me Andrei has no idea of our whereabouts.”

“It’s all right,” comes Nicolai’s voice. “Come and see.”

A line of men on horseback wait in the courtyard; it appears to be every member of my personal guard, including Patric. As they dismount, one by one they all sink to their knees in front of me.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Royce asks after I’ve bid them all to rise.

“We had to leave immediately,” Patric answers. “I received word that Lord Murcendor intended to have every member of Wilha’s guard questioned, and judged it to be safer for all if we fled.” He turns to me. “Each of us has pledged our devotion to the twin queens.”

“The twin queens?” I say.

“That is what the people have begun calling you.”

“Perhaps your men would care to eat?” Lord Royce says. “Then we will get you all settled here.”

Lord Royce asks Nicolai to see to the horses, and the men
start for the manor. As I turn to leave, Patric stops me.
“After everyone else has retired for the evening, meet me in the courtyard.”

8

I
look out at Lord Nichols’s grounds from my seat at the water fountain. A pale moon hangs in the sapphire-colored sky and the crickets hum their tune. I wind Patric’s golden ribbon around my finger while I wait, keenly aware of the hope bubbling in my heart.

“Would you care to take a walk, Princess?” comes Patric’s voice.

“Of course.” I turn, but his face is unsmiling. “Is everything all right?”

“I think we should take a walk.”

I read the tense way he carries himself, the way his eyes constantly shift around, and I hastily tuck away the ribbon. We stroll along and a humid breeze stirs the surrounding willow trees. When we have put some distance between us and the manor, I say, “What is it?”

Patric produces a folded-up
parchment and presses it into my hands. “I have a message for you. It’s from Andrei.”

“From
Andrei
?” Quickly, I unfold the letter and read it:

Wilha,

I feel as though you have deserted me in my hour of need. Dark events conspire at the palace, and I begin to doubt those around me. Can we not lay aside our differences, if only for an hour, and meet alone as brother and sister?

I sit down on a nearby bench. “How did you come into possession of this?”

“It was Andrei himself who tipped us off that Lord Murcendor planned to have me and your other guards questioned. He gave me the note and said he hoped I would flee and take it to you.”

“Did you read it?”

Patric hesitates. “No, but I can guess at the contents. Andrei leaves tomorrow to go on summer progress with the court. He made me memorize his itinerary. He seemed eager that I should know exactly when and where he would visit the northern villages, where you and Elara are thought to be in hiding. I’m guessing he wants to meet?”

“He does,” I say. “He wants to meet alone, just the two of
us.”

“No,” Patric says firmly. “That is not something you can do.”

“Please do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Patric. The first thing we must decide is if his offer is genuine. Tell me the manner of your meeting. Where were you? What was Andrei’s countenance? What did his eyes say?”

“What did his eyes say? I don’t know, Wilha—do a man’s eyes ever say anything?”

“If you have the wisdom to see, they can say quite a bit.”

Patric sits on the bench next to me. “It was at night. I was standing guard at the western turret. Andrei appeared to warn me, and then he gave me the note.”

“What time at night was it? Was he alone?”

“Not too long after midnight, I think. And yes, he was
alone.”

“What was he wearing?”

Patric closes his eyes as he thinks. “He was dressed as a stable hand. And he was wearing a cloak; the hood was flipped up.”

“Is it possible that Andrei had you followed tonight?”

“Definitely not,” Patric says, sounding offended. “We doubled back, we switched trails—it took us twice as long to reach Versan as—”

“I don’t doubt your competence, nor do I doubt this offer from Andrei is genuine.” Patric begins to protest, but I cut him off. “I had already suspected Andrei may be slowly breaking faith with Lord Murcendor. And from what you said it sounds as though he went to great pains to visit you secretly. He guessed that you knew my location, but he did not allow you to be questioned by Lord Murcendor, nor does it appear that he had you followed here. Both courses of action would have made more sense than writing a letter where he could only
hope
to lure me into a trap, if that was all he was interested in.”

“The offer may be genuine, but even so, I still don’t think you should meet with him. It’s dangerous, for one thing. It will be difficult to catch Andrei alone, even if we know his
itinerary. And you shouldn’t be alone in his company, any
way.”

“What do you mean?”

“People are saying that Andrei . . . that he . . . I don’t know how to say this, Wilha, but some are inclined to think that he was responsible for your father’s death.”

I inhale sharply. “No, that cannot be. Allegria trades in gossip just as surely as it trades in worthings. Andrei is just a boy who’s been coddled his whole life. He may be spoiled and petulant, but he is no murderer.”

I reach inside my cloak and remove the golden ribbon, unconsciously twining it again around my finger, trying to figure out how to honor Andrei’s request. When I glance at Patric, I see him looking at the ribbon. “I held it every day after you left,” he says quietly. Then, as though he has just breached protocol, he straightens up quickly. “I was never able to offer you my condolences. I was sorry to hear of your broken betrothal to Stefan Strassburg.”

“Sorry?” I ask. “How so?”

“Stories were carried back to the Opal Palace of how you and the crown prince were falling in love,” he says, and I read the pain in his eyes. “How those who stood in your presence could see it enveloping you, how you smiled at him.”

I take a deep breath. “I was not sorry to see the betrothal broken. For I swear to you, Patric, I have never even
met
the crown prince.”

8

“Y
ou fled the castle?” Patric asks, dumbfounded. For
nearly an hour he has sat silently as I related meet
ing Elara, her preparations to begin impersonating me, and our journey to the Kyrenican Castle. “And then what happened?”

“I found lodging in a room above a tavern and employment in the city.”

“You got a job?” Patric says the words as though he’s speaking a foreign tongue. “Doing what?”

“Working at a seamstress’s shop. I am quite talented with a needle, you know.”

“Did you make many friends?”

“Yes.” And, because I know it would be a lie of omission not to say more, I add, “I met someone, actually.”

“I see.” Patric shifts and the slightest distance opens between us. “Did you love him?”

“I wanted to. I loved the idea that someone wanted to be with me, but in truth, I did not love him as he loved me. I suppose when it came down to it, what I really wanted was a friend.”

“You have always had one, Wilha.” He reaches out and our fingers lace together. “I may not like your decision, but I did swear my allegiance to you.” He sighs. “If you want to meet with Andrei, I think I know a way to make it happen.”

Chapter 40

Elara

A
linda and I sit quietly at the wooden table eating our lunch of leftover potato stew. We do our best not to look at each other. The “safe house” Lord Royce had prepared is an abandoned butcher’s shop. It’s similar in layout to Alinda’s bakery (or it was, before Andrei’s men burned the bakery in retaliation for Lord Royce’s betrayal), so the upper apartment consists of only one room, making it difficult for Alinda and I to avoid each other.

But we try, nevertheless. Alinda cries often over the loss of her home, and I know she blames me. It’s taken every bit of my willpower not to shout at her, not to remind her that it’s her uncle’s fault we’re both homeless and trapped in the city until Rolf can arrange a means of escape. This is proving difficult to do. Apparently half the city wants to see Wilha and I crowned as joint queens.

The other half wants us executed.

Although rumors circulate that Wilha and I are hiding in a northern village, the palace is taking no chances. Every person, cart, or carriage attempting to either enter or leave Allegria is stopped and thoroughly searched at the city gates by guards known to be loyal to Andrei.

“Are you all finished?” I ask Alinda.

She nods and I take our empty bowls downstairs to clean them, thankful for a little space. When I’m finished, I look outside at the street. Large carcasses of bloody meat dangle from metal hooks in the butchery across the way. The shop is open, but business is light. As the weeks have passed, the heat has grown more and more oppressive. The butchers’ section of the city now reeks with the stench of blood and rotting meat, scaring away most potential buyers.

If venturing out into the city was ill-advised while I hid at the bakery, it’s next to impossible now. Fliers bearing my and Wilha’s likeness circulate the city. After so much time in obscurity, our face is now one of the most recognizable
in Allegria.

The door unlocks and Rolf enters the shop carrying bags of apples and potatoes. “How’s my sister?” he says, setting the bags on a counter.

“The same. Although she’s eating more today, so that’s a good sign.”

“I’m going to send pigeons to some friends of ours in the villages. I don’t think she’s in any condition to accompany
us to Versan, although I don’t know if anyone will take
her in.”

“Why not?” I stow the bags in the cupboard where we’ve been hiding our supplies.

“Your brother’s new taxes are killing the villages. Many who barely got by last year may not live to see next year if grain or worthings don’t start flowing more readily.” He heads for the door. “I’m going to go buy bread, if there’s any to be had today. Lock the door behind me.”

After he’s gone, I linger downstairs, wondering, not for
the first time, how Cordon and the Ogdens are faring. I
wonder if Mistress is still ill, and if so, if they have enough worthings to visit a healer.

Upstairs Alinda has chosen to lie back down on her mattress. This suits me fine, and I try to block out the sound of
her whimpering by settling in front of the window and open
ing my mother’s book. Halfheartedly I flip through it, as I have done a hundred times before. I was so certain I’d find a message inside these pages, but clearly I have been wrong. . . . What am I missing?

I blow out a breath and look out the window. As I watch, a woman hurries furtively up the street, a small cake tucked under her arm, as though she’s expecting to be robbed of her treasure. I smile as a memory surfaces. Of Ruby digging into her cake at her birthday party, and her delight when she discovered the coin contained inside—

I stop suddenly and push the memory away. I find the librarian’s message. . . .
Donated by and recovered at the request of Queen Astrid . . .
I run my finger over the thick, puckered cover. What if Astrid wasn’t referring to the pages, themselves, but literally meant
inside
the book?

Or, more specifically, inside the cover?

With growing excitement, I begin digging at the cover, pulling and yanking, until finally, the leather splits. I keep
pulling and I remove the pasteboard underneath. I flip it over
. . . there’s a yellowed piece of parchment clinging to the other side. With shaking hands I smooth it out.

As I read, the entire world dissolves and remakes itself.

Chapter 41

Elara

My Dearest Daughter,

My heart is heavy tonight. My body is swollen with child—your own younger brother or sister. My confinement looms and soon I will depart from the public until the babe I carry is born. I should like to think that one day I will be able to look upon you from afar and see you, the daughter that I long for just as keenly as a drowning man longs for air. But a deep foreboding has taken root in my heart, and caution as well as my own desires demanded I write this by my own hand.

If you have followed my clues and this letter has come into your possession, then I assume you know who I am and who you are. I assume, too, that you hate your father and me for the choice we made. For how could you bear us anything but ill will, when you come to understand the life that was denied to you?